One Week

Day Five



I roll over and see Jess sleeping on the floor next to the bed. Well, he did get the top bunk last night.

In the end, the only way we were able to really convince Sally that I wasn't the vanished heiress Bette Gold was by continuing the idiotic love vacation story Jess told Tessa. Other than that, we pretty much stuck to the truth, although Jess said he was allergic to corn nuts, not that he hated them. Herbert didn't seem to quite buy it, but Mandy and Sally and Martha were all delighted to have us. And I did get to hold Jacob.

It wasn't until Jess and I were shown into one room for the night that I realized the problem with this plan. I guess I figured it being the Midwest and all that Mandy wouldn't want to encourage that sort of thing, but then again it is a small house and she's already putting up her mother and Herbert and Martha. So we were pretty lucky to get the tiny attic spare room, considering.

I had sort of forgotten about last night's humiliation. I mean, not really, because how do you forget that sort of thing, but I was just…distracted, I guess. Jess and I were getting along, and then there was the hypoglycemia drama, and then dinner with Mandy and everybody, and I just didn't think about it until Mandy closed the door and Jess and I were alone on the other side of it.

He offered right away to sleep on the floor. Of course. I mean, obviously he wouldn't want to sleep in the bed with me. Not that I'd ever have offered again. We took turns in the bathroom and I took my pants off under the sheets. Jess's boxers had cows on them.

As I reached over to turn off the light, Jess said, “I had a really fun day. I mean, apart from the near-coma and all. They've all been really fun, actually.”

I bit my lip. “Yeah.” They've been the most fun I've ever had.

But I switched off the light and neither of us said anything else. I thought I would be awake for a long time, but I slept forever and didn't dream.

I watch Jess sleeping now. There's a stream of light pouring in through the small window near the slanted ceiling, and it's filled with sparkling dust motes. What will happen when we finally get to New York? However it is that we get there? Will we ever see each other again? I realize that I can't imagine not seeing Jess every day. I can't even imagine not seeing him every minute of every day.

I know he doesn't feel the same way about me. I mean, he said as much. And I don't know when exactly I started feeling this way, I just know that it is the case. And I hope it goes away really soon.

Jess's eyes blink open and he looks up at me and smiles. “Good morning, sunshine.”

I rest my chin on the edge of the mattress and smile back. I can't help it. “Good morning back.”

Jess stretches and sits up so that his face is level with mine. “How'd you sleep?”

“Better than you probably,” I say, nodding at the hard attic floor.

Jess brushes something—dust, I guess—from my cheek, and shakes his head. “Oh, it wasn't so bad.”

I suddenly can't breathe—and I don't want to. Everything feels frozen in place, and I want it to stay just like this. Jess leans forward and gives me a soft, gentle kiss. Just a brush of lips, really. He moves his mouth to the place where his fingers had been a moment ago, and across my cheek down to my neck.

And then he pushes back away from the bed and stands up.

“I guess we should figure out our next move,” he says.

I sit up, drawing my knees up to my chest, keeping the blanket wrapped around me. “I guess so.”

Jess clears his throat and turns around to pull his pants on. “I don't know about you, but I'd like my stuff back,” he says over his shoulder. “We should probably call Amtrak and see if they can hold our things for us in Chicago, and then we'll catch the train to New York from there.”

“Okay, but how do we get to Chicago?” I reach for my pants and start pulling them on under the covers. I suppose if I were more like my namesake I'd just saunter out of bed in my underwear—which in that version of myself would be lacy and sexy—but there's just no way I'm doing that.

Jess pulls his T-shirt over his head. “Well, that part we might have to, uh, improvise.”

We head downstairs to find Martha wide awake and bustling around the kitchen. Mandy is sitting at the kitchen table and Peter, her husband, is holding Jacob in this weird position where the baby is looking at the floor.

“He likes it,” Peter says, shrugging. “Maybe it relieves gas or something.”

“Coffee, anyone?” Martha asks.

“Please,” Jess says gratefully. Mandy looks longingly at the coffee pot but shakes her head no. Martha lays out a huge breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and fresh fruit, and I swear to God, it's the most delicious thing I've ever eaten. After days of pizza, train food, and McDonald's, I think I've forgotten what real food tastes like.

Martha only sits down after everyone is served, and even then she keeps jumping up to make sure Sally has milk for her tea, that Mandy has enough eggs to keep her protein up, that Herbert has his medication. No wonder the woman had to have a hip replacement. As we are finishing up, Herbert folds his hands and asks us what we plan to do.

“Um, we don't exactly have a plan yet,” I say, glancing at Jess.

“We're going to try to get to Chicago and explain who we are, so we can get our wallets and everything back,” Jess explains.

“But how are you going to get all the way to Chicago?” Martha sounds horrified. She looks pleadingly at Herbert, who sighs and reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out two hundred dollars in cash and holds it out to us.

“This should help make getting there a little easier,” he says.

“Herbert, Martha, we really—” Jess starts.

“We really can't take it,” I interrupt. “You have all done so much for us letting us stay here last night. We don't want to take advantage of your generosity.”

