As though it can sense my worry, our ancient Subaru shudders as I drive up the ramp to access the Belle Paris Hotel parking garage. Thanks to a June heatwave, a light on my dash has been flashing red since we got off the interstate at the Orlando Amusement Parks exit. I’d panic about the light, but like us, the engine’s been through a lot the past few days. I’m sure it only needs to rest, and this beautiful hotel is going to give me, my little brother and the poor car a chance to do just that.

That and more, I hope.

I stop at the parking monitor’s booth and unclench a hand from the steering wheel to poke my sleeping, thirteen-year old brother awake. When I realize no one is manning the place, I don’t even have to fake excitement in my voice like I usually do. “Sage. We’re here. Made it with forty-five minutes to spare before the interview.”

Swallowing a surge of doubt, I scan ahead for arrows that might tell me which way to navigate next because—oh yes—in addition to no parking monitor, the entry gate has been left wide open. This means maybe we won’t have to pay entering or exiting. “Play along,” I whisper out of habit.

“Don’t I always play along?” Sage grumbles, sitting up to rub sleep out of his eyes. “What’s happening?”

“We’re about to get free parking.”

“I’d rather get free food.”

His words made my own empty stomach twist, but it’s mostly from guilt because I munched our last stockpiled apple twenty minutes ago. Luckily, the Belle Paris Hotel website says this place boasts three restaurants, a bar, a coffee shop, an endlessly booked conference center, a wedding chapel with reception area, and a full-service pool deck. Plenty of places to score abandoned and unwatched food so we can replenish our stash.

It also has private, covered overnight parking. Sage and I have learned covered parking is nicer for sleeping in than the open public lots. Knowledge we can forget soon, because I’m confident this will be our last parking lot.

If I don’t mess this up.

If I get the job and they let me start right away…

I stop my train of darkening thoughts by locking gazes with Sage and forcing a smile. “Look at this place, even the parking is fancy. There’s palm trees everywhere. Can you smell the fun we’re about to have here?”

“Yep.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

I’m about to gun the gas when a guy appears out of nowhere, waving his hands. “Miss. Miss. What are you doing? You can’t be here. And you can’t drive that in here.”

“Damn,” I utter while I note the bouncer-like size of him.

The guy walks closer and captures my gaze in his too-black, too dark glare. “Did you hear me? I’m sorry but you can’t be here.”

“But I am here. We’re going to the hotel,” I insist over my escalating heartbeats.

“Dude is slightly scary, Robin,” Sage whispers to me as he sinks low in his seat.

The guy strides up and literally blocks our way with his body, crossing his arms like a cop would. I open my window, lean out and make my baby blues go wide. “Do you have a particular spot you’d like us to use, or can I pick anywhere? One with a view maybe?”

“Please back up, or I’ll have to involve security.”

Sage mutters, “He’s a cross between a tattooed biker dude and a cage-fighting, scary-as-hell super villain. He could flip our car with one pinkie.”

“Not helping,” I say through my own gritted teeth. “Shut it and smile big like me.”

Sage complies, but pulls out the GO ARMY pocketknife our dad gave him and clenches it in his fist.

Shivers go down my spine as I try to hold eye contact. The tattoos peeking from the neck and wrists of his uniform are distracting though, because Sage is right. This dude looks like he fell out of some drive-fast-fight-hard movie.

Squaring my shoulders even more, I boldly scoot the car a few inches forward, praying Mr. Scary is going to startle and get out of the way. He doesn’t budge. Instead he clicks a button on a remote hanging from his belt. A move that lowers a wide metal barrier in front us.

“Wait! No—no—no! Don’t do that. We have to get in.”

“All cars have to go through the valet line, which is located directly in front of the hotel. The public is not allowed here.”

“W-w-well, I didn’t know,” I pause, combing my thoughts for convincing things to say. “Our car, it’s too embarrassing to take around the front. Look at it.” I throw the car into park, spotting the word “manager” on his nametag. “You seem to be in charge here, so you can make an executive decision. Right?”

He doesn’t answer so I forge ahead, “Do you personally have to drive the car inside the garage? To protect the other cars? Is that why you closed the gate?”

My fear that he’s going to throw us out of here has me looking away from his stony-glower, so I pretend to re-read his nametag while he walks around to the driver’s window. “Mr. Angel. Isn’t that a nice last name?” I point to the red light on the dash and address the giant parking guy with my most level stare. “Look. If I can’t park now this thing may stall, and,” I motion to the gas meter. “We’re also almost out of gas. So, see? We might not make it around to the front. Please, Mr. Angel. Give us a little break here.”

The parking guy matches my deadpan-professional tone. “I’m not Mr. Angel. Angel is my first name. Short for Michelangelo. My mamma, she’s from Italy. She’s obsessed with that artist, so I got stuck with his name. I really do apologize again, but the valet line is the only way.”

