I touch my phone, grateful that we’re moving. This is it. Six awkward hours in the car with strangers, and I’ll be home with my mom. It’s going to be fine. We’ll talk. I’ll gripe about her not telling me. She’ll explain. We’ll get over it.

“So, what’s your major?” Josh asks me. He’s smiling like he already knows. I think that’s the Kafka talking. Coffee shop boys are pretty sure they know everything.

“Undeclared,” I say quickly, and I manage not to flinch at the lie. “You?”

He shrugs. “I’m on a business track, but lately I’ve been interested in other things.”

“Heads up,” Brecken says. “Looks like the storm is coming.”

I look ahead to an electronic display sign over the highway. It’s blinking out a message in orange digital letters.

BLIZZARD WARNING FROM 1:00 P.M. SATURDAY UNTIL 8:00 A.M. SUNDAY.

I look around at the mostly dry roads and flurries. Are they getting heavier?

I check the clock on the dashboard. 11:28 a.m.

It doesn’t look like a blizzard yet, but that might be because the blizzard hasn’t hit.

Chapter Three

We slip for the first time on a patch of highway that doesn’t look bad at all. It’s nothing big—a quick sideways shuffle of wheels that’s more surprising than scary. Before my heart can even speed up, some high-tech traction system gets us back under control. The road looks mostly dry.

Black ice?

Maybe just a slick spot.

I check my seat belt, making sure it’s snug across my hips. Planes are safe, but cars are a different matter. I’ve spent a lot of time in these mountains.. And I can’t remember the last Pennsylvania winter storm that didn’t involve a news story of an awful crash.

Not that the roads are bad like that. Just some icy patches. And we don’t seem to be going very fast, but the snow is falling harder now, and ice is collecting on the windshield. All the electronically sprayed blue cleaner in the world doesn’t seem to be wiping the glass clean.

“Dammit,” Harper says, her voice high and tight. “I can barely see for all that ice.”

“I can drive if you want,” Brecken says. “I learned to drive in upstate New York, so this is nothing.”

“I’ve got it,” Harper says. “I just wish I had clean glass.”

I stare out the window, pondering a lazy stream of internal questions. Is this really a blizzard? How fast are we going? Is Mom doing okay? Is someone in this car watching me?