It was a regular Friday night in eighth grade. Cece had ridden the bus home with me because she planned on staying over all weekend since Thomas had Ezra at their house. Now that they were in high school, they were more annoying than ever, mostly because they thought they were cooler than we were. Some stupid Xbox game had just been released, and the boys had stock piled Doritos, frozen burritos, and Dr. Pepper with the plans of commandeering the living room TV for the forty eight hours before school started again on Monday.

It was 7:05 in the evening and Cece and I were checking movie times, debating on seeing Pitch Perfect for the third time, or trying a new movie like Anna Karenina. We were finally old enough to have Mom drop us off at the theater entrance and then pick us up after the movie, so it didn’t really matter what we saw, just that we got to go see it alone, like adults. Adults who still bummed money from their parents, but adults nonetheless.

I was begging Cece to flat iron the back of my head since I couldn’t do it myself and she was trying to convince me that my hair looked fine and that no one could see it in the movies anyway. It was right after she’d made her very astute point that no one sees the back of your head in a movie theater, and even if a cute boy was there and he did like me, he would like the front part of my head, not the back, that we got the news.

My aunt and uncle wouldn’t be coming home. Not that night, not ever again.

Mom held onto us while we cried and cried. I was devastated at the idea of losing my aunt and uncle, but mostly I think I cried for Cece. Dad went to get Thomas and I guess Ezra went home because I don’t remember him being in the picture that night. My parents were at a loss for words, and even though Mom would later find plenty of words in therapy, that night they hugged us and said they loved us, and then they left us alone.

My two cousins and I stayed up in my bedroom, sitting on the air mattress Mom had brought out for Thomas to use. We talked into the night, sharing stories of their parents, trying to pick out the funny ones even though nothing at all was funny just then. I learned that you can cry so much your shirt gets soaked from wiping off the tears. By dawn, we’d fallen asleep sharing pillows and blankets, arms and legs all over the place just like when we were little kids taking a nap on the living room floor.

In the morning, I thought we’d all had an allergic reaction to something on the sheets, but it turns out that spending an entire night crying makes your eyes swollen and puffy the next day. It took a long time to accept that I’d never see my aunt and uncle again. Besides a couple of elderly family members I didn’t really know, this was the first time I’d lost someone close to me. The only thing that got me through it was knowing I needed to stay strong for Cece.

When Thomas died six months later, it still hurt like hell, but I processed it easier. I guess the death of my aunt and uncle had already conditioned me to live with a heart that’s been ripped open from loss. Or maybe it was easier because I didn’t have to be strong for Cece anymore. She didn’t ask to sleep in my bed for months after like she’d done when her parents died. She wasn’t sad at all, not really, because she wouldn’t allow herself to believe the truth about Thomas.

As long as she’s had the hope that he’s still alive somewhere, she’s been able to fight back the pain of his loss. Her doctor said she would have been bipolar anyway; the death of her family merely kick-started her dormant mental illness. But I don’t know if that’s true.

I’ve always been annoyed at her tenacious insistence that her brother is alive. At the start of this trip, I thought for sure that finding out he’s really dead will put a stop to her insanity. Now that we’re almost there, the summit of this journey within sight, I’m afraid of what will happen when she finally admits the truth to herself.

What if everything has happened for a reason? Fate has colluded with destiny to bring us together again on this forbidden road trip so that when Cece finally comes to her senses about Thomas being dead, she’ll have me there to take care of her. I’ll be strong for her now like I was back then. That couldn’t have happened if she’d gone on this trip without me. We’d still be strangers, not former friends making amends.

The baby on the laundromat floor starts crying, probably because even a baby is smart enough to know they shouldn’t be eating dirt off the floor. A few people shuffle out of the laundromat and climb onto the bus. A man with an unlit cigar hanging out of his mouth starts dumping his clothes into the dryer right next to us, despite the ten million empty dryers a more polite distance away. I glance at the time on my cell phone. I have thirteen minutes to convince Cece to get up and get on the bus before it leaves without us.

