Amy And Roger's Epic Detour Part 8

"Totally," he said. "You too. G.o.dd.a.m.n orcs," he muttered as he began slaying again with a vengeance.

I headed up the stairs to Bronwyn's room and pushed open the door. The room was dark, and I was about to turn the lights on when I saw that Bronwyn was in bed, sleeping, her breath slow and rhythmic. I hadn't even realized she'd left the party. Using the light spilling in from the hallway, I looked around the room and saw that alongside her bed, she'd laid out a sleeping bag for me, with a neatly folded green T-shirt and sweatpants on top of it.

It seemed easier to just change into these rather than try to deal with my suitcase in the dark. I closed the door and changed, trying to make as little noise as possible. But Bronwyn seemed to be a pretty deep sleeper, which was a good thing. Because I'd just wanted to go to sleep, anyway. If she'd been awake, we probably would have had to talk about the party, and I could have told her about Bradley. But now I didn't have to, so it worked out.

I pulled the sleeping bag around my shoulders, hoping that whatever magic had worked the last two nights would work tonight, and I could just go to sleep. I wanted to block out the memories of Michael and stop remembering that night. But as soon as I closed my eyes, all I could see was his face, and I knew that probably wasn't going to happen.

Those memories so steeped in yesterday. Those memories you couldn't run away.

-Ember FX.

MARCH 11- 11-THREE MONTHS EARLIER.

I sat on the edge of Michael's bed and put my bra back on, getting the hooks wrong but not really caring. Michael was rubbing my back in slow circles, and I moved away from him under the pretense of getting my shirt. But mostly, I just didn't want him to touch me anymore. I pulled on the tank top with hands that were shaking slightly.

"You okay?" he asked from the bed, where he was sitting up, still under the sheet. I wondered why I'd never noticed before that the whole room smelled like pizza.

"I'm fine," I said brightly, but I could hear the edge of hysteria in my voice. I found my skirt balled up under the bed and I smoothed it out, then pulled it on, standing to zip it.

"Hey," Michael said, sounding concerned. He held out his hand to me. "Come here."

I didn't want to go there. All I wanted was to get out of his room as soon as I could, and, if possible, go back in time and erase the last twenty minutes. "I should get going," I said, trying to keep at bay whatever was threatening to break apart inside me. I looked around for my black heels, but they seemed to have vanished.

Michael pulled his khakis back on and walked over to stand in front of me. "Amy," he said, reaching out to smooth down my hair.

"Have you seen my shoes?" I asked, trying to step around him.

"What's the matter?" he asked, taking my hands in his. "Look, I promise the second time will be better." I pulled my hands away, reasoning that I really didn't need my shoes. I could get home barefoot. It would be fine.

Michael pulled me into a hug, running his hand over my hair, and I felt myself stiffen. It was all just too much. Everything was too much. What we'd just done, and how I hadn't known that I would feel so vulnerable while it was happening, which was the last thing that I wanted to feel. How when it was over, I'd realized what a huge mistake it had been. But a mistake that was impossible to take back. How, suddenly, with his arms around me, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I pushed him away and stepped back. As I did, I saw a hurt look flash over his face, but I didn't care. All I knew was that I had to get out of there.

"I have to go," I said, hearing how unsteady my voice sounded, and feeling like something inside me was crumbling. I couldn't believe I'd ever thought this was a good idea. I just needed to go someplace where I could be alone, and try to handle the fact that everything in the world seemed to be broken.

"Let's talk about this," he said, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot next to him.

"I don't want to talk!" I yelled this, not even knowing I was going to, and my voice broke on the last word. I yelled this, not even knowing I was going to, and my voice broke on the last word.

"Okay," said Michael, now looking a little freaked out. "Um. That's okay. You don't have to."

I turned away from him and forced myself to take a breath, even though I could feel how jagged it was. "I just ... I just want to be alone, okay? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here." I headed for the door, leaving behind in his messy room my shoes, my virginity, and the last semblance of the girl I'd once been.

"Amy," Michael said. "Don't-"

But I never found out what he was going to say, as I slammed the door behind me and walked down his dorm hallway, keeping my eyes on the industrial brown carpet, not looking back to see if he followed me. I felt tears p.r.i.c.king the inside of my eyelids. My eyes felt like they were burning, and two tears escaped from my right eye. I could feel just how much there was-everything that had happened, the enormity of it all. There weren't enough tears to cry. I didn't have enough voice left to scream. And it wasn't like anything was going to change. No matter how much I cried, even if I let myself yell, things were never going to get better. So I pushed back as hard as I could against the feelings inside me that were crying out for release. I concentrated on breathing, and taking one step, then another, and not thinking about what had happened, or the house I would have to go back to, or how it felt that my heart was beyond broken-how it felt so shattered that it was ground down to powder. I pushed these feelings away with everything I had left.

And by the time I stepped outside, into the still warm evening, I had stopped crying.

4.

Through Adversity to the Stars

I've reached the point of know return.

-Kansas.

We were going to Kentucky.

Well, first we had to go through Kansas and Missouri, but then we were going to Kentucky.

When I'd woken up at ten that morning-having finally drifted off to sleep around four-Bronwyn was gone, and so was my suitcase. My jeans were folded on her bed, along with a white T-shirt, very like the one she'd worn the day before. There was a yellow Post-it lying on the clothes that read For Amy, and a pink Post-it next to the yellow one that read Wear Me. Confused, but not seeing any other options, I got changed, feeling the softness of the fabric as I did so. It was a nice shirt, and it was white-I'd have to be sure to stay far away from jam.