“But how are you going to manage?” Martha asks. “I'd feel terrible if something happened to you.”

“We'll manage,” I assure her. Jess sits back in his chair and doesn't say anything. “We will,” I insist.

Herbert shrugs and puts his wallet away.

“How are you going to get there?” Mandy asks, taking a bite of her pancakes.

“Well, uh…” I glance at Jess, but he gestures for me to go on. As if I have any idea. “We'll take a bus,” I say finally. “I know it will take a while, but we'll get there eventually.”

Mandy nods and pushes her chair back. She kisses Jacob on the head, and waves a hand for me to follow her. “Okay. Come with me, Bee.” She walks out of the kitchen and I hurry after her, though I have no idea what's going on.

She leads me into her bedroom and opens her closet. “Here,” she says, and hands me a pair of sneakers. “My feet grew when I was pregnant, and these will never fit me now. You should take them.” She glances at my wrecked feet pointedly. “You look like you could use them.”

It's such a small thing, especially after everything Herbert and Martha and Mandy have done for us, but somehow this last bit of kindness makes my eyes water. “Thank you,” I manage.

“Let me get you some socks.” She begins rummaging in her sock drawer, and I look out the window while I wait for my tear ducts to calm down. “You know,” Mandy says over her shoulder. “I think your father is pretty worried.”

My head jerks up, and my heart begins to race.

“I've watched him on those shows, and I think he's just trying to do everything he can to find you. You should at least call him to let him know that you're okay.”

“I…” My voice squeaks. I start to explain things to her, and then I look away. “I'll think about it,” I say.

Mandy gives me a level look. “You do that. Here,” she says, and hands me a few pairs of nice thick white socks. “I'll get you some band-aids too.”

I never get the band-aids, because Sally calls frantically for Mandy to come and see what's wrong with Jacob (he needs a new diaper) but it doesn't matter. I clutch my socks and shoes and walk downstairs to find Jess accepting a ride to the bus station from Peter.

“Martha's given us a truckload of snacks,” Jess says, holding up a huge brown paper bag full of crackers, nuts, and granola bars. “And I called Chicago Amtrak—they have our bags, and they say they'll hold them for forty-eight hours. If we can't make it from Nebraska to Illinois in two days, we don't deserve our stuff back anyway.”

“And I can take you whenever you're ready to go,” Peter adds.

I smile gratefully and say we're ready, but in fact I don't want to leave. Ever. I'm sure Mandy wants her house back, and I'm sure everyone wants it to be just the family already, but God, I wish this was my family, and that I could stay here. As everyone fusses over Jacob and as Peter thanks Herbert and Martha again, I sit quietly on the steps and pull on Mandy's socks and sneakers. They are a little too big, but so comfortable. I tuck the extra pairs of socks into Martha's bag of snacks. I stand up and hug Martha and Herbert goodbye, and then Jess pulls me gently out the door.

I spend the ride to the bus station listening to Jess chatting with Peter and looking out the window at Hastings. When we get there, Jess and I slide out and then Jess slams the door of Peter's truck and reaches back in to shake his hand.

“We really appreciate everything you've done,” he says.

“Don't mention it. And call Martha when you get to New York, would you? She'll worry otherwise.” And Peter nods his head at us and drives off.

We stand there forlornly for a moment, and then Jess nudges me. “Mandy spotted me,” I say.

Jess shrugs. “Yeah, I figured she might have.”

“She promised she wouldn't say anything though.”

“Well,” Jess says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I guess we'll find out. Come on.” And he starts walking away from the bus station.

I hurry after him. “I thought we were going to take a bus?”

Jess shakes his head. “Bee, I only have thirty dollars. Did you think that was going to be enough to get us to Chicago?”

I bite my lip. “I guess I just hoped…”

“We really could have used Herbert's money,” Jess says, shifting the paper bag to his other arm. He's walking quickly, and I'm half-jogging to keep up.

“I just couldn't…after everything they've done,” I say pleadingly. “I couldn't take advantage of them like that. I'm really sorry, Jess—”

Jess sighs and stops walking. “I know.” He reaches an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in close. “That's one of the things I love about you,” he breathes into my ear. “You do what you think needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.” Jess lets me go, and starts walking again. “It just drives me crazy sometimes.”

I stare after him. Yeah, well, you know what drives me crazy, Jess? Trying to figure out when you're coming on to me, when you'll change your mind and push me away again. Drives me up the freaking wall.

I try to ignore Jess's could-be-interpreted-as-brotherly hug and catch up with him again. “So where are we going?” I ask.

Jess gestures at an overpass crossing the street ahead of us. “That's I-80. I had Peter drop us at the bus station because a) Martha would never let us do what we're about to do, and b) the bus station is closer to the highway than Mandy's house is.”

“Huh?” I'm so confused.

Jess gives me a look. “We're hitchhiking.”

I'm about to refuse, to say that there's no way I'm getting in some stranger's car, what with the probable axe-murdering. But then I remember it's my fault, and this is our only option. I swallow hard, and nod as confidently as I can. “Right,” I say. “Good plan.”

