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  Then I came to my senses and realized we needed him to help push since he was the strongest. I didn’t even have the strength to yell at him anymore; my throat was too dry. Instead, I whispered, “I’ve always wondered what hell would be like and now I know, thanks to the two of you.”

  “Somebody said you go to heaven for the climate and hell for the company,” chirped Gabe.

  “Whoever said that was wrong,” I mumbled.

  “Listen, KT, I said I was sorry. I made a mistake.” Jesse grunted as he pushed. “It was a big one, but beating me up every minute isn’t going to change anything.”

  He was right. The dopey jock had finally said something intelligent. I had no retort, so I just shut up.

  Finally, after half an hour that felt like half a day, past a sign that pointed to Vega and Adrian, we saw something up ahead slowly becoming visible through the glare. We all croaked a hoarse cheer. It was a gas station, right there, in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. A beautiful, run-down gas station that wasn’t too run-down to have gas. As an added attraction, it had a convenience store that was sure to have something cold to drink.

  The sight of salvation made us push harder. Then the road started to slope downward slightly, and the pushing became easier. The good news turned to bad when the Jeep began picking up speed, and then we realized it was taking us along with it instead of the other way around. Soon we were hanging on to the Jeep as it rolled. We peeled off one by one as it picked up speed and watched helplessly as it headed for the gas pumps.

  “The whole place is gonna blow!” Jesse shouted as he dropped to the ground. We followed suit, closed our eyes, slapped our hands over our ears, and waited for the explosion. But all we heard was the “I’m here” bell as the Jeep glided into the station and came to rest as close to the pump as if someone had parked it there. Gabe had turned very white as the car coasted toward oblivion, but his color came back when he saw it was safe. The three of us got up and raced down to the station, high-fiving all the way.

  As we checked out our car, the door to the convenience store opened, and a string bean of a dude moseyed out. He was weathered and grizzled and had a face that looked like a truck had backed into it—kind of like Keith Richards, the old-guy guitar player in The Stones who played the great riff on “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction,” a song I personally embrace as an anthem. Anyway, he looked like Keith if Keith had stringy gray hair and a straggly beard and was munching a gas station sandwich.

  “Howdy,” he said, smiling. He held out his hand for a shake, and we each shook it because it seemed like he really wanted that to happen. He kept on grinning. His tooth situation was hit or miss, and what few he still owned had tobacco stains all over them.

  “Y’all look parched,” he observed, tossing a can of cold Dr. Pepper at us. I caught it on the fly, guzzled some, and passed it on.

  “Thanks,” Jesse gulped. “You the owner?”

  “Think I’d be hangin’ out in this godforsaken place if I weren’t?” the guy asked with a grin. “Whut’s ailin’ yer jalopy, there?”

  “We’re just out of gas,” Gabe told him.

  He looked us over. “Y’all look plum wore out. Go ahead on inside and cool off whilst I fill ’er up fer ya. I got some tasty sandwiches in thar, and Coke in the cooler right next to some ice cold cerveza. Hep yurselves on me.”

  “Cerveza is beer,” Gabe translated. “He’s giving us beer, you guys.”

  “That’s a little too nice of you,” I said. “What’s the real deal?”

  “Hell, this is Texas, kids. Ain’t you ever heard of Texas hospitality?” he chuckled. “Looks like you got yourselves in one fine pickle, and you need some help.”

  “You’re on the money,” I admitted.

  “Besides, I have every intention of overchargin’ you fer the gas.”

  That made us all laugh. We were so hot, exhausted, and thirsty, our brains were fried. Jesse kept mumbling, “I want a beer” like he was some kind of underage alky, so we trudged into the convenience store with our last bit of energy. It was nice and cool and kind of dark, and there was even music with a pounding bass drum playing from a boom box on the counter. We each grabbed a drink and a sandwich. Mine was plain cheese, and I scraped off the mayo. Then we collapsed onto a bench and leaned against the wall. Gabe and I had Cokes and Jesse grabbed a Corona.

  I had taken my phone out of my backpack, but I couldn’t even get one bar. I figured I’d call home later and leave a message on my mom’s voicemail, telling her Sasha and I were working on a new song together. Then we munched and drank and listened to the radio.

