Chapter Twenty-Two

Mama Maple's Bacon and Eggs is an improvement over the pawnshop, and not just because Gold Star set the bar in the sewer. When I push through the double doors, I find a brightly lit ‘50s-style diner with shiny checkerboard floors and cheerful turquoise booths. It's one of those postcard places: You know, the slightly unique local attractions they put on postcards and keep stocked at welcome centers and tourism offices. The kind Max has been sending me these past four months. This is a sign, I decide.

Though the diner feels cozy, there's a corridor of booths long enough that I spot an empty one despite the lunch rush. The chalkboard by the door instructs me to TAKE A MENU AND SEAT YOURSELF, HONEY so I hustle toward it, dropping onto the squeaky bench cushion that smells of bacon and onions and coffee in a good way. Maybe we got kicked out of the pawnshop, but nobody will kick a customer out of a diner. I'll just order iced tea after iced tea until Max turns up for her shift. Though honestly, Jo and I only stopped long enough to grab a plastic-wrapped muffin apiece from the It'll Do Motel's "continental breakfast" and scarf them down quickly in the parking lot. I should get a to-go order for Jo … unless the Raceway's concession stand is open? We always brought coolers to the track during my and Max's events, but maybe this is a whole different scene.

I picture JoJo carving an expert path through the crowds in her search, smelling the old smells—burnt rubber and burning nitro and barbecue that drifts all the way from the RV campgrounds outside the track. I imagine her lingering, watching the cars roar by and missing the pit like a childhood home. But I do not text her just to make sure her head is in the game, or to remind her that I'm here, waiting, wishing we hadn't split up in the first place. I will not hold on to JoJo so tightly that she spins out the moment my fingers slip.

I won't …

"Well hi there, sweetie!" a waitress chirps as she appears with her order pad. Around Jolene's age, she reminds me a little of JoJo's grandma, with her carefully applied fruit-punch lipstick and coiffed hair, although she's wearing much more practical white sneakers. "I'm Hazel, and I'll be looking out for you today. What can I getcha?"

"Oh. Can I have the, uh …" I speed-read the specials menu I've been clutching but have yet to glance at. "The Mama's Waffles Plate, please, with the Easy Cheesy Loaded Grits? And an iced tea."

"Coming right up." Hazel is that experienced waitress combo of friendly and efficient; so much so, I almost miss my chance.

But just as she turns away, I remember the mission. "Um, hey!" I call after her. "I wanted to ask … Do you know when Max will be in today?"

She stops, pursing her painted lips as she glances back and looks me over, more shrewdly this time. "What do you want Maxine for?"

I'm startled by the decidedly unfriendly question, and by my sister's full name. Is she going by Maxine here? I only ever called her that to annoy her, and likewise she with Eliana. But Hazel might just be old-fashioned, or formal. "She's my sister. Maxine Blum? I thought she had a shift today."

Hazel softens again, her thin shoulders lowering. "I'm not sure. Tell you what, sweetie, I'll ask in the back."

"Thank you!" I call, though she's already striding away toward the kitchen.

With that done and my waffles in progress, I can't avoid checking my phone any longer. I peel it out from the inside pocket of the leather jacket I've draped across the seat beside me, dreading my missed calls. There's little chance my parents don't know I'm gone yet. They'll be fuming even if, fingers crossed, they haven't discovered the missing R1. And if they have, then what? Would they call JoJo's dad, or skip straight to the police? I try to stop that panic-spiral in its tracks. They might not know about the bike; though they're disappointed in me, maybe more than they've ever been, I'm not the daughter who takes out a bike in the middle of the night and drives it across state lines.

At least, I wasn't until I was.

I peek at my phone, and Missed Call notifications pop up as I tilt the screen. Shit. Shit.

There are two from the house, two from Mom's phone, and one from Dad's. So yeah, I'd say they know I'm gone. Only one voicemail from Mom, though, which doesn't seem like "our daughter stole a sport bike" behavior. My thumb hovers over the Play button, but then I see a fresh voicemail from Zaynah as well, left just an hour ago. And scrolling over to recent calls, I see that she's tried to call me six times today.

I'm not prepared to talk to my parents—and honestly, I'm not confident that I won't crumble under their questioning and make this worse—but Zaynah will be easier. Maybe she can even help me buy time until I find Max.

Leaving the jacket in the booth to reassure Hazel that I haven't ditched, I find the bathroom, cotton candy pink and blessedly empty. Tucking myself into the farthest stall (like they're soundproofed or something) I take a breath and call back my best friend. "Hey Z—" I'm barely able to whisper before she explodes.

