and crossed her fingers that it was invalid. No such luck, but the next best thing—an answering machine picked up on the third ring. A peppy voice informed her that “Brett and Cindy” weren’t home now but requested that she please leave a message.
She waited for the tone. “Hi.” She floundered, then found her cue on the scrap of paper. “This is . . . Meg. Hey, I’m headed out to see you guys.” She pretended it was her sister she was talking to and tried to urge some genuine enthusiasm into her voice. “I’m in Ohio right now, but I’ll probably get to your place sometime this afternoon.”
“It’ll be around five,” Mrs. Blakely mouthed.
“Probably around five,” Maggie parroted. “I’ll call later when we get into town.”
She hung up and handed the phone back to Mrs. Blakely. “I left a message,” she said, as if the woman hadn’t been eavesdropping on every word.
“Oh, well, at least they know to expect you. We can try to reach them again when we get a little closer to Kansas City.”
Maggie nodded. Poor Brett and Cindy—whoever they were. They’d be frantically cleaning house and wracking their brains to think who they knew named Meg. Maggie felt the way she had in seventh grade at Alisha Pierpont’s slumber party when they’d made prank calls late into the night. If it hadn’t been so mean, it would almost be funny.
Mrs. Blakely twisted in her seat as if she were going to settle in for a heart-to-heart. Maggie’s pulse quickened. She did not want to talk. She was having enough trouble keeping her stories straight. Feigning a yawn, she settled back into the seat and closed her eyes.
It wasn’t long before she fell asleep for real.
M aggie awoke to the splatter of rain on the windshield. The sky was gray, and the cars on the interstate all had their lights on. Maggie peeked through half-lidded eyes, trying to determine if Mrs. Blakely was dozing in the front seat or simply waiting for Maggie to wake up so she could pounce on her with a barrage of questions.
The woman was curled up in the seat, her head lolling with the motion of the car. She seemed to be asleep. Her husband had tuned the radio to some sports talk show and seemed intent on the on-air banter.
Maggie adjusted her position, being careful to place herself where her eyes didn’t meet the driver’s in the rearview mirror. She rode that way until they exited the interstate a few hours later for fast food—aMcDonald’s drive-thru. They were back on the road in minutes. Maggie took her time eating the cheeseburger Mr. Blakely insisted on paying for. When it was gone, she leaned her head against the window, playing possum.
After an hour, her muscles ached with the need to stretch. It was going to be a long trip. She consoled herself with the knowledge that every mile she suffered put her that much farther from Kevin.
The radio blared louder as a commercial started. A minute later an announcer read the latest news in a monotone. But when national news gave way to a local update, Maggie froze. She didn’t know how far this particular station’s signal reached, nor did she have a good sense of how far away they were from New York by now, but what if they reported her missing or kidnapped in yesterday’s carjacking? Or worse, what if Kevin had them broadcasting her description?
She slunk back into the corner of the seat.
She ran blindly, instinctively in the direction that would take her farthest from the life she’d known before yesterday.
Chapter Ten
T he newscaster on the radio rambled on . . . something about the Illinois Department of Education. Maggie shot up in her seat and gave a little gasp. “Are we in Illinois?”
“Just crossed the state line.” Mr. Blakely reached to turn the radio down.
Good. Way out here they surely couldn’t care less about yet another New York City carjacking. She kneaded the knotted muscles in her neck and shifted to the other side of the car. Before long, the
She waited for the tone. “Hi.” She floundered, then found her cue on the scrap of paper. “This is . . . Meg. Hey, I’m headed out to see you guys.” She pretended it was her sister she was talking to and tried to urge some genuine enthusiasm into her voice. “I’m in Ohio right now, but I’ll probably get to your place sometime this afternoon.”
“It’ll be around five,” Mrs. Blakely mouthed.
“Probably around five,” Maggie parroted. “I’ll call later when we get into town.”
She hung up and handed the phone back to Mrs. Blakely. “I left a message,” she said, as if the woman hadn’t been eavesdropping on every word.
“Oh, well, at least they know to expect you. We can try to reach them again when we get a little closer to Kansas City.”
Maggie nodded. Poor Brett and Cindy—whoever they were. They’d be frantically cleaning house and wracking their brains to think who they knew named Meg. Maggie felt the way she had in seventh grade at Alisha Pierpont’s slumber party when they’d made prank calls late into the night. If it hadn’t been so mean, it would almost be funny.
Mrs. Blakely twisted in her seat as if she were going to settle in for a heart-to-heart. Maggie’s pulse quickened. She did not want to talk. She was having enough trouble keeping her stories straight. Feigning a yawn, she settled back into the seat and closed her eyes.
It wasn’t long before she fell asleep for real.
M aggie awoke to the splatter of rain on the windshield. The sky was gray, and the cars on the interstate all had their lights on. Maggie peeked through half-lidded eyes, trying to determine if Mrs. Blakely was dozing in the front seat or simply waiting for Maggie to wake up so she could pounce on her with a barrage of questions.
The woman was curled up in the seat, her head lolling with the motion of the car. She seemed to be asleep. Her husband had tuned the radio to some sports talk show and seemed intent on the on-air banter.
Maggie adjusted her position, being careful to place herself where her eyes didn’t meet the driver’s in the rearview mirror. She rode that way until they exited the interstate a few hours later for fast food—aMcDonald’s drive-thru. They were back on the road in minutes. Maggie took her time eating the cheeseburger Mr. Blakely insisted on paying for. When it was gone, she leaned her head against the window, playing possum.
After an hour, her muscles ached with the need to stretch. It was going to be a long trip. She consoled herself with the knowledge that every mile she suffered put her that much farther from Kevin.
The radio blared louder as a commercial started. A minute later an announcer read the latest news in a monotone. But when national news gave way to a local update, Maggie froze. She didn’t know how far this particular station’s signal reached, nor did she have a good sense of how far away they were from New York by now, but what if they reported her missing or kidnapped in yesterday’s carjacking? Or worse, what if Kevin had them broadcasting her description?
She slunk back into the corner of the seat.
She ran blindly, instinctively in the direction that would take her farthest from the life she’d known before yesterday.
Chapter Ten
T he newscaster on the radio rambled on . . . something about the Illinois Department of Education. Maggie shot up in her seat and gave a little gasp. “Are we in Illinois?”
“Just crossed the state line.” Mr. Blakely reached to turn the radio down.
Good. Way out here they surely couldn’t care less about yet another New York City carjacking. She kneaded the knotted muscles in her neck and shifted to the other side of the car. Before long, the
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