“We won’t. There is a failsafe and I only changed your password for the week so you don’t forget it and break everything while I’m gone.”
There’s a pause.
“Okay, fine then.” she says softly. “Please have a good time, let your hair down your little petite shoulders and live your best life, ok? Text me when you make it.”
“I will. Love you, Boss Lady.”
“Love you more, Nerd Girl.”
I hang up, grin to myself, and finally cross into the land of politeness.
Canada, I’m ready for you. Bring on the maple syrup and the book boyfriends.
“MAMA SAY, MAMA SAH, MAMA KOOSA!” Or Whatever the Hell That Michael Jackson Song Says
Max
Two more hours. That’s all I have left to drive.
It’s February, and Canada is still deep in winter’s grip. The roads are clean and freshly salted, but everything around me is blanketed in white. Pines stand tall and heavy with snow, their branches dusted like someone sifted powdered sugar over the whole country. The mountains in the distance look like they were carved from ice, peaks capped in white so crisp it almost glows. Canada’s wilderness stretches ahead of me like a full-blown nature documentary—regal, untouched, and quietly flexing.
It really is beautiful here. Peaceful.
Then, Timantha starts to weasel into my mind because I start to think it’s almost too peaceful.
Like…get-out-before-the-serial-killer-finds-youpeaceful.
It’s getting dark, and I haven’t seen another car in ages. Or a gas station. Or a town. Did I miss an exit? A turn? A portal to Narnia?
I glance down at my phone to see the battery light on.
“Fuck my life!”
My phone’s battery will be dead soon and my charger is at the bottom of my suitcase.
Then, I look up just in time to almost die.
There’s something in the road. A massive, fur-covered, antler-wielding monster of a creature. I scream, swerve, and the car spins out like I’m auditioning forFast & Furious: Ontario Drift. It comes to a violent, jerky stop in a ditch with a noise that likely isn’t covered by insurance.
And then I see it. Towering above my car. The elk.
This thing isn’t justbig. It’s mythic. Biblical. It looks like a reindeer did CrossFit and took performance enhancing drugs for good measure. It stands over the hood of the car like it owns me now.
I scream and scramble for my phone and dial the first number that springs to mind. “Timantha! Help me!”
“Max?” Her voice is sharp. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did someone try to sex traffic you?!”
“Worse! I almost hit a big-ass moose elk thingy, spun into a ditch, and now the prehistoric beast is standing over my car like I’m dinner!”
“Huh? Are you hurt? Do you have a concussion?”
“Seeing as I’m talking to you and not drooling on myself, I’d say I probably don’t have a concussion.”
“Well, you called me instead of 911 or roadside assistance, so don’t get smart likethatwasn’t a dumbass decision.”
I groan. “This issodumb. It’s getting dark, I can’t see the road, I don’t know where I am—how am I supposed to give anyone directions?!”
“Funny thing, Max,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Technology has advanced. The authorities can nowmagically locate you via signals and wires inside your phone. Look it up, Dr. Computer Science.”
