One Week - By Nikki Van De Car Page 0,46

of possibility that I didn't want to take advantage of his position as a semi-famous person to become a really famous person and go to famous people parties and come out with my own line of clothing—to him, these were things that any normal girl would want. So I must just have been being a teenager and I'd get over it and he knew what was best for me.”

Jess shakes his head and hugs me closer to his chest. I think he kisses the top of my head, but I'm not quite sure.

“The sad thing is that we used to be really close,” I continue. “I'd go hang out on set all the time and we'd take trips together and we'd watch a lot of old movies and we just…. we talked a lot.”

“What happened?”

I shrug uncomfortably. “We got into a fight when I was twelve, and we've never really gotten past it. I've never gotten past it.” I sigh. “You remember how I told you my dad sent me all those cards and things and pretended they were from my mom?”

Jess nods.

“Well, when I found out, I was so angry. I didn't speak to him for a week. I couldn't believe he'd been lying to me like that. I still can't.”

Jess is quiet for a moment. “You know, when you told me that, I thought it was kind of sweet, actually.”

I turn and lean away from him so I can see his face. “Seriously? Lying to your daughter is sweet?”

“I'm just saying I get it, is all. You were his little girl—he wants to protect you from all the bad stuff in the world. Including having a mother who left you. I mean, don't you think maybe the person you should be maddest at here is her?”

I wave that away. “Yeah, of course I was—I am—pissed at her too, but I barely even remember her. She's not the point. He shouldn't have lied to me. And he shouldn't keep on doing what he thinks is best for me without listening to what I have to say, without trying to see who I am and what my life really is, not what he wants it to be. He keeps doing the exact same thing—the photographers are like those cards. They're not real, and they're not for me, they're for him.”

I wait for Jess to say something else defending my father, but he doesn't. He just nods and pulls me back so that I'm leaning against his shoulder again. We sit quietly for a while, and it feels like maybe he wants to say something else, and I tense myself for an argument. But all he says is, “I spy a cow.”

I giggle. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs. “Like you said. Not much to do.”

And so we play I Spy and it's way more fun than I remember it being even when I was three, until we pull off the highway into a rest stop. It's weird—but definitely nice—to be with someone who can talk about things that are important. It's not something I'm used to. But I have to say, it's even nicer to be with someone who knows when to stop talking about them, too.

Jess hops out of the truck. He goes around to offer up some of his thirty dollars for gas money, which thank God the driver waves off, and then calls to me that he's going to run to the bathroom. I fish around in Martha's bag of snacks and come up with a granola bar. I make a note to remind Jess to eat something when he gets back. He's been snacking periodically, but I'm not taking any chances.

The passenger comes around the side of the truck, and I offer him some nuts.

“Nah, I'm good,” he says. “So how are y'all planning to get to Chicago? It's a long way. I'm Joey, by the way, and that's Sean.” Sean gives a manly wave from over by the gas pump.

“Bee,” I say, and lean over to shake his hand. “I'm not sure. More of this, I guess. We really appreciate the ride.”

“Oh sure,” Joey shrugs. “No problem.”

I check my phone. It's two o'clock already. We've been driving for two and a half hours. “How much longer until we get to Des Moines?”

“Another couple of hours.” Joey stands there expectantly, and I realize he's waiting for me to be chatty. It occurs to me that this is why people pick up hitchhikers—to have someone to talk to.

“What are