“It’s not sports. No way,” Brecken says, without looking to Josh for verification. “My vote is something involving stairs?”
“Both wrong, but both noted,” Josh says with a grin. “Mira?” he asks, prompting me for my answer.
“I’m going with a rogue bear attack,” I say.
“Rogue bear.” His smile widens. “That’s my favorite yet.”
Okay, maybe not totally pretentious. And definitely coffee shop cute. Like half the guys at Perkilicious in San Diego, he’s tall, blond, and in dire need of a meeting with the business end of a pair of scissors. I can’t see the rest of his clothes, but his gloves are sporting holes in a couple of fingers. When Harper starts maneuvering out of the parking spot, he pulls out Kafka’s Metamorphosis and a red pen. All we’re missing is a mug of some bougie dark roast and a sulky guitarist in the corner.
“This could take forever,” Harper says softly as she eases into the lane leading out of the garage.
Brecken twists in his seat, looking left and right and then squaring his shoulders like it’s time to make decisions. He reaches for the radio first, scanning through the stations. “We should listen to the news. Try to find out if there’s some sort of traffic report. There might be road closures.”
“It’s not bad at all so far. And we have the emergency kit,” Harper says. “Snow chains and flares—everything we need to get home for Christmas.”
I touch my phone, grateful that we’re moving. This is it. Six awkward hours in the car with strangers, and I’ll be home with my mom. It’s going to be fine. We’ll talk. I’ll gripe about her not telling me. She’ll explain. We’ll get over it.
“So, what’s your major?” Josh asks me. He’s smiling like he already knows. I think that’s the Kafka talking. Coffee shop boys are pretty sure they know everything.
“Undeclared,” I say quickly, and I manage not to flinch at the lie. “You?”
He shrugs. “I’m on a business track, but lately I’ve been interested in other things.”
“Heads up,” Brecken says. “Looks like the storm is coming.”
I look ahead to an electronic display sign over the highway. It’s blinking out a message in orange digital letters.
BLIZZARD WARNING FROM 1:00 P.M. SATURDAY UNTIL 8:00 A.M. SUNDAY.
I look around at the mostly dry roads and flurries. Are they getting heavier?
I check the clock on the dashboard. 11:28 a.m.
It doesn’t look like a blizzard yet, but that might be because the blizzard hasn’t hit.
Chapter Three
We slip for the first time on a patch of highway that doesn’t look bad at all. It’s nothing big—a quick sideways shuffle of wheels that’s more surprising than scary. Before my heart can even speed up, some high-tech traction system gets us back under control. The road looks mostly dry.
Black ice?
Maybe just a slick spot.
I check my seat belt, making sure it’s snug across my hips. Planes are safe, but cars are a different matter. I’ve spent a lot of time in these mountains.. And I can’t remember the last Pennsylvania winter storm that didn’t involve a news story of an awful crash.
Not that the roads are bad like that. Just some icy patches. And we don’t seem to be going very fast, but the snow is falling harder now, and ice is collecting on the windshield. All the electronically sprayed blue cleaner in the world doesn’t seem to be wiping the glass clean.
“Dammit,” Harper says, her voice high and tight. “I can barely see for all that ice.”
“I can drive if you want,” Brecken says. “I learned to drive in upstate New York, so this is nothing.”
“I’ve got it,” Harper says. “I just wish I had clean glass.”
I stare out the window, pondering a lazy stream of internal questions. Is this really a blizzard? How fast are we going? Is Mom doing okay? Is someone in this car watching me?
I straighten, because it’s a strange question to pop into my mind. Stranger still is the chill that rolls up my spine, the prickle of the hairs on my arms standing on end. I look around, because it’s exactly the kind of feeling I’d get if someone was watching me.
But they aren’t. No one is paying me the least bit of attention.
Harper sighs in the front seat and hits the washer fluid button. The wipers—clogged with ice—drag cloudy turquoise streaks of fluid and road salt across the windshield.
“I can’t see very well,” Harper admits, slowing.
“Just follow the car in front of you,” Brecken says. “I really can drive if you want.”
“I’m fine,” Harper says, but she grips the wheel hard. “I spent six months with my mom’s family in China. I drove on the Sichuan-Tibet highway. Multiple times. I can handle this.”
Brecken laughs. “The Situ-what?”
“Sichuan-Tibet. In China. You know, that country in Asia.” I think she’s teasing but there’s an edge to her tone.
“I know where China is,” Brecken says quietly.
“I’m sorry,” Harper says, slowing even more. “This is just…really annoying.”
I pull out my phone, because this is obviously not going to be a quick trip. So, it might be a good time to let my parents know I wasn’t kidnapped and stolen away to some remote corner of the globe.
Of course, telling either of them I volunteered to drive with a bunch of strangers probably won’t fly. But neither will ignoring the six text messages that have been vibrating my pocket for the last hour.
Dad: Weather looks nasty. Text me when you’re there.
Mom: Missed your call, but I know the flights are grounded.
Mom: Call me when you know what’s going on.
Dad: Your mom called about the flights. Did they get you a hotel?
Mom: I’m done with lunch, but I’ll step out to call you during break. Or you call me!
Mom: Mira? Why are you not calling?
She won’t be on lunch now. I could try to text, but she’ll call anyway. Unless I tell her I’ll call and I give her a time. What time, though?
I chew the corner of my lip and create a message for both of them. I need something that’s close enough to the truth to keep me from bursting into guilt-induced flames. But far enough from it that my mom won’t alert the National Guard.
My fingers move over the touch screen with purpose.
Me: All flights canceled, but I found a ride home. Seatmate from San Diego and her family live near Pittsburgh and rented a supersafe SUV. Mom, I’ll call when we stop in a few minutes.