by Gail Nall
I could text him. I bring up his number and stare at it for a moment. Except I don’t know what to say. He’ll want to know when I’m coming home, and I don’t have an answer for that—yet.
That’s it, List Item One from OMGH is going into action tonight. I stuff the phone into my pocket and stand.
“What’s that book?” Shiver’s next to the table, one earbud in, one out.
“Nothing.” I hold the book close to me so she can’t read the title. I don’t know why, really. Maybe because I’m pretty sure she’d call me a hick for liking country. Or maybe I just don’t want to share my most important dream with someone like Shiver.
“Whatever.” Shiver stuffs the dangling earbud back into her ear and parks herself at the picnic table.
I’m about to demand to know what’s she’s doing here when Gert arrives bearing something covered in aluminum foil.
“Good evening, Maya,” she says. “I’ve brought falafel for dinner.”
“Fa-what-el?” I wish I could take it back the second I say it. It sounds really rude. Plus, Shiver rolls her eyes so high, I’m sure they’ll get stuck somewhere in her forehead.
Gert’s laugh is like bells. “Falafel. It’s tasty, I promise. I’m going to bring this to your mother.” She moves toward the RV, and I follow her with my book and my bat, leaving Shiver camped out at the picnic table by herself.
Which is what she probably prefers.
“Hi there, Gert!” Dad waves as he sets up the grill outside the RV. “Ready for some ribs and corn on the cob?”
Gert laughs again, and Mom emerges from the RV.
“I didn’t know they were coming for dinner,” I whisper as I grab the door.
“We invited them this morning,” Mom says. “Put your stuff away and entertain Shiver.”
“Ha.” I carefully slide the book onto my bunk, where the TTT can keep an eye on it. I wonder if Taylor Swift ever has to deal with girls like Shiver. She probably has people who do that for her. Anyhow, I don’t think there’s any way I can “entertain” Shiver. Unless I shaved my head or started bowing down to the freaky-eyed deer on the spare tire cover.
Which is where I find Shiver when I go back outside. At the spare tire, that is.
“Awesome.” She points with an earbud at my hack sewing job. The buck’s neck is crisscrossed with hot pink thread in a U shape. “It’s like Frankendeer.”
Well, maybe entertaining Shiver isn’t that hard after all.
“Who’s Gloria?” she asks.
“Um, the RV. Dad’s idea.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my favorite shorts and glare at the deer.
“Weird.”
Then I guess she’s bored with looking at the Frankendeer, because she abruptly turns and heads back to the yard area where Dad’s got his embarrassing Professional BBQer at Work apron on. Mom got him that thing when he was obsessed with grilling and entered all these barbeque competitions. At one point, there was so much smoked pork in our freezer, it looked like the meat department at Kroger.
Shiver walks right up to the grill and watches Dad. “That’s disgusting. I’m a vegetarian.”
Dad blinks at her. Then he puts on his Dad smile and says, “That’s fine. There’s corn and salad, too.”
“But you’re grilling the corn where the meat’s been,” Shiver says.
“I . . . am.” Dad nudges an ear of corn with his tongs and it bumps right into the ribs.
“Gross.”
“Shiver, honey, manners,” Gert says from over by the picnic table where she’s helping Mom lay out plates and cups.
Shiver rolls her eyes.
Bug looks at me from where she’s sitting at the picnic table. I know exactly what she’s thinking. Mom would murder us if we rolled our eyes as much as Shiver gets away with. And we’d never in a million years get away with rolling our eyes at someone else’s parents.
Shiver plops down in the dirt next to Bertha and plugs in her earbuds. The setting sun glints off something on her nose.
Is that a nose ring? I act like I’m going back into the RV to get a closer look. Sure enough, the world’s tiniest diamond twinkles from the side of her nose. How did I miss that before?
And how in the world did she convince her mother to let her get her nose pierced? Mom let me get my ears pierced only last year. Her head would explode if I even mentioned getting a hole through my nostril.
“What are you looking at?” Shiver growls.
“Nothing.”