I rolled up the sleeping bag and headed downstairs. Leonard was asleep on the couch, snoring softly, controller resting on his chest. As I headed to the kitchen, Roger came out of it, wearing the "Bear Necessities" T-shirt he'd bought at the Yosemite gift shop. He must have just showered, because his hair was still wet and I could see the comb tracks through it, the cowlick in the back struggling valiantly to stand up. "Hey," he said. "Morning."

"Hi," I said quietly, even though there was probably no need, as the game was blaring some kind of pan-flute music and that didn't seem to be disturbing Leonard in the slightest.

"Did you have fun last night?" he asked.

"I did," I said, a fact that still surprised me. But I had actually been having fun, until the end.

"Good," he said, smiling at me. "I wasn't sure, when you left early ..."

"Oh, that," I said, looking down at the ground. "I was just tired."

"Yeah," he said, stretching a little. "It's been an intense couple of days."

"It has," I agreed, realizing as I said this that it had only been three days. And that my life before the trip was beginning to seem very far away.

"Ready to hit the road?"

"Yep," I said, not registering my word choice until it was too late to take it back. But we were in Colorado, after all, so maybe cowboy speech was more acceptable. Or at least less random. "I need to find my suitcase, though. It wasn't in Bronwyn's room."

"That's okay," Roger said as he grabbed his duffel from the doorway. "Bron brought it down this morning."

"Really? That was nice of her."

"Mmm," he said vaguely. We walked past Leonard on our way to the door, and Roger fist-b.u.mped the hand that was draped across the back of the sofa. "Later, dude," he said, continuing out to the car.

"Totally," Leonard mumbled.

I looked up at the screen and noticed that it was now flashing Make haste! You must save Princess Amy! Make haste! You must save Princess Amy!

I watched the words as they faded, feeling myself smile. "Bye, Leonard," I said softly. "Good luck with your quest." I stepped outside and pulled the door to the International House shut behind me. Then I followed Roger out to the car.

"Bron had a meeting early this morning," he said as he put his duffel in the backseat, not making eye contact with me. He walked to the driver's side door, and I got in the pa.s.senger seat and buckled up. "But she said to tell you good-bye."

"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 p.a.w.n in all this. She just brought down your suitcase this morning and told me not to open it, or let you you open it, until we were on the road." 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 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." 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-"

"Will just have to deal with it. I'll just ... tell her we hit lots of traffic in the mid-Atlantic states." I could barely believe that I was saying these things. My mother was going to kill me. She'd left another message on my phone that morning, and I hadn't listened to it yet, or responded. Even though I had been trying to push these thoughts away, I knew she was probably worried. Guilt twisted my stomach and made my Francakes churn. But Roger looked up at me, and I tried to shake off these feelings. After all, she was the one who had gone off and left me for a month; I couldn't do the same to her for four days?

"Let's do it," I said as firmly as I could, even though my heart was pounding. "Kentucky."

Roger stared at me for a moment longer, then nodded and offered me his pencil. "Want to figure out our route, Chekov?" he asked. He peered at the map. "I don't think it's actually going to take us long. And if we go through Kansas, we can meet up with my friend Drew...."

"I think we'll go through Kansas," I said. As I flipped through the state maps, looking at the interstates we'd have to take, a thought occurred to me that made my stomach clench a little bit. "Roger," I asked, not really wanting to know the answer, but making myself ask it anyway, "is this-the Hadley thing-why you agreed to come on this trip in the first place?"

He looked up at me and met my eyes, a little guiltily, and I knew the answer was yes. This shouldn't have bothered or disappointed me, but it did. "It's okay," I said quickly. "I mean-"

"Well, yes," Roger said, interrupting me. "It was, at first. I mean, my mother asked me, but I didn't have to agree. I could have gotten my father to pay for my flight. But I thought it would be a good way to see the country, and I thought that Hadley was here, and if I could just see her, and talk to her ..."

I nodded, telling myself not to be bothered by this. Of course he hadn't been excited about taking a trip with a high schooler he barely knew. I hadn't been happy about the trip; why was I suddenly upset that he hadn't been either?

"But seriously," he said, with enough gravity in his tone that I looked up at him. "It's not what I thought it was going to be. I'm having fun. I mean, it's an adventure, right?"

"Right," I said, looking down at the country. "An adventure." And since he'd just put his cards down on the table, I thought that I should probably return the favor. "I didn't want to do this at all," I said. "I mean, at first. But now ... I mean, I'm glad. That we're doing this, I mean."

"Me too," he said, smiling at me. A busboy came and cleared away our plates with a loud sigh, which I took as our cue to leave. We headed out of Fran's, causing the bell at the top of the door to jingle, and stepped out of the way of two bleary-eyed truckers who were stumbling in.

"One thing," I said, as he unlocked the car with the clicker from a few feet away. "The guy last night at the party," I went on, as we walked around to our opposite sides of the car and looked at each other across the hood. This had been bothering me since it happened. "The one who said that you had fire. What-what did he mean?"

"Oh," Roger said, and I noticed that he wasn't looking at me. "I guess that must be a guy thing. It's stupid." He looked down at the key chain, fiddled with it.

"Was it about my hair?" I asked, sure that this was the answer and dreading it.

"What?" he asked, looking up at me. "No. Your hair's great. It meant that he thought you were hot. And he thought that we were ... together."