I blink at her. “You lost your paints. Your whole backpack. When the RAV4 exploded.” I was so absorbed in my own terror that I didn’t even notice. “You grabbed that ugly purse instead.”

Tanq shrugs. “Everyone makes mistakes. Anyway, we’re ready to go. Me and Trey put some supplies in the back.”

They both seem somber. Like they know something I don’t. They’ve been hanging out all morning without me, and I sense that I’m being left out of something. Or maybe my fear of being alone again is making me petty. Get a grip, Paige.

“I’ll take first shift as spotter,” Trey says. “Found some sunglasses to protect my eyes. I’ll rap the window if I see anything.”

“Tanq, we’ll find more paints for you,” I tell her. “Somehow.”

“Whatever,” she says, but she still won’t meet my gaze.

Trey comes around the rear of the El Camino to join us. “No, really, Tanq. You’re an artist, and it’s important that you keep creating.”

Tanq glares at him. Glares at me. Glares at Emmaline. “Do you expect me to fall all over myself with gratitude?” she says.

I’m about to say something sharp, but Trey takes a different tack. “I accept payment in Red Vines,” he says gravely. “And you must address me as His Holy Majesty Trey Dawson, King of Ohio.”

Tanq stares at him. I expect her to blow up. Instead, her lips start to twitch and she says, “Very well, Your Majesty . . . and all that other stuff.”

But our mood is subdued as we climb into the El Camino. Trey wraps himself in a quilt he found inside the house, then he and his long legs stretch out in the truck bed, while Tanq, Emmy, and I cram into the cab.

I turn the ignition, and the engine makes a sound like boulders rolling down a cliff. The Farmers will be able to hear us from miles away.

If they even hear. We have to get to Sandusky. We have to get our questions answered.

I ease out of the red barn. The El Camino has the turning radius of an aircraft carrier, and I’m forced to back into a corn field to make a three-point turn, but soon enough we’re back on SR-61 heading north to Sandusky. If all goes well, we’ll be there in two hours.

We drive through Mount Gilead without incident, then Galion, and we’re nearly to Norwalk when it starts to snow. It melts when it hits the ground, darkening the asphalt with slick wetness.

“Would someone please tell Ohio it’s almost April?” Tanq says. “God, I hate this state.”

“Really? I love Ohio.”

“Ew. Why?”