I straighten, because it’s a strange question to pop into my mind. Stranger still is the chill that rolls up my spine, the prickle of the hairs on my arms standing on end. I look around, because it’s exactly the kind of feeling I’d get if someone was watching me.

But they aren’t. No one is paying me the least bit of attention.

Harper sighs in the front seat and hits the washer fluid button. The wipers—clogged with ice—drag cloudy turquoise streaks of fluid and road salt across the windshield.

“I can’t see very well,” Harper admits, slowing.

“Just follow the car in front of you,” Brecken says. “I really can drive if you want.”

“I’m fine,” Harper says, but she grips the wheel hard. “I spent six months with my mom’s family in China. I drove on the Sichuan-Tibet highway. Multiple times. I can handle this.”

Brecken laughs. “The Situ-what?”

“Sichuan-Tibet. In China. You know, that country in Asia.” I think she’s teasing but there’s an edge to her tone.

“I know where China is,” Brecken says quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Harper says, slowing even more. “This is just…really annoying.”

I pull out my phone, because this is obviously not going to be a quick trip. So, it might be a good time to let my parents know I wasn’t kidnapped and stolen away to some remote corner of the globe.

Of course, telling either of them I volunteered to drive with a bunch of strangers probably won’t fly. But neither will ignoring the six text messages that have been vibrating my pocket for the last hour.

Dad: Weather looks nasty. Text me when you’re there.

Mom: Missed your call, but I know the flights are grounded.

Mom: Call me when you know what’s going on.

Dad: Your mom called about the flights. Did they get you a hotel?

Mom: I’m done with lunch, but I’ll step out to call you during break. Or you call me!

Mom: Mira? Why are you not calling?

She won’t be on lunch now. I could try to text, but she’ll call anyway. Unless I tell her I’ll call and I give her a time. What time, though?

I chew the corner of my lip and create a message for both of them. I need something that’s close enough to the truth to keep me from bursting into guilt-induced flames. But far enough from it that my mom won’t alert the National Guard.

My fingers move over the touch screen with purpose.

Me: All flights canceled, but I found a ride home. Seatmate from San Diego and her family live near Pittsburgh and rented a supersafe SUV. Mom, I’ll call when we stop in a few minutes.