All Over the Map

7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The first half hour we drive, none of us talk. There’s not much to see. Boring flatlands, greening slightly. Same mountains we always see in the distance. They’re pretty, but nothing new. Even Mia is quiet at first, but it doesn’t last. Mia doesn’t like quiet.

“Road games,” she announces.

“What?” I say.

She turns down the music. “I’ve never been on a road trip longer than five hours.” The Sandovals fly when they want to go long distances. “I want to do all the road trip things I’ve seen in movies. Like license plate bingo. Whoever sees the most out-of-state license plates by the end of the trip wins.”

“I’m in. What else?” I say.

“Find the alphabet on signs. First to Z wins.”

“Wins what?” I ask.

“The pig,” Gabe says. “Whoever finishes the alphabet first gets to take charge of the pig. When I win, he’s going in the trunk.”

“I don’t like that you call it the pig,” Mia says. “It has feelings.”

Gabe picks up the jar by the lid, not touching any of the glass. “This has no feelings. I promise.”

“It used to,” Mia says. “It deserves a name. I pick . . . Babe.”

Gabe snorts. “Like the movie? Lame.”

“What do you think, Kendall?”

I resettle my seatbelt to buy time. I don’t like Babe, but I don’t want to agree with Gabe. “It’s cute.”

“She hates it,” he says.

“I do not.”

“You do. Because it’s corny.”

“Too bad,” Mia says. “I saved it, so I get to name it.”

Gabe turns the volume even lower. “Technically, we’re all saving it now. So let’s play for naming rights. First to find all the letters of the alphabet wins. A, B, C.” He points to a billboard that reads “Abel’s Car Fix.” Mia fires back with “Mandy’s Barbecue Pit,” taking A through E.

I catch up fast, and before long, Gabe and I are tied at Y while Mia’s still looking for a V. I’m determined to beat him, but the landscape is quiet now, only occasional spray-painted plywood signs advertising beef jerky or firewood for sale nailed to fence posts along the highway. I move to the center seat for better visibility through the windshield.

Gabe has been leaning back this whole time, but now he wraps both hands around the steering wheel and strains forward, scanning for letters. A few more miles fly by and I spot billboards creeping up on the horizon. I’m digging my glasses out of my backpack when Gabe barks, “Z. License plate.”

Mia groans. I give the back of his seat a hard bump and move back to my spot by the window.

“So what are you naming it?” she asks.

Gabe flicks me a glance in the rearview. I blink and look away.

“Jack Daniels.”

A memory of whiskey vomit and humiliation stings my throat, and my gaze jumps back to the mirror. The slight crease at the corners of his eyes tells me he’s wearing a smile even though I can’t see the rest of his face. This is a new low for him, and I’m tempted to kick his seat harder. Instead, I go back to staring out of the window like I don’t care.

“That’s a stupid name,” Mia says.

Gabe shrugs.

“Tell him it’s a stupid name, Kendall.”

Even as I watch the passing scenery, I feel his eyes on me in the mirror. He’s a troll for bringing up that night. We have never talked about it. Never even acknowledged it happened. Why is he doing this now? “It’s a garbage name, but he won.”

“And to think I promised Kendall you wouldn’t ruin this trip.” Mia reaches through the seats and cranks the stereo again.

I don’t tell her that from the minute he showed up, I’ve been pretty sure there is no way to save it.

Mia blares a Cardi B song. Gabe hits mute. “Nope.”

She makes a sad trombone sound.

“You’re free Uber,” I tell him. “Your music tastes are irrelevant.”

He taps on his screen a few times and Daft Punk blares. “What are you going to do about it?”

I raise an eyebrow at him, then turn to Mia. “Tay-tay?”

“With choreography.”

We start singing our favorite Taylor Swift song from our fifth-grade talent show lip sync. We had a whole routine to go with it, and we dance in our seats. Gabe turns up the volume. His car has an excellent sound system, but it’s not louder than us. We wail about trouble walking in when we hit the chorus.

Gabe stabs the music off. “You win.”

Mia and I exchange grins and keep going until I finish the final note with piercing trills and runs nowhere near the right key.

“Clowns,” he says. “You done?”

“We’ve got Harry Styles and some Doja Cat too if you like those better.” Mia’s tone is bright with fake helpfulness. “Fifth grade was a premium year for music.”

“I’m good. Really. We’ll take turns picking music,” Gabe says.

“No. Our road trip. Our music.” Mia dangles her phone over his shoulder. “But reconnect me, and I’ll let you pick the first song.” He pushes away her hand but taps at the screen. “Yay, best brother! I’ll even let you veto one song an hour. Bet it won’t be this one.” Chappell Roan fills up the car. Gabe shakes his head, but I can see him smiling again in his sideview mirror.

His eyes catch mine and I look away, embarrassed to be caught staring. It reminds me of his words that night. Quit staring at me. It’s creepy, and I hate it. Of his fingers tugging at my arm as he pulled it from around his neck.

He won’t catch me staring at him anymore. I watch the scenery again. It’s the same low scrub as it has been for the last fifty miles. I’m so glad I’m getting out of Colorado.

And I hope Seth is as excited as I am that I’m barreling toward Tempe.