She whines another affirmative.
"Then what's the worst that can happen? She finds out you found and met your real parents, disowns you, and never speaks to you again?"
"Why would you say that?"
I steal a quick glance at her. Her head has lifted in alarm, but I don't pause.
"Because that's the worst thing that could happen, and you're currently not speaking with her. You're about to meet your birth mother and father, who already adore you and they don't even know you yet." Another glance reveals she's chewing on her bottom lip, processing my words. "My point is, your worst-case scenario probably isn't going to happen, and if it does, you'll deal because your Zella Fucking Raps. You've got Cam, Wells, Fred, Anna, and me. Who else do you really need?"
She doesn't say anything. She stares at me but isn't really looking at me. I let my words float around the car. Some classic rock song plays low on the radio.
A few minutes tick by before she speaks. "You know what? I think you're right. I made the decision to find my parents, so I could meet them, and that's what I'm doing. I'm not going to feel bad about this for one more minute." She picks up my phone in the middle console and scrolls through my playlist. She settles on some upbeat Weezer remake.
She turns to me and places her hand on my lower arm. "Thank you, Ryker."
I smile at her. "Anytime."
Hours tick by. I was worried the drive would feel long, but we alternate between listening to music—she sings, I don't—and talking. The drive doesn't feel as monotonous. The conversation between us is easy, and when we don't talk, it's comfortable silence, until she breaks out in song. The girl loves music. She knew a lot of the rock and alternative songs on my favorite playlists, but her heart lies in pop music. It didn't take me long to cave and let her take over as music master. I'll never admit this to anyone else, but I can't help getting caught up in the catchy tunes that she has a love for.
"So, what's one thing you wanted as a kid but never got?" she asks, her bare feet propped up on the dash, her flip flops somewhere on the floor below. We've been getting pretty personal with the questions as of late, but I don't mind at all. I'm quickly realizing Zella can get away with just about anything, and I wouldn't bat an eye.
But I eye her and the question. She does know I grew up with my uncle, who didn't care much for my presence. She nods and lifts her hands in surrender.
"I know, I know, but I mean, every kid wanted something they couldn't have. I really wanted a membership to the local community center, you wanted?"
"I wanted a dog." It's the one thing I have ever asked my uncle for. He didn't have time for a kid, let alone a dog. So, I never got one.
Her eyes go soft and dreamy. "Oh, a dog. That's fantastic."
I chuckle and add, "Yeah, the last foster home I was in had a dog—it was the best thing—but it came down to being out of the system or having a dog. I guess getting out of the system is the better choice."
Zella thinks hard, with her lip pulled between her teeth.
She cocks her head, still looking out at the road. "I'm glad you were able to get out of the system, but I wish you would have gotten that dog you wanted." She looks over at me now. "But you seem to have turned out all right on your own, so it's probably for the best."
I chuckle when I see the silly face she makes at me.
"Alright, my turn."
"Hit me," she says, readjusting in her seat.
"We need to talk about the hair."
She groans.
"What?! You have to admit, it's topic worthy." I reach out and snag a piece that has fallen from the braid. She glares at me and shakes her head lightly enough that the hair falls from my grasp.
"Okay, fine. But the hair question is my answer to the question you just answered. Everyone wants to know about the hair."
"There's a lot of it." I laugh.
"Yeah. I know." She looks out her side window as she explains. “My mother loved my hair long. I hated it at first, but by the time I was ten, I was braiding it and having fun with it, and it made Mother happy, which was important to me." She draws her knees back to her chest.
"You're an adult now, and you're not really doing things to make your mother happy anymore, so why not cut it?" I question.
"Eventually, I will. Since I've been at CamU, I'm kind of over being the girl with the hair."
"Zella with the good hair, though," I add for good measure.
My chest warms as she giggles.
"I'm going to cut it. Really. I want to cut it so badly. It's on my bucket list."
"What else is on this bucket list?"
"Well, in addition to cutting my hair, I'd love to dye it some super fun color. As you know, I'd like to fly on a plane, but also get a tattoo, sing karaoke, and tons of other random stuff." Her face flushes a bit, and she bites that plump lip again.
Interesting. "I could help you mark off some of those items," I hedge.
She blushes more. I'm willing to bet she's got some items on that list I'd enjoy way too much. I really want to know what they are, that's for sure.
She clears her throat. "Have you thought about putting on your white hat and using you hacking for good?" She whips out the question so fast, it nearly gives me whiplash.
"Huh." I swallow hard.
"I mean, I know you had to do a bunch of not so legal stuff to find my birth parents, but you were doing good. What if you did more good? What if you helped people more? Did less of the changing grades, signing people up for inappropriate websites and dating apps?"
Shit, she doesn't even know the half of it.
"Someone's been brushing up on hacker lingo." I smirk.
She makes a face just shy of sticking out her tongue. "Well?"
"I'm just not sure it's my thing. I kind of like playing by my own rules, Blondie. How much fun would it really be doing good all the time?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know, Ryker. I think you'd make one helluva white hat."
She leans forward in her seat and turns up the music a little, giving us a reprieve from the questions. Truth is, I'm not ready to think about how good it felt to do some good. Maybe it's more rewarding helping people who deserve it rather than people who want to hurt others. I don't know, but it's something to think about.
Zella is lost in the music, and I'm lost in my thoughts about how I'm going to use my hacking skills once I graduate. I glance at the dash to check my gas levels when I notice my temperature gauge is getting pretty hot. I shut down the AC and crack the windows.
Well, damn. That's not good. I'm not sure we are anywhere close to a town, so I hope it doesn't get any hotter. We have about two hours left on the trip before we can stop for the night. I just hope we can make it. We haven't gotten dinner yet, but Zella bought up all the snacks when we stopped for gas just before lunch. We've made good time, only needing to stop for gas once and a few quick restroom breaks.
Another twenty minutes pass, and the needle on the gauge is only climbing. I know I can't drive any further, as the needle is now in the red zone.