Amy & Roger's Epic Detour

“Oh,” I said, a little surprised and trying not to be disappointed.

“I, of course, told her I wouldn’t,” Roger said, shooting a quick smile at me. He started the car, signaled, and we pulled out onto the street. “But she wanted me to give you this.” He handed me an envelope that was made of thick, cream-colored paper. AMY was written across the front in the same handwriting that had been on the Post-its. “She told me to wait until we were moving.”

“Okay,” I said, completely confused. I took the envelope and opened it.

I stared down at the note. It was sweet, except for the P.S., which was, to say the least, troubling. “Roger,” I said, glancing toward the back of the car, “is there something wrong with my suitcase?”

“Um, what?” he asked, face slightly flushed as he fiddled with the iPod. “Oh, look, the interstate.”

“Roger!”

“I don’t know anything,” he said. “I swear. I am merely a pawn in all this. She just brought down your suitcase this morning and told me not to open it, or let you open it, until we were on the road.”

“And you just agreed?” I asked, turning in my seat and looking to the way-back, where my suitcase was.

“Well, she threatened to turn the rabbit on me if I didn’t.”

I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help laughing at that. Roger laughed too and sounded relieved. “Look, we’re almost at Fran’s. If it’s something truly unfixable, we’re still close enough to go back and do something about it.”

As he said this, Roger took an exit off the interstate, and then pulled into a parking lot that seemed almost to be filled with as many huge commercial trucks as cars. “Wow,” I said, as we parked in the shadow of a huge semi.

“Yeah,” he said. “This place is pretty popular with truckers and students. It makes for an interesting mix. Welcome to Fran’s Pancake House.”

I got out of the car, walked quickly around to the back, and lifted the door. I unzipped my suitcase and stared down into it. All my clothes were gone.

Well, that wasn’t quite true, I realized as I dug through it. Bronwyn had left me my underwear—and given me the green thong and matching bra. She’d also left my “Anyone Can Whistle” T-shirt. But my other clothes were gone, and everything else was hers—the outfit I’d worn to the party, tank tops, dresses, skirts. I finished searching through the clothes and just stared down into the suitcase, not sure what to say.

“What?” Roger asked, hovering behind me. “Is it bad?”

“No,” I said. “She’s just given me an entirely new wardrobe, that’s all.”

“Oh.” He stepped closer, maybe figuring that it was safe, now that I didn’t seem mad enough to strike him. “But that’s a good thing, right?”

I looked down at all the beautiful things that were suddenly mine and realized that Bronwyn hadn’t given me clothes—she’d taken away my camouflage. She’d made it impossible to keep hiding. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about this, or the fact that she’d hijacked my suitcase without asking me. But the clothes were lovely. I’d felt prettier last night than I had in a long time. Basically, it was all just a lot to take in before breakfast. “It is,” I said, zipping the suitcase closed again, and then closing the back. “I think. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

As we walked to the restaurant, Roger waxed rhapsodic about their pancakes, but I was only half listening. In the gleaming silver of a fuel truck, I caught my reflection in Bronwyn’s—now my—white shirt. I couldn’t help but notice that I was, in fact, standing up a little straighter.

I pushed away my empty pancake plate and looked across the table at Roger. The atlas was between us, open to the map of the country. There was still a long way to go before we reached the East Coast, but I was amazed to see how much ground we’d covered. We were a long way from Ohio, though, which was where we were supposed to be heading at this very moment. As I looked at where we were versus where we were supposed to be, I realized that I would have to call my mother—probably tonight—and tell her that we weren’t in Akron. The thought of this conversation made my stomach plunge a little, but it wasn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as it had been a few days ago.

Roger traced a path with his finger across the states that sat between Colorado and Connecticut. As I watched, he moved across to Kansas, through Missouri, then to Kentucky, and stopped.

“You want to go to Kentucky,” I said. Roger looked up at me, surprised, then looked down to where his finger was resting on the map.

“Oh,” he said. He sighed, tapping his finger on the state. “I don’t know. It’s just what I’ve been thinking about this morning.” He ran both hands through his hair, and the cowlick in the back, as though happy to be freed, stood up jauntily.

“Hadley?” I guessed. It felt strange for me to be saying her name, especially after seeing the picture and hearing Bronwyn’s take on her.

“It’s obvious, huh?” he asked. “I just thought she’d be here, and I could talk to her. I was all prepared for it. And then she wasn’t….” He looked out the window, at the cars rushing by on the interstate. “I swear I don’t want to stalk her,” he said. “I just need to know what happened. And she’s not returning my calls….”

“Well,” I said, looking down at the map, “I’ve never been to Kentucky.”

Roger smiled at that, then turned back to me. “We don’t have time,” he said. “We’re supposed to be in …”

“Akron,” I supplied.

“Akron,” he repeated. “And then in Connecticut by tomorrow. I don’t think we can make it to Kentucky.”

I stared down at the map. I wasn’t ready to be in Connecticut yet. For some reason, I really wasn’t in any hurry to see my mother again. And if we were a day—or two—late, what could my mother do about it? It seemed like Roger was on a quest of his own, just like Virtual Leonard. And who was I to stop that? “I think we should go,” I said, making a decision.

“Really?”

“Really,” I said. “It’s just a detour, right?”

“It’s a big detour,” he said. “Your mother—”