  “I gotta say it again. I’m sorry,” Jesse said from out of nowhere. “If I hadn’t made that dumb mistake, we wouldn’t be here.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Gabe answered. “We’re okay now and this sandwich is excellent.”

  “Everybody makes mistakes,” I admitted finally. “I’m possibly a little impatient sometimes.”

  “We can’t all be as cool or as smart as you, KT,” Jesse offered.

  “You think I’m cool?” I was amazed. “You’re the cool one, Swimmy. Mr. Perfect Swim Star with his own groupies.”

  “That’s not cool. Cool is knowing who you are and being that, no matter what anyone else thinks,” Jesse sighed.

  “People at school say you could be the next Michael Phelps. You could win a bunch of Olympic medals,” Gabe piped in. “And if that isn’t cool, I don’t know what is.”

  “Thanks for thinking that, but no, I couldn’t be another Phelps. I’m good for high school, but I’m not great, and I don’t love it all that much. It’s just all I know how to do at this point.” He held the chilled Corona against his forehead. “Actually, I don’t know who I am or what I’m good at or what I want to do or even what I’m doing here on this planet.”

  For a dumb jock, Swimmy was getting more profound by the minute. Shockingly, I knew exactly what he meant. Sometimes I had the feeling that I didn’t know why I was here, but then I’d pick up my guitar and that feeling would go away. I was starting to feel bad for him, and it was weird. He was almost kind of relatable.

  I walked over to the boom box, which was pounding out some bass-heavy disco song, and lowered the volume. Funny thing was, when the song got lower, the bass stayed at the same level.

  “That thumping isn’t a bass drum,” I announced. “Something freaky is going on.”

  We followed the sound, and it kept getting louder as we headed to the back of the store. We walked out the rear door and followed the thumping to the bathroom. It was definitely coming from there. We jiggled the handle but it was locked. Then Gabe looked down and saw the key on the ground.

  “That’s funny,” he mumbled, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

  Inside was a dude with his arms and legs tied and his mouth duct taped. He was laying on the floor, kicking the wall to get attention, and those kicks were making the bass-drum sound. We were all over him in a second, untying him and pulling the tape off his mouth. The first thing he did was grab the beer Jesse was holding and chug it.

  “He still here?” he wanted to know.

  “Who?” we all asked.

  “Howdy, shake, tie up, and rob. That’s who,” the dude answered. “The skinny, old, white guy. He cleaned out the register and cut the phone line.”

  “So he’s not the owner?” Jesse asked.

  “I’m Carlos, and I own this place. You got a cell?”

  “I can’t get a signal,” I told him.

  “You can try mine,” Jesse said. He reached into his jeans pocket. “I must have left mine in the—” And then it hit us all at the same time.

  We dashed out to the pump, followed by Carlos. There was nothing and no one there. The Jeep was gone, along with the shit-kicker cowboy and all our stuff.

  “You left the keys in it, KT, and he jacked our ride. I think you may have outscored me in the Stupidity Olympics,” Jesse observed.

  “And you may have just scored the gold in
the category of Stating the Obvious.”

  He was so annoying, but he was right. I shouldn’t have left the keys in it. I should have followed my instinct that he was being too nice. We were so screwed, and it was all my fault. I had to find some way to fix it.

  “I gotta lie down,” Gabe said, looking like he was gonna pass out. “If that car’s gone, I’m dead. I’m a dead, dead man. My dad’ll . . .” It was too much for him. He sat down with his head between his knees. It scared me. I’d never seen him without his rose-colored glasses on.

  “Hey, Butchie, don’t freak out on us now. We’ll figure it out, and besides, we don’t have time for you to fall apart.”

  “If we all keep it together,” Jessie muttered. “We’re gonna be fine.

  “Listen, chicos,” Carlos announced. “There’s a cafe ’bout five miles down the road, and they got a phone. Call the cops from there, tell them what happened, and what your car looks like.”

  “And how do we get there?” I wanted to know.

  “I got my pickup behind the storage shed out back. You can take that and leave it there for me,” Carlos told us.

  “How do you know we’re not gonna steal it?” asked Jesse. “After all, we need wheels. We just got robbed.”

