The Probability of Miracles by Wendy Wunder

much better stuff than Gift Shop East on the opposite side of the compound.
    â€œThe unicorn section is in Gift Shop East,” said Perry.
    â€œThen I’ll meet you guys at the arcade.”
    Inside GSW were acres of shot glasses, snow globes, wind chimes, toothpick holders, keychains, bumper stickers, bobbleheads, and assorted novelties. It was rest stop heaven. Cam got to work. She could have paid for things with her check from Disney, but she had unfortunately become a little addicted to the thrill of shoplifting.
    â€œThis will be the last time,” she told herself. She knew that was what addicts said, but this really would be the last time.
    She found the perfect gift for Perry right away. She was standing in front of a rotating rack of plastic, personalized coffee mugs, and they actually had a “Perry.” It was for a boy Perry—blue, with a big soccer ball bulging out from the side of it—but that was perfect. Perry hated that her name was “gender-neutral,” and when she wrote it herself, she spelled it “Peri” and dotted the I with a big daisy. She had changed herself into a prefix.
    The mug would piss her off for a second, but then it would make her laugh. Cam slipped it into the front pocket of her hoodie, and then for her mom she stole a googly-eyed frog made out of seashells. Her mother detested seashell arts and crafts. She vowed that she’d never have seashells as part of her décor. Especially in her bathroom. Cam would insist that this frog live in their bathroom in Maine.
    Not that they’d come close to securing a room in Maine. Cam was pretty sure this hotel did not even exist. She slid a flamingo-shaped backscratcher down her pants. She was wearing her multipocketed cargo pants that tied at the knees so she could really pull in a good haul. And then she got a text from Lily:
    YMSYCTAI [Your Mission Should You Choose to Accept It]: Btl rckts from Rckt City + Roman candle.
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    They were stopping at Lily’s in about an hour, and Cam couldn’t wait. If Lily wanted bottle rockets, then Cam would get bottle rockets.
    South Carolina was one of the few states left that didn’t have laws against letting your kids blow their fingers off with M-80s. Cam pretended to browse her way out of the gift shop and made it across the road to the fireworks store Rocket City. It was next to the gas station, which seemed to Cam like some bad planning. Who would put an explosives shop next to the gas station? Anyway, it was an easy mission to complete because the toothless woman at the counter was busy watching a monster truck pull on TV.
    The long fuses from the bottle rockets scraped Cam’s legs as she walked past the defunct, decrepit, and broken-down Sombrero Ride, the train, and the roller coaster, which would be fixed next month, according to Carlos, who stood guard at the empty gate.
    Cam found her mom and Perry at the arcade. Perry, a white unicorn galloping across her left cheek, was pleading with her mom to get her biorhythm chart from an old faux wood–paneled machine from the seventies.
    Alicia was still on the phone, listening once again to the busy signal of the only hotel in Promise, Maine.
    Perry eventually won her negotiation. Alicia fed a dollar into the machine, yellow lights flashed around a blinking swami’s head, and Perry put her finger in a clamp that looked like the one Cam had to use in the hospital to measure her oxygen levels. The lights blinked again, and then the machine spit out a card that said Perry would be lucky in love.
    No shit , thought Cam. She’s a blonde Scandinavian goddess. Did they have someone sitting inside this machine?
    â€œYou try it, Cam. Go ahead.”
    â€œRight. And if it says I’m lucky in love, we know it’s a sham.”
    Cam placed her finger in the clamp, the lights blinked, the swami’s head blinked off entirely. The machine spit out Cam’s card halfway and