“I suppose,” Penelope says. The first time I saw her, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Now it’s mostly falling out of a ponytail, hanging in wild and frizzy brown curls around her face. She doesn’t seem to care. She hasn’t complained about her clothes either, though she’s been wearing the same plaid skirt and knee socks since we met. I like her shoes—shiny black Doc Martens Mary Janes with silver buckles.
My pickup isn’t really meant for three passengers; Baz and I are elbow to elbow.
“You really don’t bite people?” I ask.
“Not yet,” he says.
“I didn’t think you could help it.”
He glances over at me without turning his head, then rolls his eyes.
“Then why don’t more vampires do that?” I ask him. “Not bite people?”
“I’m not sure.…” he says. “But I suspect it’s because people taste really good.”
Penelope huffs and leans around him to look at me. “Do you even know where we’re going?”
“Well, I figured we’d head to Vegas—”
“And then what?‘Excuse me, sir or madam, could you direct us to the vampires? Not the old, bad vampires. The new, worse ones.’”
“We can cast a spell to find them, if we’re close enough.” Baz has turned to her, closing me off.
“I’ve got a friend in the area,” I throw in. I need them to keep on needing me. “She’s got connections. She’ll help us if she can.”
39
SIMON
You’ve never seen sky so blue.
I’m lying on my back in the bed of the truck, using Shepard’s sleeping bag for a pillow. Baz fixed my wing up with magic. He bought me a pair of knock-off Ray-Bans and a case of bottled water at the last service station. And every once in a while, I see him cranking his head around to check on me.
I’m fine.
I’m so fine.
I can almost believe, under this sky—you’ve never seen sky so wide—that he and I will be fine, too. Him and me. We’re getting by, aren’t we? Mostly? Even with people tying us up and shooting at us.
We’re getting by. He keeps touching me, and I keep letting him. And I haven’t felt, I don’t know, that static that I usually feel, like what’s happening between us is a building I have to run out of before it collapses on me.
Baz is touching me, and it’s good.
(TouchingBazis always good; it’d be easier if I could justtouchhimall the time. And kiss him. And not have tobekissed.) (I can’t explain how it’s different. Why kissing is easy, andbeingkissed is like being suffocated.) (Except ithasn’tbeen like that this week. It’s been fine. This sky is so big. There’s so much air.)
Shepard stays off the big motorways. We have the road to ourselves most of the time. I sit up and lean on the side of the truck, watching the land change from green to grey to red.
America changes every time you look away from it.
It spills out in every direction.
I can’t even believe that Utah is in the same country as Iowa. I can’t believe they’re on the same planet. That’s how I feel, like the first man on Mars. I’m half glad Baz isn’t out here with me, to see my mouth hanging open.
Plus it’s too hot out here for him, too bright. And the constant wind and rattle is merciless. I feel half-baked and scrubbed raw.
I feel fine.
BAZ