“Did you find him, find him, or is this just another clue?”

“I found him,” she says, looking away. “I found…his username.”

I fold my arms across my chest and glance back at Ezra, but he’s staring at the overflowing bulletin board full of business cards and flyers of stuff for sale.

“I’ll explain,” she says, her eyes once again pleading with me. “It won’t take long. We can still get home tonight. I swear.”

My nostrils flare as I think through my options. “If I go along with this, you have to promise me two things.”

“Anything,” she says.

“One—you’ll get back on a bus with me tonight, no matter what, and we’ll go home. And two—you can never let my parents know about this trip. Not in therapy, not ten years from now. Never.”

“I promise and I promise,” she says, exhaling. “I know I’ve been annoying, but I really did find him this time. Please, Lilah.” She taps her chest. “I can feel it in my heart.”

With a sigh, I slide down to the floor and kneel next to her computer. “What did you find?”

Ezra walks over, one eyebrow lifted. “Everything okay?”

“Sit down and find out,” I tell him, moving over so we all have room to see her computer.

“I found a message board for people who love Jeeps,” Cece explains, switching browser windows to show us the forum. Jeep Life has a dorky Comic Sans font logo, but it has hundreds of thousands of users and posts. Cece scrolls down to a user profile. “I searched ChellWheatley thinking he might use the same name somewhere else. And there’s a user here with that name.”

“A lot of people play that video game,” I say.

Cece nods, and clicks on a link. “But only one of them owns the Jeep.”

Ezra and I lean in close as we look at the post, made in January of this year. The user ChellWheatley has posted pictures of his Jeep—the Jeep, talking about his upgraded suspension and added lights. In the comments, people give him pointers for fixing it up to be even cooler. Someone points out the gray panel and says it’s not very expensive to have it repainted.

“Look at this,” Cece says, pointing to ChellWheatley’s reply.

I know I’m spending a shit ton of money on upgrades, but I kind of like the gray panel. Gives her some character. She’s been scarred in the past, but she’ll be fine, ya know?

The next several comments all question his sexuality for posting something so emotional and poetic. Ezra chuckles. “Thomas loved saying things had character. That was his excuse anytime something broke.”

“I know,” Cece says, grinning up at him.

A tingly sensation works its way up my spine. “This is definitely the same Jeep, but unless he posted his address on here, how are we supposed to find him?”

“He did,” Cece says, lifting a shoulder. “Well, in a way, he did. I looked through all of his posts and none of them give out any personal information, except that he’s always wanted a Jeep. But you can tell these photos are in front of an apartment complex, right? Well, I searched the EXIF data of the photos he posted in January.”

“EXIF?” I say. “Is that in English?”

“Digital cameras leave information in every photo. The date, time, what type of camera took it, that kind of thing. Some even save the location of where the photo was taken.” She changes to another browser window; this one is pulled up on a map of the area. “The photo was taken at these GPS coordinates. Google Earth clearly shows it being an apartment complex.”

She grins while we review this new revelation in pixels. “That’s him. That’s where he lives.”

“It’s in the Woodlands,” Ezra says. “That’s about an hour and a half from here. The bus makes a stop there, actually.”

“Are you serious?” I say.

“It’s fate.” Cece grins. “Can we go?”

“I—” I start to say hell no, but I can’t. I look at Ezra.

“It’s your call,” Ezra says, but his eyes tell a different story. “Honestly, I’m in no hurry to get home.”

This will be another dead end, and we’ll probably have to wait hours for the next bus to pick us up from The Woodlands. But taking this detour will help in repairing things with Cece. This entire trip has been for her, after all.

And although all I want is to get home and be able to breathe easily again, the only reason we even left in the first place was for her. Cece is annoying and spastic and she’s always screwing up plans. My entire perfectly organized life has been thrown into chaos for her.

But she made a promise. And I’m going to make one too. “I’m with you,” I say with a sigh. “We didn’t come this far just to come this far.”