I turn, and I don’t know if I’m angry or maybe flirting a little when I fire back. “Really? What exactly is it that you see?”

“Well for starters, you’re…high spirited. I didn’t notice that about you at first.”

“Oh, I did,” Harper says. She winks at me. “I saw all kinds of things in Mira.”

“Well, I’m high spirited, too,” Brecken says. “Just watch.”

Harper looks at him. “What are you doing?”

“Driving to I-80. This is a ridiculous mess. I’m over it.”

“We didn’t all agree to that,” Harper says, looking at me. “I want everyone to feel like they have a say.”

“It’s your call,” I tell her. “You rented the car.”

“I helped pay for it,” Brecken says. “So I say it’s a democracy.”

“I say just get the hell to whatever highway you want and stop talking about it,” Kayla whines.

I see Brecken’s grin in the rearview mirror. “So, sounds like a vote for us.”

“It’s three to two, isn’t it?” Josh asks softly. When I turn back, the edge to his expression is gone. “Kayla’s fine with this plan, and Brecken and I both thought of it.”

Harper checks her phone. Her face goes pale and her fingers hover over the screen. But then, without touching it, she shakes her head and slips her phone back into her purse. She looks stricken in a way I remember from last Christmas in my aunt’s hospital room, which tells me something is going on at home. Something that isn’t good.

I lean forward from my middle seat to view her better. There is a row of blood droplets on the front of her shirt, three perfectly round, gruesome red blotches. I touch her arm gently and she startles, looking up at me.

“Harper?” I ask quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Shit,” Brecken breathes, slowing the SUV. We drive past a line of cars off in the ditch. Nothing terrible. No twenty-car pileup. But it’s more proof that this road is not fit for driving.

“We’re never getting home this way,” Josh breathes quietly.

That seems to jar Harper. She turns to Brecken. “How far away is Easton?”

“Three or four miles to the route north that we’d take.”

“And you really think that will get us home?” she asks.

“Yes.” Brecken’s voice is strange. Gentle. “We can get you home. I believe that.”

“Then we can’t keep doing this. We should try I-80.”

“Harper’s in,” Josh says warmly. “Okay, Mira. Is that good enough?”

I don’t answer, because the vote and the slowdown are reminders that the weather is getting worse. This isn’t a joyride with some cool friend group of college kids. This is a Pennsylvania snowstorm with strangers, and we need to be careful.