"Where are you? Are you okay? Your parents called mine, they said you weren't there when your mom came home for lunch, and it didn't look like you'd slept in your bed?"

Oh, hell. That's on me; Max would've rumpled up the sheets or thrown a pillow on the floor if she'd snuck out during the night, so she could claim she only got up early. "I—"

"And they said you were out with JoJo yesterday, and she was driving her car without a license?!" Zaynah plows right through me. "You never told me that! I didn't even want to do the heist, but if I knew she wasn't supposed to be driving—"

Now it's my turn to interrupt. "What do you mean, you didn't want to do the heist?" I tuck my feet up against the stall door, as if that'll stop my words from traveling. "You asked to come. You offered to be our getaway driver."

"Yeah, to keep you guys out of trouble if you were gonna do it anyway. And now I'm in trouble, because I couldn't lie to my parents and say I didn't know anything."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Z—"

"And you're definitely in trouble. Where are you?"

"Um. Richmond?"

Silence, then, "Are you with JoJo?"

"I … yeah."

"Of course you are." It almost sounds like she's sneering on the other end.

Zaynah and I haven't seriously fought since eighth grade, when we couldn't agree on which movie to see at the Cineplex—I wanted Godzilla, she wanted The Secret Life of Pets 2. We both thought the other was being ridiculously stubborn, which stirred up wounds as old as elementary school, and didn't speak for a week and a half. I'm getting the feeling that this will be worse.

"What does that mean?" I ask, already knowing I shouldn't.

"You're always with JoJo, and you hardly even talk to me. We haven't seen each other all summer except for work and volunteer club. I didn't even know you two were dating until the barbecue, when I saw you kissing, and you haven't said anything since. It's like now you have her to get in trouble with, and you don't want me around. We have a club event this afternoon, remember? At the nature center in Deerfield? I'm guessing since you're with her, you won't be there."

"Oh my God, so? I'm always showing up. I show up for work, I show up to tutor, I show up for every school event, I show up for the club. I'm allowed to have more important stuff to do," I hiss back as quietly as I can.

Another wrong move.

"More important than the volunteer club, or more important than me?"

"That's … I didn't—"

"Whatever," she cuts me off coolly. "I was calling because I was worried. I shouldn't have been. You've done this before, you know. When Max came home? I know she's your sister and I'm just … me, but I hardly saw you until she left. And then we weren't even supposed to talk about her, no matter how worried I was. So I guess we'll talk again when JoJo leaves, right?"

"Zaynah, stop, I—"

The call ends.

I sit there in the stall for a long moment, steaming. Because I've seen Zaynah plenty this summer. We talk all the time, practically every day, and I definitely told her about JoJo before the barbecue.

Didn't I?

With shaking fingers, I go into our text thread, stretching back and back and back. Her text this morning went unanswered, sure, as did a few increasingly unhinged "where are you?!?!?!?" messages since.

But then, dread trickling down and pooling in my stomach, I see a dozen unanswered or barely answered texts before that, from the last week alone. Including an "OMG, you and Jo!!" she sent during the party, probably typing beneath the picnic table, which I never did respond to. And there's no mention of The Mario Kart Kiss in anything I've sent since that night in the attic.

Well, fine. I fucked up. This is another thing for me to fix when I get back to Dell's Hollow. Make up with my parents. Make up with Zaynah. Apologize to the club, and to my Putt by the Pond manager for missing my opening shift. Promise everyone that I'll do better, be better, become the girl everyone can count on all over again.

But first: Max.

By the time I slow my breathing enough to leave the bathroom (with a few customers coming and going in the meantime), I arrive just in time to find Hazel setting my plates on the table.

"Everything all right, sweetie?" she asks, seeing my face; maybe I'm not as under control as I thought I was when I left my bathroom stall cocoon.

I paste on a happy customer smile, which gets a little easier as I slide into the booth and the steam from my cheesy grits wafts over me; I really am starving. "This looks so great, thanks. Did you, um, find out when my sister comes in today?"

"Ah, I thought maybe somebody else here told you, and that's why …" Her forehead puckers, and her voice is soft as she tells me, "Maxine isn't coming in."

"Like, she called out today?"

"My manager says she was let go last week, sweetie. She—can I get you something else? On the house. We make a great buttermilk pie."

I shake my head, smile pasted in place until Hazel leaves. Then I text Jo call me, and wait and wait and wait for her to answer while my grits grow ice cold in front of me.