Dad saves me by announcing the food is ready. Bug and I load up with ribs and corn and salad. I even put one of Gert’s falafel thingies on my plate to try.
Shiver reaches over my food and grabs a handful of falafel balls. She plops them onto a plate, ignores the rest of the food, and then sits at the very edge of the picnic table bench. Like I have cooties or something.
Mom and Gert talk about old times, while Dad throws in a few jokes. Bug and I eat, and I text Kenzie under the table. Mostly about how she’s going to go all super-private detective on Lacey and Jack. Mom’s not a big fan of texting during dinner. But tonight she’s too distracted to notice.
Which is good, because it’s not like Shiver’s going to talk to me.
As if I care. I already have a best friend. She’s just hundreds and hundreds of miles away.
Chapter 6
18 days until Dueling Duets auditions
I wait until Bug and Dad retreat to bed. Then I sit in my pajamas across the little booth-style table from Mom. Time to execute OMGH Number One.
“Maya, why aren’t you in bed?” Mom asks without looking up from her laptop.
I fold my hands and put on my best responsible-daughter face. “I need to talk to you.”
Mom moves her laptop lid down to look me in the eye. “Well, that sounds serious. Wait, this doesn’t involve a boy, does it?”
“No. . . . There kind of aren’t any boys here.”
“I’m kidding. I know you hate the entire idea of our new life. So spill it.” She reaches out and puts a hand on my arm.
I take a deep breath. “I need to go home. I get why we’re doing this, because of the money and all. But I have to be in Nashville for the auditions. Jack needs me. If I’m not there, he’ll find another partner. I’m sure I could stay with Kenzie’s family. I’ve tried to do this with y’all, but I can’t.”
Mom gives me a sympathetic smile and sort of pats my arm.
And I know exactly what she’s going to say.
“I understand where you’re coming from,” she says. “But it means a lot to both your dad and me that we’re all in this together. Did I tell you about why we chose to do this, instead of finding some sad apartment back home?”
“Because Dad got laid off and is having a midlife crisis?”
Mom laughs. “Well, yes and no. Dad losing his job made it clear that something big had to change for us. But when we were twenty-five years old and spent a month traveling out west, we saw all these families in their RVs and thought, wouldn’t that be a great life for a family? And choosing this made our situation seem more like a choice, rather than a necessity.”
My mouth is hanging open. The whole time, I thought this crazy idea was all Dad, and Mom just went along with it to make him happy or save money or something.
“I know it’s really hard to understand, but when you’re an adult and you feel you have no control over what’s happening in your life, any actual choice you can make is so empowering.”
She’s wrong there. I know exactly what it’s like to have no control over my life. That’s the whole reason for OMGH.
“And that’s something your dad really needs right now. A choice, and the opportunity to see a dream through.”
I think of the sad look I saw on Dad’s face earlier. It was more than just sad—it was almost like I’d crushed his soul by saying I didn’t want to be here. And that makes me feel awful.
“I understand this is a huge adjustment,” Mom says. “I can’t say we’ll do this fore
ver. Or even for a year. We’ll see how it goes. But we need you here to experience it with us.”
There’s no way Mom will change her mind, and there’s no way I’m going to ask Dad. I already feel like the World’s Worst Daughter just for wanting to go home. But how can I choose between my family and my dream? Like I ever even had a choice, really. I feel totally defeated.
“And I am really sorry about the tryouts. But, Maya, you have plenty of time to follow that dream. Trust me, okay?” Mom says as I stand up.
“Mmm-hmm.” I don’t even try to argue, but those words make me more determined than ever to get home. No way am I losing everything. I head back to my bunk to think.
Mom said this might not even last for a year. Except I can’t wait a year. My life is going on without me in Nashville. I stare at my silver shirt, which I’ve draped over a pile of stuffed animals at the foot of my bunk. The auditions are in eighteen—almost seventeen—days. I need to get back, pronto. Lacey’s already trying to move in on Jack. Plus, what if I make it on the show and actually win? A recording contract equals money. And then I’ll have to stay put in Nashville—for my career. Mom and Dad will have to give up this crazy “dream.” We can buy a new house, and then I’ll have everything and everyone I need—at home.