Jess nods, and we walk on in silence. Walking up the on-ramp feels particularly surreal, for some reason. I've seen hitchhikers all the time, though of course I've never picked anybody up, but it never occurred to me to wonder how they got onto the highway. I pull the sweatshirt Mandy gave me tight across my chest, as if that would protect me from being hit by a car.

We walk a little ways up the highway and then take a moment to evaluate the situation. I-80 isn't exactly the 405, but there is a steady stream of cars. Nobody's slowing down though.

“Well, no one's picked us up so far,” Jess says, trying to make a joke of it.

“This is insane,” I say finally. “Nobody picks up hitchhikers anymore—it's not safe. And I know this is all my fault, and I'm sorry, but I really don't think this is going to work.”

“It's all right, Bee,” Jess says soothingly. “I don't think we look particularly threatening. I'm sure someone will stop.”

“Oh yeah? What about that paper bag? You could have C-4 in there for all anybody knows.”

Jess ignores that. He leans against the wall of the overpass and crosses his arms. “Maybe we just need to work on our technique. I'm from New York,” he says. “Nobody drives there. You're from the city with the worst traffic problem in the entire country, so you tell me, how do people hitchhike?”

“I have no idea,” I scoff. “I ride in the backseat of a Rolls Royce. I don't exactly pay attention.”

Jess rolls his eyes. “Great, that's really helpful, Bee.” He pushes himself up off the wall and goes to stand closer to the edge of the shoulder. He stands there and then awkwardly sticks his thumb out. I try not to giggle.

After twenty minutes he calls over to me. “How long do I stand here like this?”

“Until a car stops,” I call back. “I'll just wait here. Carry on.”

Jess scowls at me and stomps back to the wall. “Your turn,” he growls. “My arm is tired.”

No problem. I have an idea. I strip off Mandy's sweatshirt and hand it to Jess. I reach behind my neck and loosen the straps of my halter top a little, so that it hangs lower on my chest. Jess raises his eyebrows.

“Is that really necessary? What if the next person that drives by is a soccer mom?”

I shrug. “It's worth a try.” I tuck the bottom of my shirt into the back of my jeans and pull it tight across my chest. I walk over to the white line and turn to look back at Jess. “So what do I do?” I tease. “Stick my thumb out like this?”

And I stick my thumb out just slightly, and the white pick-up truck passing us immediately stops. I gape at it, amazed that my idea worked so fast, and then I burst out laughing. “Come on!” I yell, and run up the highway to where the truck has pulled over.

“Hi,” I say breathlessly as I look into the truck's window. There are two teenage boys in the cab.

“Hi,” they say simultaneously. The driver glares at the passenger. “Do you need a ride someplace?” he finishes.

Jess sticks his head next to mine, and the driver's face falls. “We're going to Chicago,” Jess says. “So you're probably not going that far, right?”

“Actually,” the passenger says, glancing at the driver and shrugging. “We're going to Des Moines, so that's some of the trip for you. You could hop in the back, I guess.”

“Great, thanks,” I say eagerly. “We really appreciate it.” I go around to the back of the truck and scramble up over the tailgate. I turn around to give Jess a hand up to see him standing way back on the side of the road.

“Jess!” I wave a hand at him. “Come on, let's go!” I'm worried these guys will change their mind.

Jess walks over to me. “Do you know how unsafe that is?” he hisses. “There aren't any seatbelts, and we'd be going eighty miles an hour! What if there was an accident? We'd be thrown out onto the road! There's no way we're doing this!”

I look down at him for a moment. Okay, he's probably got a point. But there has been no evidence of anybody stopping, and frankly, it's cold out here. I reach out my hand again. “Jess?” I say. “Get your ass in the truck.”

He opens his mouth to protest again, and then shuts it. He hands me the bag of snacks and hauls himself into the truck bed. We settle ourselves against the wall, and I try not to think about how low the tailgate is.

“All set?” the driver calls.

Jess raps on the wall of the cab. “All set,” he says.

The engine starts up, and we pull onto the highway. I lean back against the cab and try to make myself comfortable on the corrugated truck bed. I would never admit this to Jess, but it is kind of scary. And really windy. Without saying anything, Jess hands me my sweatshirt back. I pull it over my head.

“I can't believe you got someone to stop after not even a minute,” he grumbles.

“It was two bored teenagers,” I say, pushing my arms through the sleeves. “It was luck.”

Jess looks at me and shakes his head ruefully. “No, it's that even though you've been wearing the same clothes for four days—”

“Five,” I correct him.

“Five days, and you don't have any makeup on and your hair is blowing all over the place and in my eyes—”

“Sorry,” I say, and tuck it into the neck of the sweatshirt.

“And you still look amazing,” Jess finishes.

I smile at him. We're sitting very close together in order to be able to hear each other, and to keep warm. “Thanks,” I say.

Jess clears his throat, and leans back a little bit, but he doesn't scoot away. “So what's the deal with your hair?” I ask, just to change the subject. “I mean, you don't exactly seem the type to dye your hair,” I say, gesturing at his incredibly straight-edge jeans, button-down shirt, and hoodie.

Jess chuckles. “Yeah, not really,” he says. “I lost a bet.”