He’s said the words Michelangelo, mamma, and Italy with such a perfect Italian accent that it’s obvious he’s bilingual. I don’t tell him I’m an artist who also loves Michelangelo, because that would distract from my goals, one of which does not include making new friends. At least the way he’s talked about his mom has erased all thoughts that this guy might be dangerous, though.

When I don’t answer further or put the car in reverse, he leans down like he’s trying to get a better look at us. His gaze skates past me to the stuff piled in our back seat, then settles back on my brother again, and my throat tightens with more worry.

Sage, who must be feeling the same, opens the tools on the pocket knife. I know the kid is pretending to play with them, but with his jaw clenched how it is, and his blue eyes turning from round to narrowed flinty-ice-chips, I can tell he's ready to defend my life, using the corkscrew, tiny scissors and flathead screwdriver all at once.

“What the…heck?” Angel’s eyes are back on my face and he’s staring—staring too hard. Only, I get this feeling that he’s not looking at me, rather looking through me or looking for something he can’t quite find. I also think he’s gone pale. “There’s no way you two belong here. Tell me what you’re doing?” He flicks another quick glance to Sage like my brother will give him answers. “Is your sister even old enough to drive? Come on…you two are up to something.”

“Okay. Wow and no,” I answer as the car shudders again. The red warning light goes from solid red to fast-flickers. I gather more courage and start talking to him using my father’s confident army captain’s tone, “Are you for real? Does the hotel require age checks and a syllabus for everyone who enters, or are you just being this rude and nosy with—me—simply because I look young to you? Well, that’s discrimination. Maybe you look scary to me with all those tattoos, but I’m not asking what you’re doing here, am I? I’m a week away from eighteen. I also have a real reason for being here. An interview with Mrs. Hildebrandt in human resources. Should you like to check up on me, you go ahead and call her. In the meantime, could you please just do your job and help us park so I’m not late? If you can’t do that, I’m going to report you or…or…something.”

I toss a ‘help-me’ look at Sage when the dude starts blinking at me all strange again, so Sage ramps in with his own ranting speech: “Yeah. And it’s bad enough you were named Michelangelo. Worst Ninja Turtle name ever. You had the choice of calling yourself Mike, or Michael, even Mikey, but you chose Angel, so obviously you have poor judgement. I think my sister is right, you need to let us in here ASAP, or I’m going find your boss myself. I will.”

Our smoke-screening has worked because Angel steps back some and he answers to Sage’s tirade instead of asking us more questions of his own, “Again, the name Angel is on my parents. I don’t disrespect their choices. Do you disrespect yours?” He flings his arms wide, glaring at us now. “For that matter, where are your parents? All kids under eighteen need to have parents to stay at the hotel. And you just admitted to me you are not quite there yet, so…yeah, I’m correct to question you.”

Before I can stop Sage from sassing back, my brother leans over me and shouts up at the guy, “She just told you we aren’t staying here, she’s having an interview. And we currently don’t have any parents, you, big, giant jackass.”

“What do you mean no parents?” Angel’s face goes oddly pale again.

Sage shoots eye bullets at the guy, unaware his words about our parents have taken the air out of my lungs. Fighting a lump of cardboard that’s lodged in my throat now, I elbow Sage back to his side of the car. He and I re-made our pact only this morning not to tell the truth to anyone, and the kid has already broken it.

I force a laugh. “Of course we have parents. They’re just not here today. After the interview, we’re doing brother-sister time at the parks.” It takes all my energy to keep a calm mask in place while my own thoughts about our parents threaten to make me lose my cool.

Maybe we don’t have a mom, but we do have a father.

We do have a father.

Deployed.

Missing.

Missing. Not dead. Missing, not dead.

As I struggle for control, Angel points toward the blankets, duffels, and boxes piled in back seat. “What’s with all the stuff in your car, then?”

Sage starts, “We’re moving—”

I whack his leg to shut him up again, and flip back to smoke-screening the guy. “My brother’s starting summer classes after this road trip, like in a boarding school. It’s for his dorm. I also got the job of dropping him off.”

“This boarding school got a name?”

“Hogwarts. I’m meant to be a great wizard.” Sage’s usually cracking voice goes solid for once. “Again. Dude. She’s going to be late, which means that’s even longer for me to wait before I get inside Universal Studios and live my dream of running around Diagon Alley. Stop asking us shit that’s none of your business.”

“Do you know it’s fifty-five dollars a day to park in here?” He’s said it like a final warning, like he can tell we’re not good for it.

I shrug acting as if I don’t care about money. “I’m aware of the price. I also know you don’t have to pay until you exit and besides, I’m assuming someone in human resources will validate my parking ticket, so we’re good, right?” I blink at him, proud of all that I memorized from the hotel’s website.