  “I got kids your age. You’re normal pain-in-the-ass dumb teenagers, but you’re not robbers.”

  “Why don’t you go call the cops?” Gabe asked suspiciously. He was starting to come around.

  “My wife is gonna be here in fifteen minutes. If Cecilia sees that I’m gone, there’s no money in the register, and you’re here, she’ll go ballistic and call the cops. If I’m here and the cash register is empty, I have a shot at explaining before she blows her stack and something gets broken. I’m trusting you to wait for the cop car and let them take you into Adrian. They’ll send someone out here and then they’ll find your wheels. Ain’t many places to hide near here. Now get goin’. I gotta see if he took anything else.”

  He tossed us his car keys. Jesse caught them and took out a ten. “This is for the Corona, some sandwiches, and three cokes.”

  “Keep it. Just get crackin’. And if by any chance you should decide to heist my truck, I swear I will send Cecilia after you.” Carlos shuddered just thinking about that and headed for the store as we raced toward the storage shed.

  Jeez, I thought. What crappy thing is gonna happen next?

  Then as if he could read my mind, Jesse came out with, “Hang in there, KT. It’s gonna be worth it when we find our bio dad.”

  chapter fourteen

  Gabe took the wheel of Carlos’ truck, Jesse and I scrunched in next to him, and we hit the road hard. After about ten minutes, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the shape of a police car through the dust cloud tailing us.

  “Damn, what are we? Cop magnets?” I muttered.

  Gabe just pushed his foot down on the accelerator. “They’ll never believe us when we tell them Carlos gave us this heap. They’ll take us in until they can check out our story with him, and we won’t get to Sedona for another day, because we’ll be sitting in the hoosegow.”

  “I can’t get busted,” Jesse groaned. “I don’t wanna be somebody’s bitch.”

  “Chill, blondie,” I told him. “I’ve got an idea. Keep your fingers crossed that I can get some reception here.”

  I turned on my phone, and even though I only had one bar, it was one more than I had back at the gas station. I prayed and punched 911.

  “Nueve once, 911. What is your emergency?” a woman drawled.

  “Hey, I’d like to report a robbery at the gas station west of Vega. Yeah, Carlos asked me to call you. His phone line is down. We’re in his truck trying to head off Cecilia. You know how she is.”

  “We do, and we’re headed for Carlos’s place. Right now. Adios.” Behind us, the cop car spun around, sirens blaring.

  “Beautiful, KT,” Jesse said, breathing a sigh of relief. “You saved my ass.”

  “I figured the whole Adrian police force must be in that car,” I grinned.

  I felt like I was beginning to restore my cred and possibly make up for my screwup.

  Gabe turned down another road heading west. “I think we better stay out of sight for a while, and whoa . . . looky here.” He screeched to a stop in front of a sign that read BIKINI HANDY HAND AUTO WASH AND WAX $12 JUST 1 MILE.

  “I think we oughta stop there,” Jesse announced. “I have a feeling about it.”

  “Yeah, I know that feeling,” Gabe agreed. “You wanna look at bikini babes and get a boner.”

  “That, too,” Jesse agreed. “But honestly, it’s more than that. And I mean that in a good way, so take that grossed-out look off your face, KT.”

  “I just want our stuff back,” I said.

  “I gotta get that Jeep back. It’s essential to my survival,” Gabe mumbled through clenched teeth and his usual stuffed-up nose. “But first I gotta get some Breathe-Rites. I’m on my last one.”

  “Yeah, let’s stop for a second. I could use a Dr. Pepper,” I added. “The Doc stimulates the problem-solving part of my brain.”

  The Handy Hand car wash lay ahead of us on the right. It was a sad, shabby setup. Cars and pickups rolled through the wash tunnel to be polished by girls in bikinis. Part of the property was an ancient motel with newly cleaned sets of wheels parked in front of the rooms.

  We parked the truck to the side of the wash line, piled out, and waited while Gabe dashed into the tiny convenience store. He soon returned, waving a Breathe-Rite box. Meanwhile, Jesse was working his smile magic on a cute bikini babe vacuuming a car. She smiled back. “Handy hand special? Fifty bucks for you.”

