Mo was anxious to hear his real answer and sat up in her seat like a puppy waiting for a treat.
“The only relationship Amy Evans is in is with herself,” Cash said. “Meanwhile, every girlfriend I’ve ever had has been harassed and chased away by the Wizzers who refuse to accept the show isn’t a documentary. Right before she dumped me, my last girlfriend got a box of hair in the mail. It came with a note that said, We know Amy and Cash are in love. Get out of their way or this will be all that’s left of you! Sincerely, the Bumtrees. The police traced it back to a group of fourteen-year-olds in Moose Jaw, Canada.”
Mo cleared her throat. “For the record, that’s exactly why the shippers changed their name to the Peachfuzzlers,” she informed the car. “The Bumtrees were giving the fandom a bad name… or so I heard.”
Cash gave her a suspicious look over his sunglasses.
“Right…,” he said. “Let me guess, you’re one of them?”
Mo shook her head but her blushing cheeks told a different story.
“Oh come on, Mo,” Joey said. “Your cat’s name is Peaches and Dr. Bumfuzzle and Dr. Peachtree’s relationship is all you ever write about?”
“You write about it?” Cash asked. “As in fanfiction?”
“Fine, I’m a Peachfuzzler—there, I said it,” Mo confessed. “But in my defense, the events of today are much stranger than any fanfiction I’ve ever written or read.”
“Nothing is stranger than fanfiction,” Cash said, like a sailor recalling his encounter with a horrible sea creature. “Well, that’s enough of that. Hope I didn’t ruin Wiz Kids for you, but that’s what growing up is all about—learning nothing is sacred in this world.”
Topher, Sam, Joey, and Mo each looked a little more devastated than the next. Perhaps driving across the country with their favorite actor wouldn’t be as thrilling as they thought? They were only twenty minutes into their trip and Topher already regretted inviting him.
“I can’t tell you how therapeutic it is to speak so openly for a change,” Cash said with a big grin. “Being deceitful is so draining, and I’m only dishonest when I have to be. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be one of those people whose whole life is a lie and who have to keep the truth from their friends and family.”
Although they didn’t notice each other, Sam and Joey both went quiet and looked out their windows. They knew exactly what it was like and didn’t want anyone to catch the truth in their eyes.
“Lord, I’m as exhausted as a religious picketer in Vegas.” Cash yawned. “I’m going to take a nap back here. Would you guys wake me when we stop for lunch? I’d set my alarm, but I lost my phone last week.”
“Sure,” Topher said.
Cash got comfortable but then quickly sat back up, as if remembering an important piece of information to share.
“By the way, I made up half the shit I just told you, but I think you get the point I was trying to make. See you at lunch!”
Chapter Eight
MADNESS AT MCCARTHY’S
As the 1994 Chevrolet station wagon cruised down the interstate, the picturesque suburbs of Chicago faded from view and were replaced with the vast cornfields of southern Illinois. The fields were beautiful as they swayed in the light summer breeze, but the conscious passengers were afraid mentioning it would wake the actor in the back and subject them to another upsetting lecture about truth-shaming.
Although Cash was the only one asleep, the whole car suffered through his sleep apnea. He snored like a polar bear and twitched like a cocaine addict with PTSD. It was the most restless rest any of them had ever witnessed. Joey kept a hand wrapped around the Ichthys key chain on his backpack in case an exorcism was needed.
After the first one hundred and thirty miles of their two-thousand-mile journey, the travelers were ready for lunch. And judging by the strange gurgling noises coming from Cash’s stomach, he was ready to eat, too. Topher evaluated each roadside establishment they drove past and figured a diner called McCarthy’s was their best choice, so he pulled into their parking lot.
“Hey, Cash,” Topher called from the driver’s seat. “Does this diner look okay for lunch? Cash?”
The actor slowly regained consciousness. “Where are we?” He yawned.
“Somewhere near Lincoln,” Topher said. “There probably won’t be anything else until we get closer to Springfield. This is the first place I’ve seen with a health grade on display.”
“Fine by me,” Cash said, and read the ads painted on the diner’s windows. “Oh look, they’ve got a three-pound burger for three ninety-five. Doesn’t get more American than that.”
They got out of the station wagon, letting Cash out through the rear, and went inside. The tables were set around a giant jukebox and the staff were dressed as celebrities from the 1950s.
“Oh cool, it’s got a fifties theme,” Topher said. “I’ve always thought that’d be a fun era to live in.”