I take a deep, pine-scented breath and curl my frozen toes inside my boots. “Mostly. I don’t know.”

“Talk to me. Are they driving recklessly?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” I pause, trying to figure out what it is like. “I don’t know, they’re just strangers. And they’re a little…”

“Strange?” Dad supplies.

“Yeah. I guess that feels right. They’re just kind of weird.”

“Weird dangerous or just weird?”

“Probably just weird,” I say, feeling a little silly now that I’m talking to him. “Honestly, I’m so tired I can barely stand up. I’m probably being dramatic.”

“I’m sure you’re exhausted. Not to change the subject,” Dad says, sounding sympathetic, “but have you talked to your mom?”

“Only a little.” I bite my lip. “Actually, that’s my other main reason for calling. Did you know that Daniel left Mom?”

He pauses, so I’m guessing he didn’t hear me.

“Daniel and Mom split up. Did you know?”

Another pause, but this time I’m sure he heard. Which means he did know.

Before I can ask about it, he exhales. “Mira, we can talk about all that later. Right now, you need to focus on getting home safely.”

“You knew and didn’t tell me? It’s the anniversary of Phoebe dying, Dad! Mom needs me.”

“I know things weren’t good when Phoebe died, but your mom is doing better. She’s okay. We’re both worried about you.”

My laugh comes out sounding sad. “I’m fine! And I know she’s not. There’s no way. Also, I didn’t realize that moving in with you meant I’d be the last person to hear things.”

“That’s not fair. We had our reasons, and we can talk about them later,” Dad says. “What your mom needs is you and these other kids getting home safely, so that’s what you need to do right now.”

These other kids. Sure. Except she thinks these other kids are a responsible, well-insured family of four. I wince.

“Yeah, about that…” I trail off, stamping the snow under my boots. “Okay, so you really aren’t going to like this part. Mom knows I’m with Harper, but she also thinks I’m with Harper’s parents. And she thinks we’re still driving on I-78. I may have fibbed a little.”

“You know I don’t condone lying to your mother.”

“I know that, I do. And you can ground me until I’m forty when I get home. But please. Will you call her? She doesn’t know I lost my phone, and I’m sure she’s really worried and if I call her…”

Dad sighs. “She’ll never let you off the phone.”

“Yes. That. Also, she’ll probably send out the National Guard and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”