Notes From the Backseat by Jody Gehrman

and the red, curving lines of the bridge swooping past them. The left-out feeling that had haunted me most of the day started to creep back in. They just looked so perfect together up there—so natural and salty and wild. It was hard not to imagine how photogenic their little surfer children would be. Everyone driving past us must have wondered what I was doing in that picture. They probably assumed I was the wacky cousin visiting from some obscure Eastern European country that hadn’t yet discovered denim or Lycra.
    When we got across the bridge and were getting closer to the turnoff for Highway 1, I was astounded when Dannika said, “Let’s take the coast again.” I mean, God, the sun was halfway down and we still had a couple hundred miles to go. Even if we took 101 and headed northwest at Cloverdale, we were still looking at four, maybe five more hours in the car, depending on traffic. Taking the coast would mean five or six, at least, most of it in the dark on hellish-curvy roads.
    I couldn’t help it; I leaned forward and said, “Why don’t we just take 101?”
    She looked at me with disdain. “I don’t believe in freeways.”
    â€œYou live in San Diego and you don’t believe in freeways?” I punctuated the remark with one raised eyebrow. There were things she could learn from me.
    â€œI don’t,” she said. “They’re evil. Coop, don’t you think we should take the coast?”
    We both looked at him.
    â€œIf it were up to me, I’d go for 101. It’s twice as fast.” He shot Dannika his don’t-be-mad-I’m-only-being-honest look.
    She shook her head and laughed. “You’re just siding with her.”
    â€œIt’s only logical,” I said. “Why take the scenic route in the dark?”
    â€œWell, sorry, folks, but it’s my car and my car doesn’t take freeways. End of story. Here’s the turnoff.” Her tone was brusque, but underneath it you could hear the warning: my way or the highway —which in this case turned out to be the same thing.
    When Coop turned off obediently I wasn’t surprised. I mean yeah, it was a little wimpy, but we all knew if he didn’t we’d have a major tantrum on our hands and I don’t think any of us were up for it.
    Of course, the gods of Highway 1 had a few surprises in store for us, so if we were looking to get off easy, we could forget it.
    We were just passing Point Reyes Station, getting close to Tomales Bay. The sun was long gone but there was still a fiery pink clinging to the underside of a few smudgy clouds—the leftovers of a messy sunset. The air was turning a harsh, coastal-cold against our faces. I’d been debating for the past twenty minutes about asking if we could put the top up, but I hated to be the hothouse flower amongst tough native shrubs. The irony here was that I was the native. I’m the one who comes from apple country; Coop’s from Philadelphia and Dannika spent most her life in Ventura—what do they know about the strange, hostile territories north of the Golden Gate Bridge?
    As I sat there freezing my ass off in my wool chemise suit and my yummy little leopard-print car coat, I kept dreaming about the full-length mink I’d almost run back to grab this morning. If I had that, I could bury my face in its silky depths until the numbness in my nose and ears went away. Again, it was Dannika who had kept me from following my instincts. All day we’d been bending to her will—why? Because she had a perfect, perky little nose, gleaming blond hair, a supple, pinup girl body? And what part of all that wasn’t store bought? Even if it wasn’t—even if she was as all-natural as that gag-inducing juice I’d choked down earlier—what right did that give her to call every shot?
    Suddenly, I didn’t care if it was her car or if they thought I was a total city girl. I was going to