I wait for him to go on, but he doesn't say anything else. “Come on,” I plead. “We've got nothing to do but sit here for hours. Open up a little bit.”

He shrugs. “This girl at a party boasted she could twist a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. I didn't believe her. I was wrong.”

Oh. “I can't believe she had you dye your hair black for that,” I say disparagingly, as if anyone could tie a cherry stem with her tongue. Although maybe I can. I can't say I've ever tried.

“Actually,” Jess says, grimacing. “It was supposed to be pink, but my hair was too dark and it didn't show. So she dyed it black.”

“You agreed to a bet where you'd have to dye your hair pink?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, sounding embarrassed. “It was a party,” Jess explains. “I was drunk. And, well…” he flushes. “I kind of wanted to sleep with her.”

Oh again. “So is she your girlfriend now?” I inquire casually.

“No.” Jess clears his throat. “It was just, uh, a one time thing.”

“So this is how guys try to get girls to sleep with them these days,” I muse. “By dyeing their hair pink. Or trying to. How very seductive.”

Jess snorts. “Yeah, well, it's better than Thom Derrek's technique.” There's an awkward pause, and I can tell Jess is regretting having made a joke about that. I don't care, but it seems like he's afraid I might. He gives me a sideways look. “I've been meaning to, uh, ask you about that whole thing. About how you're doing. Are you, you know, okay? Do you want to talk about it?” Jess looks hesitant about bringing it up, but it's clear from his worried expression that he's been thinking about it.

To be honest, I haven't been thinking about it. I haven't thought about Thom Derrek since…I don't know. It feels like weeks, but I haven't even been gone that long. And I know it was awful, I know I was really f*cking scared, but somehow it feels so long ago, like some other life entirely. And even as I hunch my shoulders against the wind and watch the farms and cornfields whipping by, I know that I like this life much better.

“I'm fine. Really,” I assure him. “I was upset, obviously.” I bite my lip, remembering how I'd screamed at Thom Derrek and shoved him off of me. “It's why I ran out of the house and left without a change of clothes or money or anything—but it's not why I kept running. I mean, I would never have to see Thom Derrek again regardless, I know that—my father isn't that bad. It was just kind of the last straw. It was definitely the worst thing that my father has done, but it's not like it was the only thing. Does that make sense?”

Jess shrugs. “I guess. What else did he do?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Just…little stuff. Like I would go shopping with my friends, and he would call US Weekly so they could go take pictures—even though no one would care about me if he would just stop trying so hard to make them. I'm nobody, and I hate those people that are famous just for being famous. It was humiliating. I mean, I went to go buy my first bra, and the whole world knew about it. It got so bad that I stopped wanting to go out anymore, and I kind of lost all my friends. I get it, I was boring, plus my wanting to hide from the cameras all the time meant they wouldn't be photographed either, which they weren't too happy about.” I push my hands up into the sleeves of my sweatshirt and pull my knees up under the hem. It might be April, but it's really cold.

Jess wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in closer. “Come here,” he says. “I'm sure they'd pull over so you could ride inside if you want.”

I shake my head and smile at him. “No, I'm okay.”

“Didn't you ever try talking to your dad?” Jess asks. “Explain to him how you felt about that stuff? It's just—he's all you've got, Bee.”

“Of course I tried,” I sigh. “But he just couldn't understand it. It was completely outside the realm of possibility that I didn't want to take advantage of his position as a semi-famous person to become a really famous person and go to famous people parties and come out with my own line of clothing—to him, these were things that any normal girl would want. So I must just have been being a teenager and I'd get over it and he knew what was best for me.”

Jess shakes his head and hugs me closer to his chest. I think he kisses the top of my head, but I'm not quite sure.

“The sad thing is that we used to be really close,” I continue. “I'd go hang out on set all the time and we'd take trips together and we'd watch a lot of old movies and we just…. we talked a lot.”

“What happened?”

I shrug uncomfortably. “We got into a fight when I was twelve, and we've never really gotten past it. I've never gotten past it.” I sigh. “You remember how I told you my dad sent me all those cards and things and pretended they were from my mom?”

Jess nods.

“Well, when I found out, I was so angry. I didn't speak to him for a week. I couldn't believe he'd been lying to me like that. I still can't.”

Jess is quiet for a moment. “You know, when you told me that, I thought it was kind of sweet, actually.”

I turn and lean away from him so I can see his face. “Seriously? Lying to your daughter is sweet?”

“I'm just saying I get it, is all. You were his little girl—he wants to protect you from all the bad stuff in the world. Including having a mother who left you. I mean, don't you think maybe the person you should be maddest at here is her?”

I wave that away. “Yeah, of course I was—I am—pissed at her too, but I barely even remember her. She's not the point. He shouldn't have lied to me. And he shouldn't keep on doing what he thinks is best for me without listening to what I have to say, without trying to see who I am and what my life really is, not what he wants it to be. He keeps doing the exact same thing—the photographers are like those cards. They're not real, and they're not for me, they're for him.”

I wait for Jess to say something else defending my father, but he doesn't. He just nods and pulls me back so that I'm leaning against his shoulder again. We sit quietly for a while, and it feels like maybe he wants to say something else, and I tense myself for an argument. But all he says is, “I spy a cow.”

