“It was my mother’s,” Baz says.
“Oh,” Simon says. “Sorry. Wait—do you carry your mother’s scarf around with you?”
“I wrap my sunglasses in it when I’m travelling.”
“Are those your mother’s sunglasses, too?”
Baz is rolling his eyes, but then he sees me, and his face goes gentle. It’s intolerable. “Good morning, Bunce.”
“Hey, Penny,” Simon says, just as kindly, “how are you?”
“Fine,” I say. “Right as rain.”
Baz looks doubtful, but busies himself rubbing sunblock onto his nose.
“You slept through breakfast,” Simon says, “but it was awful.”
“Snow was very excited about continental breakfast,” Baz says.
“It’s not what you think.” Simon frowns. “It’s not French stuff. It’s just really sad pastries and bad tea. Oh and you missed Baz eating a squirrel.”
“I didn’t eat the squirrel.”
“Oh, sorry, youdrankit, and threw its little squirrel body in the ditch. Do you think there areanymagickal creatures or magicians here, Penny? Everything seems so mundane.”
Baz turns to me. “Snow needs you to cast your angel spell on him. I hid his wings for breakfast, but they’re still there.”
“Um,” I say. “What are we going to do now?”
“What do you mean?” Simon asks. “Our plane tickets are from San Diego, right? We press on.”
“Yeah, but—” I don’t feel like pressing on. I feel like pressing off. “Agatha isn’t expecting us. She might not be happy to see us. I was wrong about surprising Micah.…”
“It won’t be that bad,” Simon says. “It’s not like Agatha’s planning to dump us.”
Baz elbows him. Like I can’t be reminded that I’ve just been dumped. Like I might have forgotten.
“I mean,” Simon says, chagrined, “we may as well see the country. The mountains. The ocean. Maybe the Grand Canyon. Or that rock with all the guys’ faces on it.”
I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I got us into this. I’m still not. “What doyouthink, Baz?”
Baz is rubbing sunblock on his hands. He looks like my grandmother in that scarf. He glances over at Simon. “Yeah,” he says, “we may as well finish our road trip.”
20
SIMON
Iowa is beautiful. It’s all gentle green hills and fields of maize. It reminds me of England. But with fewer people in it.
BAZ
Iowa looks exactly like Illinois. I’m not sure why they bothered to separate them. Just an endless stretch of motorway and pig farms. (There’s the distinction: Iowa smells more like pig shit than Illinois.)
The sun is relentless.
The radio is blaring.
I haven’t had any tea at all today. None.
