20.
“The Courage to Be New”
—1947
The girl I want to be tries to look casual standing in front of Carl’s Jr. at six a.m., wearing a huge backpack and irrationally scanning the parking lot for any sign of my mom brandishing the speech I’d pieced together from a Google search of “inspirational speeches” and left on the kitchen table for her approval. It was a Hail Mary. I’d spent the entire weekend shut away in my room, trying to come up with words I believe in, that the scholarship committee would believe in too, but I kept coming up blank. Instead of writing my speech, I went back to other words—Julianna’s, and Robert Frost’s, and even my dad’s. So when Sunday evening rolled around, I did what I had to do in the hopes that somewhere on the road ahead of me, I’d find what I really wanted to say.
I check my phone again, hoping for a We’re on our way text from Kat, but no such luck.
The girl I actually am is a nervous wreck who is totally unsure about the trip, hesitant to really hope we’ll find Julianna, all mixed up about what may or may not be going on with Trevor, and petrified of how much trouble I’m guaranteed to be in when I get home. I try not to think about all that, though. I lean my back against the building and look out over the ring of mountains that surrounds our little town, hoping to channel some of the calm of the morning. The air is a touch cooler than is comfortable in the cutoffs and tank top I threw on in a hurry, so I pull a sweatshirt out of my bag and slip it over my head.
Though it’s still shadowed where I’m standing, the peaks of the mountains are washed golden by the rising sun, and cloudless blue sky stretches out in every direction. Spring is undeniably here, and with it that feeling of newness and possibility and freedom. A fresh start, which is exactly what I want. I want this day to be my fresh start. I want this to be the day I step out of my comfort zone and go somewhere new. I’ve got the small amount of cash I’ve saved up, my MapQuest printouts, the journal, and my dad’s signed copy of Robert Frost’s collected poems tucked into my bag. Somehow the combination of those things feels right. I have no idea what I will do or even say if we actually find Julianna, but I’m ready. Ready for whatever happens.
As if cued by my last thought, Trevor’s Suburban turns into the parking lot and crosses the empty spots to where I’m standing. Kat waves excitedly from the front seat, and Trevor gives a nod and a half smile before he puts the car in park. For a second it crosses my mind that it’s strange they showed up together, but that thought is overshadowed by a second one: Holy crap, we’re really doing this.
They both get out, and Kat crashes into me in a sort of tackle hug. “Holy shit, Parker, we’re really doing this! God, I’m so frickin’ proud of you! You have the journal? And the map, and everything?” I nod as best I can, my answer muffled by her cleavage and enthusiasm. She releases me. “Good. I’m gonna go grab us some food. I’m starving. You want coffee?”
“Um, sure. You want me to come with you?”
“No. You stay. I’ll be right back,” she says with a wink and a glance at the Suburban. She pushes through the red double doors, releasing a waft of grease and coffee from inside, and then she’s gone. When I turn back to the car, Trevor gets out casually, his hair still morning messy, which is adorable, and his eyes as blue and bright as ever.
“Morning, Frost,” he says with a grin that seems either a little shy or a little tired, I can’t tell which. He holds an arm out. “Let me get that bag for you.”
I slide it off my shoulders and hand it to him. “Thanks.”
“Wow,” he says, hefting it up and down a couple of times. “Kat didn’t tell me we were running away forever. You bring all your earthly possessions along?”
That familiar warmth creeps up my neck and threatens to spread out over my cheeks. “No. I just . . . I didn’t know what I would need, so I brought it all. You never know what the weather will be like on the coast. Sometimes—” Oh my God, just be quiet now. Stop being lame. Be someone new today. Brave. Bold. “Yeah, I guess I probably brought too much.”
“That’s okay.” Trevor hefts my bag into the back of his Suburban. “Just giving you a hard time.”
He shuts the trunk and we both slide our hands into our pockets at the same time. He takes his out. I laugh. What happened to who we both were yesterday, in my car?
“So,” Trevor says, after an awkward moment. “Is she always this . . . peppy in the morning?” We both look through the window to where Kat is inside gesturing wildy and the guy behind the counter is laughing.
I turn back to him. “Not usually. I think it’s because she’s finally getting me to do something crazy, that she would do. That I normally wouldn’t.”
“Ah,” he nods. “Corrupting the indomitable Parker Frost. It is an accomplishment, actually.”
“Indomitable? That’s a big word for you, Trevor Collins.” He laughs, and it’s enough to encourage me. “It might be an accomplishment,” I say. “But she’s been failing at that for years. There’s a chance I’m just a lost cause.”
Trevor raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know about that, Frost. Maybe you just haven’t been tempted with the right transgression yet.”
Brave. Bold. WWKD.
“Or maybe I have,” I say with a smile I’m pretty sure looks like one Kat would give. “Maybe I just haven’t made up my mind whether to risk it.”
He smiles slow and leans in close. Close enough to touch. “That’s too bad. Because all the fun is in the risking.”
“Then maybe you should try it some time,” I answer back.
Kat comes out then, loaded up with more grease-dotted bags than it would take to feed all of us three times. She sees me looking. “What? Road trip food doesn’t count.”
“True,” Trevor says. “Let’s get on the road. So we can eat some of that food that doesn’t count.”
With that we pile into Trevor’s car—which he informs us is actually called the Silver Bullet. Kat hops in the back, and I, by Kat’s design, I think, sit shotgun. Seat belts click, the familiar chorus of “Should I Stay or Should I Go” rushes out of the speakers, and greasy fast food breakfast is distributed all around.
Kat raises her Diet Coke in between me and Trevor. “To fate, friendship, and adventure. Here we go!” We tap our drinks together. Trevor puts his arm on the back of my seat to twist himself around when he backs up, and when he does, our eyes catch.
“Wait,” I say.
“No backing out now,” he says. “You’re committed.”
“No, it’s not that. I’m not backing out. There’s just one place we have to stop before we really get on our way.”
“Let me guess,” Kat says. “Summit Lake?”
I turn around. “How did you know?”
“You might be the one with the scholarship to Stanford,” she says through a mouthful of breakfast burrito, “but I’m always one step ahead of you.”