I giggle. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs. “Like you said. Not much to do.”

And so we play I Spy and it's way more fun than I remember it being even when I was three, until we pull off the highway into a rest stop. It's weird—but definitely nice—to be with someone who can talk about things that are important. It's not something I'm used to. But I have to say, it's even nicer to be with someone who knows when to stop talking about them, too.

Jess hops out of the truck. He goes around to offer up some of his thirty dollars for gas money, which thank God the driver waves off, and then calls to me that he's going to run to the bathroom. I fish around in Martha's bag of snacks and come up with a granola bar. I make a note to remind Jess to eat something when he gets back. He's been snacking periodically, but I'm not taking any chances.

The passenger comes around the side of the truck, and I offer him some nuts.

“Nah, I'm good,” he says. “So how are y'all planning to get to Chicago? It's a long way. I'm Joey, by the way, and that's Sean.” Sean gives a manly wave from over by the gas pump.

“Bee,” I say, and lean over to shake his hand. “I'm not sure. More of this, I guess. We really appreciate the ride.”

“Oh sure,” Joey shrugs. “No problem.”

I check my phone. It's two o'clock already. We've been driving for two and a half hours. “How much longer until we get to Des Moines?”

“Another couple of hours.” Joey stands there expectantly, and I realize he's waiting for me to be chatty. It occurs to me that this is why people pick up hitchhikers—to have someone to talk to.

“What are you guys going to be doing there?” I ask.

“The cast of Glee is touring and we're going to go see them.” Joey explains.

I laugh before I can stop myself. “Seriously? You're going all the way to Des Moines for Glee?”

“Not exactly,” Sean says as he finishes up at the pump. “Joey's girlfriend is driving all the way to Des Moines for Glee, and Joey is driving there for her. Why I am driving all that way is a mystery to me.”

“Because you're a good friend,” Joey says. “And because I don't have a car.”

“So how is your girlfriend getting there?” I ask, still laughing.

“She's getting a ride with her friend. Who might want to hook up with Sean.”

“Emphasis on the ‘might,’” Sean scowls.

“Well, she probably will. I mean, look how much you're willing to go out of your way for her,” I offer. “And sit through the concert? That's really going the extra mile. She's got to appreciate that.”

“That's what I keep telling him,” Joey says.

Sean leans on the side of the truck. “Sure you don't want to come with us? Joey here says they'll be singing selections from Journey, Madonna, and the works of Barbra Streisand.”

“Tempting, but I think not,” I say. I squint over at the gas station. “I'm sorry Jess is taking so long.”

Sean shrugs. “I don't care if we're late.”

I chat with the three of them for another ten minutes or so, wondering where on earth Jess is. I'm about to go in after him—maybe he's having another episode or something—when he comes jogging over to the truck.

“Sorry,” he says breathlessly, and heaves himself over the side. “There was, uh, there was a line.”

“No problem.” Sean looks like he'd happily stand and talk for a while longer, but Joey drags him around to the driver's seat, assuring him again that it would all be worth it. Jess and I huddle together for warmth as the truck pulls onto the highway, and eventually I rest my head on his lap and go to sleep. Your body stays warmer that way.

I wake up to Jess gently shaking my shoulder. “We're here,” he says.

Sean has pulled off I-80 and over to the shoulder just off the exit. I rub my eyes and look around. Des Moines looks just like any other city from out here. Jess helps me out of the truck and we go around to thank Sean and Joey.

“Are you guys going to be okay from here?” Joey asks, sounding concerned.

“Yeah, we'll be fine,” Jess assures him. “Thanks so much for the lift—we really appreciate it.”

“And enjoy the concert,” I add.

“Yeah, right,” Sean says, rolling his eyes. He puts the truck in gear and drives off, tooting the horn once as he goes.

“Well,” Jess says.

“Yeah,” I reply. We both stand in silence watching the truck drive through the intersection up ahead and out of sight.

“Well,” Jess says again. “They got us halfway. That's pretty good.”

I try to perk up. “Right. And we still have all of our thirty dollars in case the next person wants gas money.”

“Or in case we want to eat something besides granola and nuts.”

I give Jess a look. “Do you need something besides granola and nuts? Is that going to be enough to keep your blood sugar where it's supposed to be? Maybe we should go get a decent meal someplace.”

“I'll be okay.” Jess grins and gives me a hug. “Martha's eggs and bacon set me up just fine. Thanks for looking out for me though.” He takes my hand and we start walking back along the exit ramp and onto the highway to find our next ride.

I have no idea what's gotten into Jess. He kissed me this morning, which, obviously, was a big step for him, but then he backed off. And since then he's been…unusually affectionate. We haven't fought once. No kissing or anything, nothing that could be interpreted as Officially Interested, but it doesn't exactly feel like he thinks he's my big brother or something either.

It's all incredibly frustrating.

Jess squeezes my hand and pulls me off to the side as a car drives past us, putting himself between me and possible harm. I have to say, it may be frustrating, but I'm not exactly complaining.