“Cara-mia, no. No. Please no,” he mutters, talking to the ceiling now. “Just no.”

“No? Is that not right? I’m not good?” I cringe as the car shudders again. Forget the red flashing light, now the engine has started a steady plink-plunking sound.

He sighs heavily. “Yes. You are right. You pay when you exit.”

I shrug again. “So then, what does it matter to you? Please. Help us out, I really need this job.”

His miss-nothing eyes follow mine to the sounds coming from under the hood. “Fine. Step out. You win.” Voice devoid of all argument now, he gently opens my door, sweeping one arm wide like a chauffeur. In a softer voice, he adds, “I need this job, too. People I love are counting on me to keep it. This can’t be any sort of joke.” His eyes scan from me to Sage again. “If you do report me, I’ll get fired, picolina. They’re strict about rules around here and I’m about to break one for you. Please don’t mention we met to Mrs. Hildebrandt up in HR, or that I helped you in any way. Okay?”

I’m wondering what picolina means as I step out of the car, but I’m not about to ask. “We’re totally legit. I swear. I promise not to bring up your name at all. And in return for this parking favor, I promise you’ll never see us again, too. By the time we have fun touring the parks, you should be done with your shift, right? Pretend we never met.”

“Mhh-hmm.” He slides into my vacated seat. The engine’s plink-plunks turn to loud clank-clanks at the introduction of Angel’s heavier weight. He’s acting all formal, as if he already wants to distance himself from the picked-clean apple core I stuck on the dash as well as ignore the empty, instant oatmeal packets Sage poured into his mouth then littered all over the floor before he fell asleep this morning.

“Will you be taking any other things with you? If so, grab them now. You aren’t allowed back here after I park it.” When his huge hands wrap around my sun-cracked steering wheel, I’m suddenly ashamed that this guy might get too much of a close-up-view of us, and of the desperate mess we’ve become these past few days, but it can’t be helped.

“No. Thank you,” I say primly and clench my fists to resist the urge to climb back in the car and make sure the blankets are tucked tight over our things. “We have all we need.”

Dragging his backpack out with him, Sage walks over to stand beside me.

Angel pauses, his eyes going over my brother’s thin, gangly form as carefully as they went over my face and the contents of our car a few moments ago. That pale, far-away look returns to his face as he starts slowly shaking his head all over again.

What is wrong with this guy?

Is he staring because my brother’s curling blond hair is puffing out in all directions under his ARMY ball cap, making him look like a skinny mad scientist? Maybe he’s noted that Sage has deep circles under his eyes which conflict with his protective, don’t-go-near-my-sister expression. Maybe he’s simply watching what the kid does with his pocket knife?

When Angel’s eyes come back to mine, I hide every bit of worry to make my expression match Sage’s do or die fierceness.

This earns us a flicker of what I think looks like admiration, or at least respect. Sighing, he reaches in to his shirt pocket, scribbles on a small rectangular tablet, then hands me a card with large red numbers across the top. He’s also scrawled a phone number in the white space. “Give one of the guys at the valet stand that card when you’re ready to leave. They will use it to find where I’ve parked the car, then they’ll drive it out to you and—”

“I know how valet parking works.”

“Yeah, we weren’t born yesterday.” Sage puts on his pack, pulling the straps tight.

“Weren’t you?” That retort comes in a whisper so soft I’m not sure if Angel said it, or if I was simply hearing my own thoughts.

Still avoiding my gaze, Angel points to the card in my hand. “If you need any help you can call that number before five and I’ll see to your car personally. Okay? I’m sorry I said that stuff about how you look too young and that you don’t belong here. I hope you get the job and that you have a fun day.”

“Thanks. Everyone mentions how young my face looks.” I shrug. “I…I’m sorry, too, about calling you and the tattoos scary.” He winces at my apology like he doesn’t believe it, or maybe he thinks he doesn’t deserve it?

“I know how I look. You were right.” His eyes trail over my face and my own wild curling hair one last time before he adds, “Things like how we look can become inescapable, huh? I don’t like trusting people, and you two surprised me. Reminded me of someone—something—so I’m sorry if I acted weird. I know I did.” He pushes the button to open the gate and finally meets my gaze. “No hard feelings?”

“No. None,” I say, feeling somehow guilty all of a sudden even though we haven’t done anything wrong.

“Whatever,” Sage adds along with a champion eye roll, letting the guy know he’s not so easy to forgive, but he does at least close the pocket knife.

When he shifts our car from park to drive ink-black smoke, smoke like I’ve never seen before, pours out of the tailpipe. As the smoke fills up the space between us, Angel stares up at the ceiling like he’s looking for something again while muttering, “Cara-mia, why?”

Without looking back at us, or maybe he does look back but we can’t tell through the smoke, the guy drives everything we own into the garage.