The four of us have been friends since sixth grade, when a scheduling fluke put us—and only us—into the same study period. We started out in the four corners of the room but eventually met in the middle, killing time by trading jokes and gossip. We’ve been friends ever since.
“Let’s talk about the route,” Martin says, trying to bring us all back to the task at hand, which is planning our epic post-graduation cross-country road trip.
He pushes our plates aside and spreads out a laminated map of the United States.
“You really are from the Stone Age,” I say, teasing him for having an actual paper map.
He ignores my teasing. “I think we should stick to a northerly route,” he says.
I nod. The boy withers in temperatures above eighty degrees.Sophie says something about wanting to see some kind of biosphere in Arizona. Cassidy wants to see the kitschy stuff, giant balls of twine and all that. Martin only cares about the houses of famous dead authors like Emily Dickinson and Edgar Allan Poe. I have a list of places I want to visit too: Bryce Canyon National Park, which looks like another planet in photos, and a couple of the dark-sky parks in Utah and Ohio. Ihave this vision of open skies and stars and freedom.
I stare out the window as they plan. Ordinarily, I’d be paying attention. I’ve wanted to take this trip since freshman year. It’s hard to believe it’s only a few months away now.
But I’m not paying attention. All I can think about is the visions and how my trip to La Brea Dance a week ago was a total dead end.
“You’re not listening even a little bit, are you?” Martin says, nudging me with his shoulder.
I look up and give him a small smile. “Sorry,” I say.
“What’s wrong?” asks Sophie.
Before I can answer, Cassidy interrupts. “Since when does your sister wear tennis skirts?” she asks, staring toward the door.
“Since never,” I say, turning to look. Sure enough, Danica’s here, outfitted in full tennis gear. White bandana, white T-shirt, white pleated skirt, white tennis shoes. She would look ridiculous if she didn’t look so fabulous. Her new boyfriend, whose name I can’t remember for the life of me—it’s something active, to do with sports or hunting—is dressed exactly the same way, except for shorts instead of a skirt.
Martin sinks low into the booth. He stabs my leftover waffle with his fork and moves it to his own plate.
“Who is that guy, anyway?” he asks.
“Archer,” says Sophie. Sophie always knows everyone’s name.
I’m suddenly frustrated with Martin. When’s he going to give up on Danica? It’s not like love is worth all the pain.
“Can we just go back to planning?” I ask, louder than I mean to.
Sophie and Cassidy exchange a look.
Martin slumps down farther into the booth.
“What’s going on with you, Eves?” Sophie asks.
“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Just tell us what’s wrong,” says Cassidy.
I don’t know where to start. I definitely don’t want to have to explain the visions to Sophie and Cassidy. First I’d have to prove to them that they’re real, and then I’d have to explain why I haven’t told them since the beginning.
“Really, I’m okay,” I say, and give them a big smile. “Sorry I’m being such a downer.”
I look down at the map and give it (and our plans) my full attention.
After about an hour of planning, Sophie and Cassidy take off. Cassidy has to go to a “sucky fundraiser in Beverly Hills” with her parents, and Sophie is judging a second-grade science fair at the California Science Center.
“Sorry I snapped at you,” I say to Martin once they’re gone. I tell him that going to La Brea Dance didn’t help. “I don’t know what else to do. How do I get the visions to stop?”
He pours both strawberry and blueberry syrup onto his waffle before answering. “Remember that movie I told you about,Big? He doesn’t get to change back into a little kid until he’s learned his lesson,” he says. “All those movies are like that. You’re supposed to learn something.”
“Okay, but those movies arefiction.This is myreallife.”
