16 Things I Thought were True Part 16

She pulls out with a screech as he's still putting a seat belt across him.

I turn around. "Are you being chased by the cops or something?"

"No." He doesn't smile or expand but he presses his mouth tight, so I turn around.

"Should we be concerned about our safety?" Amy calls.

"No. It's fine," Adam answers.

Amy raises her eyebrows and shrugs, not seemingly having any problem with whatever is going on with Adam. "So how old is Jake?" she asks me.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "Forty," I tell her, sneaking a peek back at Adam. He's frowning.

"And he still lives at home with his mom." I turn back to her profile as she squishes up her nose and her forehead wrinkles up.

"He's not forty," she says, not playing along. "And he is pulchritudinous."

"Pulcra- whatinous?" I ask.

"Delightful to the senses. Beautiful," she clarifies.

"You're talking about Jake?" I pretend to stick my finger down my throat and gag.

Oh G.o.d, I think, if Jake falls for Amy, they'll probably marry right after she finishes high school. She'll get pregnant and stall my imagined climb for him up the corporate ladder. I imagine her babbling at family dinners. "And what are you, a walking dictionary?"

There's a grunt from the backseat. "You mean you didn't know what pulchritudinous means?" Adam asks.

I glance over my shoulder. He looks less stressed out. "You did?"

"No." He laughs. "Sorry 'bout earlier. My dad and I had an argu- ment and I wanted to get away before he ran outside to have the last word," he says.

"Her mom ran outside in her bathrobe," Amy says.

"Amy's sitting on a cus.h.i.+on so she can reach the pedals," I say.

"Okay," Adam says. "Weird parents behind us, cus.h.i.+ons under- neath us. Road trip- ahead!"

All I can think about is the weird parent ahead of me, the one who left me behind.

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chapter nine.

A my reaches over and pats my leg briefly again before returning it to the wheel. "I'm sure your dad isn't that weird."

I pull my phone from my hoodie pocket and check my followers. Ten more since this morning. People have been RT'ing my call for followers.

#Road trip! I tweet.

There are immediate tweet backs from my friends.

@Morgantor Send us your road trip playlist #roadtrip #envy I want to go on a road trip with my twitter best buds. #roadtrip #buck-etlist, I tweet back.

"Are you going to be on that thing the whole time?" Adam asks.

"Maybe." I punch out another message. Essential item for road- trip? Earbuds.

"No way," Amy calls. "Front seat rule number one: you must keep the driver entertained. You're responsible for changing CDs and navigating. My dad programmed the Lynden border crossing and ferry into the GPS already so that part won't be hard." She comes to a stop at a red light.

"The Lynden crossing?" Adam calls from the backseat.

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J A N E T G U R T L E R.

"My dad said it takes a little longer to get there, but the wait times are shorter."

@5alive Your dad is rad, I type.

Th e light changes and Amy drives forward, turns her signal on, and takes the ramp to the freeway. My heart skips as we leave Tadita behind. My text alarm rings and I glance at the text.

Morgan? Text me, k? I need to tell you something.

It's from my mom.

Instead of answering, I send a text to Jake.

Is mom okay? Health- wise?

A moment later, he texts back.

She's fine. Worried about you meeting your dad, but fine. Don't stress.

Let me know if she's not feeling well. I really don't want to talk to her, but I am worried, I text him.

Yeah. I get it. I'll let you know if anything changes. She's good.

This is about you, Jake answers.

Since she's hasn't had a relapse or anything dire, I put the phone down. If I talk to her, she'll make this all about her, but the truth is, this isn't about her. I don't want to hear what she has to say anymore, not until this meeting with my dad is done.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e "I went to Amy's house and met her parents," I turn and tell Adam. "Her dad told me they used to drive back and forth to Canada all the time."

Amy's house was big but old fas.h.i.+oned. Everything looked expen- sive but kind of neglected, as if they'd bought it because they could but didn't really want to. Her dad didn't look like a software genius, with his big, protruding belly and wispy red hair, but he was sweet and nice, like a big teddy bear. It was obvious how close the two of them were. He listened to Amy like she was the most interesting person in the world and looked at her like she was the most beauti- ful. It made my heart hurt a little.

Her mom was sweet too but quieter. She was writing a book, she told me, and born without housework genes. I met Mary, their live- in maid, who they treated like an old friend of the family.

Amy said Mary did most of the work and cooking, and her mom laughed and agreed. We ate dinner and then her dad took us for ice cream before he drove me home. Later, when I was alone in my room, I cried a little over how lucky Amy was.

"Amy's dad was a little worried when I told him I'd booked us at a private dorm room in the Stingray Hostel," I tell Adam.

"He's not a sn.o.b. He just wants me to be safe," Amy says, lifting her chin. "Adam. There are some bags on the floor with snacks in them. I got popcorn twists for Morgan because they're her favor- ite." I glance at her profile. I told her that a few days ago when she quizzed me about things I liked to eat. I didn't know she was going to buy them for me.

"That is really sweet," I tell her.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "I also bought different flavors of chips, since Adam said he likes them all. And pretzels and candy bars and Skittles. And Cheezies.

The Cheezies are for me."

"Whoa. Selfish much?" Adam says, and we laugh. Amy makes a face.

"If anyone gets car sick, it will be rainbow colored," I point out.

Amy sits up taller. "There's a cooler bag on the floor too, filled with sodas. I'd like a Mountain Dew. There's water, c.o.ke, and Gatorade."

"No root beer?" Adam says, but this time she glances at him in the rearview mirror and sticks out her tongue.

"You are officially the Queen of the Snacks," he tells her.

"Quit sucking up and pa.s.s me a Mountain Dew," she says.

Adam pa.s.ses a bottle forward and I take it, twist off the cap, and place it in the cup holder for her. "Here you go, bossy pants."

My phone dings, signaling I've received a text, and I pick up my phone and read.

I like your hair like that. The text is from Adam. I glance back, but he doesn't look up from his phone.

I'm tempted to text back, Let's send a photo to your girlfriend and see what she thinks. But that's a little presumptuous. A boy can say he likes my hair without cheating on his girlfriend. Who do I think I am? s.e.xy pants. Ugh. As if she'd be threatened by me. As if she should be.

You should comb yours. I text back and then smile to myself.

I hear him laugh.

"Put your phone away," Amy says to me.

"You said what?" I lay my phone on my lap but don't put it away.

"My mom doesn't even make me put my phone away."

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e "Yeah, well, obviously she's not one of those parents who moni- tors her kid online."

I can't decide whether to defend me or my mom.

"Listen up, Chaps," Amy says. "Car rule number two: no phone face the whole drive time."

"Phone face?" I ask.

"Phone face: when one has their phone constantly in their face,"

Adam says. "Obviously. Do you want a c.o.ke?"

"Is there diet?" I ask.

"No, don't you know all those chemicals are bad for you?" Amy says. "No aspartame." She turns her head slightly but keeps her eyes on the road. "Can you hand me the Cheezies?" she says to Adam.

"Because Cheezies are made with all natural ingredients?" I say.

Then I turn to Adam. "Regular is fine."

He hands me the drink with an industrial-size bag of Cheezies.