“If you aren’t, you aren’t. It’s Saturday, and I’m perfectly capable of closing this shop on my own. Grandma’s here for storytime, my mom’s coming by any second, and Vanessa’s meeting me here later, so I won’t be alone.”

Vanessa from Barcelona has been meeting Evie here almost every day since their fall semester started back at community college. It’s kind of nice. Maybe even more than nice … Starting to suspect that Vanessa and Evie’s friendship might be a little like mine and Lucky’s.

Mom turns to me. “Are you guys set to go? This is a big day for you, too.”

Maybe. Maybe not.

Lucky and I are taking a little afternoon trip on his Superhawk to a town outside Providence. Turns out one of my half-sisters lives there. She’s two years younger than me, and Henry Zabka hasn’t really been much of a father to her, either. Maybe we won’t connect, but I thought … why not?

Gotta try, right?

Plus, I’m experimenting with some new pictures, and a road trip is a good opportunity for camera time. The leaves are beautiful, and the weather’s good. I’m still photographing signs—I still love the poetry of billboards and forgotten flyers stapled to telephone poles. But I’m taking Lucky’s advice and am trying to include people in the shots. It’s not as hard as I once thought. The light’s tricky on faces, but you know, as a wise woman once told me: If it was easy, any clown would do it.

“Don’t worry about us,” I tell Mom. “We’ll be back by nine.”

“Or ten,” Lucky says. “We’ll both have our phones on. Promise, cross our hearts, we will not be taking a boat out to Rapture Island or any other island.”

My mom makes him swear that same thing every time we leave the town limits now. It’s mostly a joke … mostly. “And you’ll be careful on the drive to Providence?”

“Very careful,” Lucky assures her. “Helmets on.”

He points to the counter, where our helmets sit side by side. I’m no longer wearing his cousin Gabe’s sparkly tri-corn. Lucky got me my own full-face helmet—safety first—and on the back, in a compact silver font, it says SHUTTERBUG.

Mom nods. “Just take it slow around that Dead Man’s Curve on the highway where Evie wrecked.” Evie. Not Adrian. Because we don’t speak that jerk’s name anymore. We haven’t seen him around here lately, but word on the street is that he’s already moved back into his apartment at Harvard, but he’s not taking any classes. As long as he stays out of Beauty and away from Evie, I honestly don’t care.