I scoop up Hugo from my pillow and plop him on my lap. It’s settled. I have to get home. So the easy way didn’t work. Mom said no, but so what? That doesn’t mean I can’t come up with another plan. I text Kenzie for more advice.
Fake asthma attack, she suggests.
I don’t even have asthma. What if you have emergency & you need me to come help? I ask.
The little texting ding is almost instantaneous. I could fall downstairs & break both legs! & both arms. & maybe my head.
No—that sounds rly painful, I type back.
We go back and forth with ideas until Mom pokes her head through my cubbyhole curtain and demands I go to sleep. I am so over this no-privacy thing.
I snuggle up with Hugo—and my shirt—and will myself to dream up the perfect solution to get home.
Mom waves out the RV window to Gert when we drive off the next morning. “That was nice. Maybe we’ll see them again. All those RV forums online talked about running into the same people all over the country.”
“That’s the beauty of the road,” Dad says. “Who knows who we’ll meet next.”
“Ariana Grande,” Bug says.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I tell her as I flip through Everything Y’all Ever Wanted to Know. “Why would Ariana Grande be at a campground in the middle of nowhere?”
“Maybe she wants to go camping,” Bug says. “We could hike and swim and sing camp songs together.”
“Right.”
We drive and drive and drive. I stare at my OMGH list, wishing any new inspiration to whack me in the head. Bug’s scratching away at a notebook.
“What are you writing?” I peer over her shoulder but I can’t read her cramped handwriting.
“A list of observations to share with the science club and my Girl Scout troop over Skype.” Bug chews on her pencil.
I don’t know what she’s observing way out here. Number of farms: 1,000,000. Number of cows on farms: 1,000,000,000,000. Number of best friends and cute audition partners and Dueling Duets judges: 0.
Mom points ahead at a river. “We’re almost in Oklahoma.”
“Oklahoma is OK by me,” Dad, the Captain of Randomness, says. “Now, where’s that sign? We have to stop and take a picture.”
Oklahoma turns into Kansas the next day, not that it looks any different. I’m down to T minus 16 days and still haven’t come up with any new ideas.
Just spent 2 whole hrs looking at World’s Biggest Ball of Twine, I text to Kenzie the day after (a.k.a. T minus 15 days).
Fun? she writes back.
Ha. Ha ha ha ha.
“Home, home on the range . . . ,” Dad sings as we fly down the narrow two-lane road out of Cawker City, home of the World’s Largest Ball of Twine, and across flat Kansas.
I tune him out and concentrate on texting Kenzie.
Twizzlers? It’s become our code word for Anything new on the Jack and Lacey front?
I don’t want to tell you, she replies.
I can’t stop the sigh that escapes my throat. Mom turns around. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I tell her. “Just my dreams disappearing into a black hole, that’s all. No big deal.”
“Maya,” Mom says in low voice. Right. No sympathy from her. I go back to my phone.
Are you kidding? TELL ME.
L maybe sort of told J he could be in a furniture store commercial.
No. Seriously? That girl has no shame, at all. And?
He was kinda excited about it. He’s gonna sing the store’s new jingle. Lacey wrote it.
How can I compete with that? My dad’s idea of a “career” is careening around the country in stupid Gloria. Meanwhile, Lacey’s hooked the only guy I’ve ever liked by offering him local fame in her dad’s commercial.
You ok? Kenzie texts.
Not really. Any new ideas?
No. We’ll think of something.
I sigh again. Really loudly. Mom doesn’t turn around this time. Still hoping wheels fall off Bertha.
I look out the window as I wait for Kenzie’s reply and try not to think of Jack and Lacey practicing the furniture store jingle together. And Jack asking Lacey to audition with him for Dueling Duets. And Lacey singing my part in “Highway Don’t Care.” Instead, I stare at the landscape outside the window. Kansas is flat, flat, flat. Way off in the distance, one of those tall, round grain silos pokes its head into the sky. Each town seems to have one. Without it, you’d never know there was a town buried in all this tall grass.