On the other hand, if we thought we waited for a long time for a ride in Hastings, it feels like nothing now. We've walked at least two miles and no one is slowing down. I can't even tell if they see us. The shoulder is smaller here too. I tap Jess on the shoulder and give him another granola bar to eat. I haven't exactly been keeping track of how long it's been since he ate anything, but it seems like it's been a while and I'd rather not risk it, especially out here.

Jess gives the package a grimace, but he opens it and takes a bite. “After this is over, I'm never eating granola again.”

“After this is over, I'm never setting foot anywhere without my bag. Which, in the future, will be much more portable.”

Jess snorts. “Yeah, right. From now on you'll carry a backpack and wear sensible shoes and always bring a jacket. The new responsible Bee.”

“I am responsible,” I say, slightly wounded. “This isn't all my fault. And my shoes are sensible,” I say, kicking up a sneakered foot.

“Oh, I don't think this is your fault,” Jess says quickly. “And although I wouldn't mind a ride,” he says, glaring at the passing cars, “I'm actually having a pretty good day. It's kind of restful, this hitchhiking business. And,” he adds, giving me a quick look, “I like you irresponsible. You wouldn't be you if you wore sneakers all the time and planned ahead.”

Hmm. “Okay,” I say. “And I guess you wouldn't be you if you didn't go along with every dumb idea anybody has, even though you know better. Like taking pot for your friends or following me around.”

“I thought you were following me?” Jess says, grinning.

“I guess it's hard to tell who's following who at this point,” I chuckle.

“Whom,” Jess corrects, as if he can't quite help himself.

“Dork.” I grab a bite of Jess's granola bar even though I can barely stand to eat them myself at this point, and take a swig of water. I frown at the bottle. We're getting a little low. I wish I'd thought to refill it before we got back on the road.

We continue walking in silence, neither of us even bothering to stick a thumb out or anything at this point. Nobody seems to care anyway. And so I'm shocked when a beat-up old mustang pulls over.

The driver is a man in his late sixties, and he cranes his head out the window. “Where you folks headed?” he asks.

Jess and I look at each other. Potential axe-murderer he may be, but there are two of us and we're tired of walking. “We're going to Chicago,” Jess calls as we jog up to the car.

The driver scratches his head. “Well now, I'm headed that way. Going to Tiffin, you know it?”

Jess and I shake our heads.

“Small town outside of Iowa City. I got a pal who's a mechanic out there, and he offered to fix up the body work on this here beauty if I could get her out there. So, I'd be going your way, but I'll be getting off of 80 and onto the blue highways. That all right with you?”

Jess and I look at each other and shrug. Neither of us has any idea what he's talking about, but he said he's going our way. That's good enough.

“That's perfect,” I say. “Thanks a lot for stopping.”

“Not a problem. Did a lot of hitchhiking in my day, and I always feel like it's the right thing to do, karmically speaking. I'm Bob Mackey, by the way.”

Jess introduces me as Bee Silver, which strikes me as funny and I have to stifle a giggle. Jess also graciously gives me the window seat and we squeeze together to give Mr. Mackey room to shift gears and, you know, steer. It's a tight fit.

But the car does fly. I've never been in a car like this, and while it's a little eerie hearing the wind whistling up from the floor, and while it is hard to hear over the not-very-muffling muffler, it feels like riding in an actual car, not just a comfortable room that happens to move. It smells a little bit like pot though.

Mr. Mackey tells us about hitching through the Badlands in the middle of August, and how even under those conditions he never had to wait more than twenty minutes for a ride. “Folks were more trusting then,” he says.

“Also they probably figured you'd share whatever it was you were smoking,” Jess whispers. I'm sitting half on his lap, and his breath tickles my ear. I look out the window at the blue highway, which seems to just mean a road with less traffic and nicer scenery. And no tolls. You have to wonder why everyone doesn't go this way.

Mr. Mackey never stops talking. It's hard to hear him over the roar of the engine, but the gist seems to be the good old days of driving around the country in VW buses—it's unclear whether he ever actually did that or whether he just knew it would have been a good time—and how he wishes he'd never sold out and bought a house and got a job. Jess and I make appropriate noises in the few pauses for breath. He's very nice, really; it's just that I've gotten used to not having to talk all the time. Although I guess I'm not actually talking all that much now, either.

“I bet you kids are wondering how it is a guy like me ended up driving one of these babies,” Mr. Mackey says, patting the steering wheel.

I nudge Jess. It's his turn to chat. “Uh, yes,” Jess says. “I did wonder that.”

“I got into drag racing about fifteen years back,” Mr. Mackey explains. “Just small-time stuff. Now there's a thrill—biggest natural high you'll ever have. The moment you take off, pow! The speed hits you like a sledgehammer. You want to take a turn at the wheel, kid? See how it feels?”

Jess shakes his head. “I don't have a driver's license,” he says.

“What?” Mr. Mackey is scandalized. “What about you, Bee?”

“I don't have one either,” I say, somewhat regretfully. It does sound like fun.

“Where y'all from, you don't drive? I've never heard of such a thing.”

