There are tumbleweeds flinging themselves all across the parking lot. Tumbleweeds are the strangest thing to me, like nature wanted to create herself a toy. Every time a bush lands on the ground, a splash of rain follows it on its bounce.

Now that we’re off the freeway, we can all breathe a little easier, and maybe even enjoy the crackling storm.

After a moment Ellie looks back at me. “I’m not sure we’re going to make that snake bridge tonight, Olivia. I’m sorry. We’ll see if we can make it tomorrow.”

“It’s okay,” I say.

And it really is okay, because I’ve realized something. We’ve landed in Las Cruces, the first place where we stopped on our original cross-country trip, the place where Ruth and I did our Something New Treasure Hunt and found those murals. So maybe this is a sign. Maybe this town and this storm are leading me to another Something Magic, even if it’s not the bridge. I look through the sheet of rain washing across the window and wonder if maybe our Something Magic, this time, will be a stormy pirate battle between Anne Bonny and Mary Read and the infamous Davy Jones himself.

“You guys okay?” Ellie asks. “Anybody hungry?”

“Did we get batteries for those flashlights?” asks Eddie.

While they’re talking, I’ve climbed back up into my loft, and lean over the edge in time to see them glance at each other.

Ellie looks outside at the ground between us and the store.

“We need food and batteries,” she says.

The two of them stand and move toward the door. “Okay,” says Eddie. “We’re going to make a run for it. We’ll be back in a bit.”

As soon as they open the door, the rain and the crashing sound of wind sprays into the RV. They hurry out but have a hard time shutting the door. Finally they get it shut and we watch them splash their way into the store. The setting sun is obscured by swirling black clouds. The sky really does look like it’s sparking with magic.

A flare of lightning illuminates the mountains, now straight ahead of us. They look more jagged every time I see them, jagged enough to make me think of sharks’ teeth. That’s what they should be called, the Shark Tooth Mountains. I’ll have to look up their real name sometime.

I turn over onto my stomach, my chin resting in my palms, feet kicking like a metronome. It’s such a perfect storm.

“Hey, Ruth,” I say. “Know any ghost stories?”

“Nope,” she says.

Back to her earbuds and paper.

“Ooh, do you think I should text Ellie about water? We should get water bottles. Running out of water would be bad.”

Ruth mumbles something.

“What?”

“Go outside, open your mouth, and look up.”