Before I can even stop myself, I pull up Jack’s number and type, Have you ever been to Kansas? I press send.
Oh. My. God. I can’t believe I sent him something that dumb. And now he’s not texting back because he’s probably like, Why in the world did Maya ask me about Kansas? And also probably because he’s too busy practicing Lacey’s song.
“Ooh, windmills!” Bug points out the window across from us.
I lean forward to see a million windmills guarding a field far ahead. They don’t look anything like the windmills I’ve seen in pictures. Instead of the quaint, fat wooden paddles, these things are tall, thin, and white and have three skinny blades that look like airplane propellers.
I check my phone. No signal. Which means no possible texts from Jack or Kenzie.
All I have to do is find a way home, and I know Kenzie would let me stay with her. But how can I get there? And before auditions?
POP!
“Hold on, girls!” Mom yells from up front.
Chapter 7
15 days until Dueling Duets auditions
The RV jerks one way, then the other. My phone flies out of my hand and skitters across the floor as I bump sideways against Bug. Hugo leaps from his spot next to me and cowers under the kitchen table. Magazines and postcards slide off the counters onto the floor. And then I hear the unmistakable thumps of my entire book collection falling like an avalanche off the bunks and onto the floor.
“Watch out!” Mom shouts.
The road moves back and forth on the other side of the windshield, making me dizzy, as Dad spins the wheel.
“Tire,” Dad grunts as he manages to slow the RV down. “Think we blew one.”
Did my wish come true? Did the tires actually fall off? If we don’t die, this will be perfect!
Bertha finally comes to a stop on the side of the road. Dad jumps up and flies out the door.
“Girls, you okay?” Mom twists from the passenger seat to see us.
I nod. Bug sits, unmoving, next to me.
“I’m going to help your dad,” Mom says.
When I finally unbuckle my seat belt, I realize my hands are shaking. “Come on, let’s go outside,” I say to Bug.
She blinks at me but doesn’t move. I click
her seat belt and grab her arm to pull her up.
“What happened?” she says as I help her to the door.
“Don’t know. I think the wheels fell off. Are you all right?”
She nods as we walk down the stairs. My legs feel like jelly, the way they did when Jack told me I sang better than Miranda Lambert.
We thread through knee-high grass to where Dad is kneeling on the ground, checking out the remains of one of the tires. The thing looks like some maniac took a knife to it, slashing the rubber to pieces. So it’s not exactly like Bertha tossed her wheels all over the highway, but still. That tire looks really bad.
Bug and I watch as Dad wrestles with the spare. Mom keeps encouraging him and trying to hand him tools. The freaky-eyed doe and the Frankendeer glare at us from where they lie tossed in the dirt.
As minutes turn into an hour, and an hour turns into three, I begin to wonder if Dad will ever get the spare on. A whole two cars have driven by, and I swear there are buzzards circling over our heads, just waiting for us to croak out here in the middle of nowhere.
“What if Dad can’t get the tire on? Will Mom call a tow truck?” Bug asks.
“How? There’s no cell signal.” I show her my phone. “Zero bars out here in the wilderness.”
“Then what will we do?”
“I guess we’ll flag down the next car that drives by.” I pluck a piece of long grass from behind us and use the end of it to write my name (linked with Jack’s) in the dusty dirt.
“What if no one stops? Maybe no one else will ever come by. Maybe we can live here! Set up tents in the grass and live off dead snakes.” Bug actually smiles at the idea.
I try not to gag. “Someone will come. Eventually.” But other ideas play across my mind now. Good ones, too, not dead-snake ones. What if the nearest garage doesn’t have a tire to fit our RV? What if it’s too expensive to get a new one put on? What if something’s wrong with the whole wheel and it will take months to get fixed?
OMGH Item Number Two is totally working. I won’t even have to come up with any more crazy ideas to get myself to Nashville if Bertha is dead in the water—or dead on the asphalt, I suppose.