“Well, I'm from New York City, and Bee…” Jess trails off. People drive in Los Angeles; they have no choice. Most people, anyway. “Bee is too,” he finishes.

“Well, you ever get out of the city to a place where you can move around, take a spin in a Mustang,” Mr. Mackey says. “It'll be the ride of your life.”

Mr. Mackey is silent for a moment, then without warning he pulls over. Jess and I look at each other in consternation. The last town we drove through was over fifteen minutes ago, and there's nothing around except corn and more corn. Why are we stopping?

Mr. Mackey checks the rearview mirror. I turn around and look—there's nobody coming. Mr. Mackey's got a manic look in his eyes, and suddenly Jess clutches my arm. I turn to look at him, and he's turned pale. I remember how freaked out Jess was about riding in the back of Joey and Sean's truck, and I try to head this off. “Uh, Mr. Mackey, I don't think—” I start.

He ignores me. He guns the engine, but keeps the brakes on. “I'm going to show you kids what driving's really all about,” he says.

“Mr. Mackey, honestly, you don't need to—”

Mr. Mackey releases the brake and the car lurches forward. I am shoved backward into Jess, who wraps his arms around me as tightly as he can. The two of us are sharing a seatbelt, which probably makes it completely ineffective. The wheels are still screeching and I can smell burning rubber. The rows of corn are flying past in a blur, and it's only been a few seconds. I'm breathless and terrified, but I have to admit that I can kind of see what Mr. Mackey is talking about.

I don't think Jess feels the same way, though. “The car is on fire!” he shouts. “It's burning!”

I squeeze his hand to reassure him, and start to tell him that the smell is just from the tires, when suddenly I see what he's talking about. There's smoke coming from underneath the hood of the car. Mr. Mackey doesn't seem to notice—he just keeps driving. I hear a terrible sound coming from the engine, and then without warning the car dies. Mr. Mackey swears as we skid sideways across the road and I scream and cover my eyes as we go off the road and into the cornfield.

We jerk to a stop and I peer through my fingers. I'm okay. I turn around and check Jess, who is rubbing his neck but seems otherwise fine.

Mr. Mackey lets out a breath. “Well!” he says. “That was sure exciting!”

I feel Jess prepare to explode at him, and squeeze his hand as hard as I can. Jess is shaking, he's so angry. I think Mr. Mackey is just stupid and harmless, but we are now stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, and I don't really want to get into a fight with a guy who has so little impulse control that he just drove his car off the road. “Don't bother,” I hiss at Jess. “Let's just get out of this in one piece.” After a moment he nods tightly and lets me do the talking.

“I think that was a little more excitement than we needed,” I say, as calmly as I can. “What's wrong with the car?”

Mr. Mackey gives a disgusted grunt and climbs out of the car. He fights his way through the corn to open the hood. He stands back, waving a hand at the smoke. “Yep, that's what I thought,” he calls. “Engine blew. It's been threatening to do that for a while now.” He leaves the hood open. I don't see any flames, but it occurs to me that perhaps it might be a good idea to get away from the car. Far away. I unbuckle us and practically shove Jess out the door.

We stumble through the corn and out onto the empty road. As we look around, I think about how long it's been since we passed another car. I pull out my cell phone—it's a quarter to six already.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Jess asks, touching my arm.

“I'm fine,” I say. “Or I will be once we get moving. It's going to be dark soon.” I turn to call out to Mr. Mackey to offer him the use of my cell, when to my surprise I hear him talking on his own. I wouldn't have thought he'd be the type to even carry a phone. Of course, he could be talking to himself.

Jess and I squat down on the shoulder to wait. I look at him sideways, checking to see if he's okay. “Want to thumb wrestle?” I joke.

Jess rolls his eyes at me, and then Mr. Mackey calls, “Good news!” He emerges from the corn with a big grin on his face. “We're only about twenty or so miles from Tiffin. My buddy doesn't get off work for another couple of hours, but when he's done he says he'll come out here and tow us back to the garage, and you kids can get on from there.”

Jess and I stand up, and look at each other. “No thanks,” we say simultaneously. There's just no way we're staying with Mr. Mackey for another two hours. Surely another car will pass by and we can keep moving for a little while longer.

“We'll just start walking and keep an eye out for another ride,” Jess continues. “It was, uh, nice meeting you, and…” he trails off.

“And thanks for the ride,” I finish. I'm amazed Jess managed to choke out that much.

“Not a problem,” Mr. Mackey says. “I always like to pick up folks when I can.”

“And I'm sure they are just beside themselves with joy,” Jess mutters. I tug at his arm to get us moving and we wave goodbye to Mr. Mackey.

“Thanks again,” I say, and we walk quickly away. “Are you okay?” I ask Jess.

He rolls his eyes. “I'm fine. I mean, I'm not hurt or anything. I just…I really don't like cars,” he explains.

“Yeah, I kind of picked up on that,” I say, laughing softly.

“Do you know what the statistics are on car accident deaths?” Jess asks defensively. “Somebody dies every thirteen minutes. That could have been our thirteen minutes, thanks to that fake hippie a*shole. I know you were right, it was better just to walk away, but think about the next poor bastards that accept a ride from that guy!” Jess shoves his hands in his pockets and starts walking really fast, and I run to catch up.

