One Week - By Nikki Van De Car Page 0,43

over Jacob and as Peter thanks Herbert and Martha again, I sit quietly on the steps and pull on Mandy's socks and sneakers. They are a little too big, but so comfortable. I tuck the extra pairs of socks into Martha's bag of snacks. I stand up and hug Martha and Herbert goodbye, and then Jess pulls me gently out the door.

I spend the ride to the bus station listening to Jess chatting with Peter and looking out the window at Hastings. When we get there, Jess and I slide out and then Jess slams the door of Peter's truck and reaches back in to shake his hand.

“We really appreciate everything you've done,” he says.

“Don't mention it. And call Martha when you get to New York, would you? She'll worry otherwise.” And Peter nods his head at us and drives off.

We stand there forlornly for a moment, and then Jess nudges me. “Mandy spotted me,” I say.

Jess shrugs. “Yeah, I figured she might have.”

“She promised she wouldn't say anything though.”

“Well,” Jess says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I guess we'll find out. Come on.” And he starts walking away from the bus station.

I hurry after him. “I thought we were going to take a bus?”

Jess shakes his head. “Bee, I only have thirty dollars. Did you think that was going to be enough to get us to Chicago?”

I bite my lip. “I guess I just hoped…”

“We really could have used Herbert's money,” Jess says, shifting the paper bag to his other arm. He's walking quickly, and I'm half-jogging to keep up.

“I just couldn't…after everything they've done,” I say pleadingly. “I couldn't take advantage of them like that. I'm really sorry, Jess—”

Jess sighs and stops walking. “I know.” He reaches an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in close. “That's one of the things I love about you,” he breathes into my ear. “You do what you think needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.” Jess lets me go, and starts walking again. “It just drives me crazy sometimes.”

I stare after him. Yeah, well, you know what drives me crazy, Jess? Trying to figure out when you're coming on to me, when you'll change your mind and push me away again. Drives me up the freaking wall.

I try to ignore Jess's could-be-interpreted-as-brotherly hug and catch up with him again. “So where are we going?” I ask.

Jess gestures at an overpass crossing the street ahead of us. “That's I-80. I had Peter drop us at the bus station because a) Martha would never let us do what we're about to do, and b) the bus station is closer to the highway than Mandy's house is.”

“Huh?” I'm so confused.

Jess gives me a look. “We're hitchhiking.”

I'm about to refuse, to say that there's no way I'm getting in some stranger's car, what with the probable axe-murdering. But then I remember it's my fault, and this is our only option. I swallow hard, and nod as confidently as I can. “Right,” I say. “Good plan.”

Jess nods, and we walk on in silence. Walking up the on-ramp feels particularly surreal, for some reason. I've seen hitchhikers all the time, though of course I've never picked anybody up, but it never occurred to me to wonder how they got onto the highway. I pull the sweatshirt Mandy gave me tight across my chest, as if that would protect me from being hit by a car.

We walk a little ways up the highway and then take a moment to evaluate the situation. I-80 isn't exactly the 405, but there is a steady stream of cars. Nobody's slowing down though.

“Well, no one's picked us up so far,” Jess says, trying to make a joke of it.

“This is insane,” I say finally. “Nobody picks up hitchhikers anymore—it's not safe. And I know this is all my fault, and I'm sorry, but I really don't think this is going to work.”

“It's all right, Bee,” Jess says soothingly. “I don't think we look particularly threatening. I'm sure someone will stop.”

“Oh yeah? What about that paper bag? You could have C-4 in there for all anybody knows.”

Jess ignores that. He leans against the wall of the overpass and crosses his arms. “Maybe we just need to work on our technique. I'm from New York,” he says. “Nobody drives there. You're from the city with the worst traffic problem in the entire country, so you tell me, how do people hitchhike?”

“I have no idea,” I scoff. “I ride in the backseat