“Maybe we should have invited him to come,” Meg says.
No one says anything.
But, yeah, maybe we should have.
We stop at the edge of town to get gas. I jump out and Alexa climbs out after me, takes snack orders for later and accepts our wrinkled bills, disappears into the mini-mart. Bev and Meg stay in the front seat, their windows rolled down, each of them wearing sunglasses that cover half their faces. We talk for a while about how great Meg’s tattoo looks, and how much it hurts, and when the tank is full, I start on the windows.
“Sweet ride,” says a guy at the pump across from me as I wipe down Melinda’s windshield.
“Thanks,” I say back. He’s leaning against his own VW, a vintage black bug. “Not so bad yourself,” I say.
He nods. “Bought it off my neighbor. Fixed it up. Yours?”
“It’s my uncle’s,” I say. “We’re borrowing it for a trip.”
And then Alexa prances past him. She’s holding something behind her back.
“Everybody,” she says. “Listen. I have found something amazing.”
Meg and Bev stop talking and turn to her from inside the bus. I look. VW bug guy watches, too.
Slowly, with one of the widest grins I’ve ever seen, Alexa presents us with a CD.
“The Essential Heart!”
I’m pretty sure Meg is rolling her eyes from behind her sunglasses.
“Thanks, Walt,” she deadpans, but Alexa is unphased.
“It’s a greatest hits album! Two discs!”
She rounds to the other side of the bus and soon a power ballad emanates from the speakers. I turn to the VW guy and shrug.
“How’d you end up with all of them?” he asks, amused.
“They’re my friends,” I say. “And their band’s on tour.”
“Are you their manager or something?”
“Not really. Maybe. I don’t know.” Somehow this answer satisfies him enough to move on.
“Where you headed?”
“Arcata.”
“No shit, really? That’s where I live.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re playing somewhere called The Alibi.”
He nods in recognition and checks his phone for the time.
“You’ll get there with time to hang out first,” he says. “There’s the main square with stores and bars and places to eat. But actually,” he says, eyeing the girls, “I know a better place. There’s this café a few blocks off the square that has hot tubs in the back. Clothing optional,” he says.
I glance into the van, at Alexa with her eyes closed listening to the music and Meg smirking and Bev watching me, and at first it pisses me off that he’s picturing them all na**d but really, who could blame him? Certainly not me.
“It’s on Fifth and J,” he says. I can tell that he’s waiting for me to write it down so I open the door for the maps and a pen and write down the directions.
“Thanks, man,” I say.
“No problem,” he says. “Have fun.”
“Meg, will you start the song over?” Alexa asks when I’m back in the bus with the door shut. “I want Colby to hear it.”
Meg presses the back button and there it is: epic chords giving way to lyrics about loneliness and love.
I give Alexa a smile and a nod, not sure that I’m all that convincing.
“What was that guy telling you?” Bev asks.
“Not much,” I say. “He’s from Arcata.”
“What did you write down?”
“He just told me about this place.”
“You guys, listen,” Alexa says. “Here’s the chorus; it’s so good.”
“What place?” Meg asks, shouting over the louder singing and drums of the chorus.
“A café,” I say. “With hot tubs.”
“I like hot tubs,” Meg yells. The song is now at its cl**ax, the singer shouting “What about love?” The drums heavy, the guitars chaotic.
“We should go,” Bev says. “Sounds fun.”
The song fades out.
“You guys didn’t listen,” Alexa says, sounding hurt.
“Sorry, Lex, but I’m just not into them,” Meg says.
“They’re really cool. They’re these really strong women, and they’re sisters, and they’ve had tragic love lives and a career that’s lasted forever. But it’s fine. If you guys don’t appreciate them you don’t have to listen.”
She seems so disappointed that I say, “No, they’re fine, Lex. We’ll listen. Bev, turn this one up, it sounds good.”
But the damage is done, and Alexa has unbuckled her seat belt and is now reaching to the front to eject the CD.
“So we all have favorite girl bands now,” Meg says, ignoring the sudden absence of music. “Yours is Heart. Mine’s the Supremes, obviously. Bev’s is Sleater-Kinney. Colby?”
I start to answer but Bev says it first: “Colby’s favorite girl band is The Runaways.” And there’s something about that, the way she says it, that wrecks me. How hearing Bev say a simple fact about me reminds me of who we are to one another. And this—the distance, the anger—all feels so stupid. I want to find something to say that will bring us back, jolt us out of this, but then I catch her in the rearview mirror and the girl I see is a stranger. A stranger and a liar and a crusher of hopes. And my best friend.