“Hey!” I call. “It's okay! We're okay, it's over.”

“This is so stupid!” Jess responds furiously. “You could have been really badly hurt, Bee, and I would have been responsible! I should never have let you do this!”

I stop walking. The highway stretches out in front of us, and Jess keeps walking, his head down and his shoulders hunched up tight. “What's stupid?” I call after him. “Fighting in the middle of the street over nothing, or you suddenly deciding that you're somehow the boss of me?”

Jess turns around and opens his mouth to yell at me again, but then he turns at looks out into the cornfield for a moment, breathing deeply. When he's a little calmer, he walks back over to me. “Sorry,” he says tightly. “You're right, I said that wrong. I meant, it's stupid to be hitchhiking and we should have just taken the money from Martha and Herbert and I knew that we should have, but you're just so…” Jess starts getting agitated again. “You have absolutely no sense of self-preservation, and it drives me f*cking crazy, because somebody has to protect you if you're not going to protect yourself, and I swear to God, Bee, if anything happened to you I don't know what I—”

I grab Jess by the shoulders and kiss him. And for once, he doesn't push me away. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his chest, and I wind my arms around his neck, and I feel like I can't breathe but I don't care.

We stand there in the middle of the road paying no attention whatsoever to whether or not a car is coming and are probably in more danger than we ever were with Mr. Mackey, but when Jess lifts his head and I try to catch my breath, I don't want us to ever move.

And then it starts to rain. At first it's just a few drops, and I laugh softly and wipe one off of Jess's eyebrow. He kisses one off of my temple. But then the rain gets heavier…and then it gets biblical. I gape up at the sky, and within moments, we're completely soaked.

Jess reaches down and takes my hand. “Come on!” he yells over the roar of the rain.

We start running up the road—running where, I don't know, since there's nothing out here—but we can't just stay out in this. And then I see where Jess is headed. About five hundred yards away, there's some kind of RV trailer over at the edge of a dirt road that heads up in to the cornfield. We run over to the trailer, shielding our eyes, and Jess yanks on the door. It's locked.

“You're the expert on breaking-and-entering,” Jess yells. “How do we get in?”

I stick out my tongue at him and look to see if there are any windows open. I run around to the other side of the trailer and find a small window over the back that looks like maybe the lock isn't in place. “Come lift me up!” I call.

Jess hoists me up, holding my hips as I try to shove the window open. It's pretty small—I'm not even sure I'll fit. I punch the window with my elbow. It swings open, and I gesture for Jess to lift me higher. He shifts his hands to my thighs and I pull myself through the window, and promptly fall in headfirst. Thankfully, I land on a bed—the back of the trailer is apparently the bedroom—and jump up to go let Jess in. He slams the door behind him, and we stand there in the middle of the trailer, dripping.

I start to giggle from the absurdity of it all, and Jess leans in and gives me a quick kiss. “I'll go find some towels,” he says, and heads off into the bedroom to see if there are any in there.

I take a moment to look around. Although it obviously hasn't been used in a while, the trailer is clean and neat. There's a kitchen, a little table to eat at, a living room complete with couch, chair, and TV, a bathroom, and the bedroom I dove into. Altogether, it's probably only about the size of two roomettes, but it feels like an entire house, just in miniature. I love it.

I go to the little window next to the door and look out at the rain. It's beating so hard on the roof I can barely hear Jess moving around as he looks in the cupboards tucked into the walls. Every moment of the past five days has been strange, but this feels outside reality. I'm in the middle of Iowa somewhere, and I've broken into some stranger's trailer, and I don't want to be anywhere else in the world.

I jump as Jess wraps a towel around my shoulders. I pull it tight around me, and grab his hands and wrap them around my waist. He kisses the back of my neck. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

I smile and shake my head. “Are you?”

I feel him shrug. “Not really. But we left Martha's snacks in Mr. Mackey's car.”

“No!” I turn around to face Jess. “Are you okay? When did you last eat?”

“I'm fine,” Jess chuckles, and rubs my shoulders. “We'll need to figure something out by breakfast, probably, but I should be okay until then. Maybe there's something in the kitchen.”

“So,” I say slowly. “We're staying here tonight?”

“Well, I don't really want to go back out into that,” Jess says, nodding at the rain. “Do you?” He moves away from me and into the kitchen. He opens a few cupboards but doesn't find anything. I'm not surprised—the trailer definitely hasn't been used in a while, but Jess looks frustrated. “Well, shit,” he says. “I'm sorry. If you're really hungry I could try and get something in Tiffin, I guess, but it might be a while…”

I walk over to Jess and grab his hands to still them. “I'm not hungry,” I say.

Jess takes a breath, and then smiles at me. He runs his hands up my arms and my towel drops to the floor.

It's hard getting wet clothes off under the best of circumstances, but I discover that trying to undress somebody else wearing wet clothes is next to impossible. Jess starts laughing when it becomes clear that my jeans are so tight they cannot be removed without lying down, but then he is very quickly not laughing anymore. And oh God, neither am I.