Chapter 1

THE CASHIER HASN’T called the cops yet. But she will, eventually. No one overlooks a sopping-wet kid all alone in a truck stop diner in the middle of the night.

So I keep her in the corner of my eye while I mow down my fries and watch the cars zip by outside. Sometimes a car pulls in. Most of the times they don’t.

One thing they all have in common though: they’re all going east to west, the exact opposite of what I want. I just need one single car to be going west to east so it can take me where I need to go.

Assuming the driver will let me hitch.

Which they probably won’t.

A car passes. East to west.

I slurp my drink. The ice cubes rattle in the cup.

Another car passes. East to west.

The duct tape on my left shoe slinks to the linoleum. I pick up the slimy mess and slap it back in place.

Another car. East to west.

I wish I had ice cream. But I know for a fact it costs more than the two leftover quarters in my pocket.

Another car. East to west.

The cashier still hasn’t reached for the phone. Maybe she knows I’m watching.

Another car.

West to east.

And it pulls into the rest stop.