  “The sign said twelve,” Gabe reminded her. He was so totally clueless about anything to do with the opposite sex.

  “Easy, Butchie Boy,” I told him, “she’s talking about more than buffing the fender.” I was pulling them both toward the drink vending machines when Jesse stopped.

  “Wait a minute,” he said and turned around.

  Something made us turn around, too, and there it was. Emerging from the wash tunnel, sparkling in the sun . . . the Jeep. If life had a soundtrack, the music would have swelled.

  I rubbed my eyes. “Tell me that I’m not hallucinating,” I begged them.

  “You’re not. It’s real!” they yelled, and we rushed over as another bikini babe drove it to the pickup area to be dried. We surrounded her and looked into the car. Our stuff, including my guitar, was still there, wedged into the back seat. I pulled Jesse’s phone out of his charger while Jesse was doing what he did best. He flashed the babe his super smile. His face was so tan from the Texas sun, his teeth were blinding—in a good way.

  “This your daddy’s car?” the babe asked.

  “Yup,” Jesse answered. “I’m here to bring it to him.” He was leaning close to her and flexing everything he had that could flex. I could have sworn that I saw his hair contracting and expanding. Gabe was watching in awe.

  She kept drying the same spot on the Jeep, staring into Jesse’s baby blues. “Your daddy is in room ten. He’s partying with my sister. You got a yellow ticket, handsome?”

  “No,” he whispered in a sexy voice, “but I’ve got a green one.” And with that, he waved a twenty in the air. She laughed and took it.

  “You bad, bad boy,” she giggled, tossing him the keys.

  “I wish I could show you how bad,” Jesse sighed as we got into the Jeep. He held out another twenty. “Hey, beautiful, get that truck we parked over there washed and dried for me, will ya? A dude named Carlos is gonna come and pick it up. Don’t give it to anyone but him.”

  The babe stuck both twenties into her cleavage, threw Jesse a kiss, and made an A-okay sign.

  “Get moving, Studley Dudley,” I hissed while dialing his phone. As we pulled away, I could see the babe still waving goodbye to Swimmy in the rearview mirror.

  “Hey, Senora 911,” I said into Jesse’s cell, “when Carlos’s phone line at the gas station is working again, w
ould you please tell him that his pickup is waiting for him at the Bikini Car Wash instead of the café, ’cause his friends were in a rush, and the wash and dry is on us? Could you do me a solid and tell him directly? I may have mentioned that if we could leave Cecilia out of the loop, it would be very cool. Yup, she can be a little loca. Oh by the way, FYI, the perp who robbed Carlos is at The Handy Hand in room ten as we speak. Adios, amiga. Muchas gracias.”

  I gave the boys a thumbs-up, and Jesse hit the gas. “Yee-haw!” he whooped.

  “Hot Dawg!” I yelled.

  “Pinchekus kids rule!” shouted Gabe, and we all started singing “We’re off to see the Willard” at the top of our lungs.

  chapter fifteen

  We got back on Route 66 and barreled through Glenrio, where signs of life consisted mostly of junked cars. Then we crossed into New Mexico, and I personally was really stoked to get out of Texas alive and without having committed fratricide.

  The road got pretty crappy and gravelly, but it didn’t slow us down. There was a hot desert breeze that only made us sweatier and more tired, and we hardly talked at all for a while. The road was littered with ghost towns and closed gas stations, so we gassed up in a place called Tucumcari and got snacks for the road. I took the wheel and Gabe navigated, while Jess munched on a bacon burger in the back seat.

  “If you get anything meat-related on my guitar case, Swimmy, you are one dead fish,” I told him.

  “You must be Grumpy’s sister, Pissy,” Jesse fired back.

  “Or his cousin, PMSy,” chimed in Gabe.

  “Zip it, both of you!” I snapped. And then I started thinking, Why didn’t I just ask him to be careful? Why don’t I work and play well with others? I felt a little bad.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m just really hot and not in a good way, and I really want to get to Willard ASAP.”

  “Us, too, KT,” said Gabe. “Hey, look.”

  Suddenly we began to see some greenery, almost like an oasis in the desert, along with signs marking hiking paths.

  “I think I could find a tree there to hide behind while I take a leak,” announced Jesse.