“I could drink Red Bull instead,” said Zoe. “But that’s from bulls.”
Her phone pulsed yet again. She could see Val’s blue Jeep through Rufus’s not-very-clean kitchen window. Val was parked by the giant hole that X had punched into the road.
“Before you go,” said Zoe’s mother, “how does Jonah seem to you?”
“He’s all right,” said Zoe, “but if Uhura dies—or we have to put her down—it’s gonna squash him.”
“It is,” her mom said. “It really is. And we’ve all been squashed enough.”
“I could talk to him, bro to bro,” said Rufus. “If you want? He’s always giving me advice about stuff. I could find a way to bring it up? I can be pretty slick.”
“You can, huh?” said Zoe’s mom. “Let me think about it.” She turned to Zoe. “What are you and your friends doing tonight?”
“Teenager things,” said Zoe.
“I used to do some epic teenager things, man,” said Rufus wistfully. “Until I was about thirty.”
“I need more information, Zoe,” said her mother.
“Dallas has a plan, but he hasn’t declassified it yet,” said Zoe. “I’ll tell you when I know. But I’m sure it’s just a teenager thing.”
“Okay, repeat after me,” said her mom. “I will keep my phone charged, and answer all my mother’s texts promptly—with words, not emojis.”
“I will keep my phone charged, and answer all my mother’s texts promptly—with words, not emojis,” said Zoe.
“I will be back by 11 p.m.,” her mother said. “I will not take uncool or unnecessary risks. I will remember that I have a family that loves me and supports me and cannot function without me.”
“Yeah, I’m not repeating all that,” said Zoe.
“As long as you heard me,” said her mother.
Zoe hugged her mom, then shoved Rufus playfully by way of good-bye.
“No uncool or unnecessary risks!” her mom shouted.
But Zoe was already out the door.
seventeen
Truthfully, just letting Val drive was an unnecessary risk. Val rarely used the side-or rearview mirrors—she seemed to think they were decorations—and merged into traffic not when it was safe but when she was sick of waiting. She drove in the middle of the road, with the yellow lines shooting under the car. She drove like an apocalyptic virus had broken out and she had to deliver the antidote to scientists within 12 minutes. This had become a running joke. Often, when Zoe begged, begged, begged her to slow down, Val would shout, “But the scientists!”
They took Highway 93 toward House of Huns, where Dallas was finishing a shift on the grill. It was seven in the evening. It had rained, and the blacktop looked silver in the headlights. Off to the right, the sun was lowering behind the mountains, like it was the end of a movie.
Dallas had quit House of Huns with a strongly worded text because King Rugila, who was actually named Sandy, had refused to let him out of work to go caving with Zoe. It turned out, however, that many middle-aged moms took their kids to the restaurant specifically because they thought Dallas was adorable, particularly when cooking shirtless, his pecs crisscrossed with leather straps. Eighteen mothers cosigned a complaint to King Rugila’s boss, who was called Attila, though his name was Todd. Attila begged Dallas to come back—which he did, after demanding that he be promoted and called Mundzuc.
Zoe and Val were greeted at the door by the banging of a gong the size of a small pizza and a chant of Furg! Mrgh! Furg! from the cooks at the grill. Hailing customers as they came in was one of Dallas’s “new initiatives.” He’d also asked the cooks to think up backstories for their characters; to get serious about chest-hair grooming (“Some of you are already doing solid work, and that’s awesome”); and to grow long, droopy, barbarian mustaches, or buy fake ones.
Dallas had changed into a red Grizzlies T-shirt, jeans, and a battered Carhartt jacket, but was still wearing his pointy, fur-rimmed Hun hat. He looked cute and slightly ridiculous, which Zoe had always thought was a good look for him.
“How are the ‘new initiatives’ going?” she asked.
Dallas sagged.
“There’s been negativity,” he said. “Like, somebody just poked me in the butt with a spear, and nobody would tell me who did it. But these guys are gonna be Huns when I’m finished with them—or, I swear to god, they can all go work at the yogurt place.”
Dallas nodded what’s up? to Val.
“I know Zoe’s too cool to eat here, but you want me to cook you something before we roll?” he said.
Zoe and Val peered over Dallas’s shoulder at the donut-shaped grill. It was a battlefield of unrecognizable foods, most of it frozen and sickly pink. A cook’s fake mustache had fallen off, and he was trying to pick it out from a nest of sizzling soba noodles with his fingers.
“No, thank you,” Val said sweetly. “I’d rather you pressed my face against the grill.”
“The hater thing is old,” said Dallas.
“I’m sticking with it,” said Val. “Because I believe in it.”
Zoe was relieved that the two of them were sparring again, rather than ganging up against her about X. Order had returned to their little solar system.
“When are you going to tell us where we’re going tonight?” said Zoe.
“Soonish, Zo,” said Dallas. “Soonish.”
He removed his Hun hat, and tossed it to the cook, who was trying to reapply his fake mustache.
“Neg khatai bugdiig, mur!” Dallas told him.
“Mundzuc, come on, I have no idea what that means,” said the cook.
“It means—” Dallas shook his head, disappointed. “It just means be careful with my hat.”
Dallas asked Val if they could make a pit stop at a gas station. He ducked inside, and came out with a half gallon of Sprite and a plastic bag full of Pop-Tarts, Funyuns, and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. He told Val to turn right onto 93.
“A clue!” said Zoe. “We’re going somewhere … north.”
They passed the rifle manufacturer, the Flathead Valley Cowboy Church, the lonely fields still waking up from winter. As always when the three of them were in a car, they couldn’t play the radio without serious warfare—Zoe loved country, Val was obsessed with pop, and Dallas only listened to hip-hop—so they rode in silence. Zoe could feel Dallas grow tense in the backseat. He was not an anxious person, generally. Whatever they were going to do was making him nervous.
“You okay?” she said. “You wanna rap for us?”
“No, but thank you for recognizing my artistry,” said Dallas. “I’m okay.”
He clearly wasn’t.
“Do you want me to rap?” said Zoe.
Dallas laughed.
“No, but I bet you’d crush it, dawg,” he said. “You’d sling the straight shit.”
“Yes,” said Zoe. “Yes, I would sling the straight shit.”
She reached back and shoved him playfully, like she’d shoved Rufus. She decided that this was going to be the new way she interacted with people she liked. Why not? It’d worked when she was 12. She felt lucky that even though she had lost so much over the winter, there were still a lot of good people she wanted to shove.
“If you don’t want to tell us where we’re going,” she said, “what if you just told us why we need Funyuns?”
It was getting dark. They passed the car dealership, where hundreds of windshields glinted in the last light.
Dallas leaned forward from the backseat.
“Okay, listen, don’t say anything until I’m finished,” he said. “We’re going to the mountain.”
“I don’t have skis,” said Val. “Plus, the ski season ended yesterday, didn’t it?”
“Wait until he’s finished, Val,” said Zoe. “Did you not hear the instructions? There was only one!”
“And the reason I don’t have skis is that I don’t ski, and will never ski,” said Val. “But I’m here for the Funyuns, so keep going.”
“You’re so much like me,” Zoe told her, “but with, like, more of me added.”
“That’s sweet,” said Val. “Dallas, I’m sorry I interrupted.”
“I’m gonna say this fast,” said Dallas. “Yes, the ski season’s over, but they’re letting people ride the chairlifts while they do maintenance, and Mingyu is working the lifts—and I’m gonna ask her out.”
“Wow,” said Val.