“This is Josh.” A blond with sleepy eyes and some kind of injury—guessing from the intense-looking brace on his knee and the crutches he’s using—meets my eyes and gives me a slight nod.

“Kayla.” A willowy girl waves. Her hair as pale as mine is dark. I think I saw her on the plane. She boarded near me.

“And Brecken.” Brecken steps forward with an extended hand and a wide and inviting smile. Maybe a little too inviting, but who knows. Maybe that’s just how college guys are.

I pull my beanie off my head and finger comb my hair back from my eyes.

Harper gestures at me, her bracelets jangling. “And, everyone, this is Mira. We’re going to drop her in Pittsburgh with you, Brecken. If she agrees to come.”

I open my mouth to argue, because this is ridiculous. I do not climb into cars with a group of strangers or jaunt off into a snowstorm. The window reveals the same unimpressive flurries. Maybe snowstorm is a stretch.

Ridiculous is a stretch, too.

Right now, my mom needs me. This isn’t something I’d normally do, but to get home to Mom? I’ll do whatever it takes.

Chapter Two

The airport doors swish closed behind us, and the air outside is all exhaust fumes and smelly engines. Plus, it’s cold. I’m ready to get in the closest car we can find, but Harper has to wait in line for the attendant to do a walk-through or whatever. The line is not short.

For a minute, the remaining four of us look at each other like maybe we’ll try to chat. I try to imagine this as an adventure, but we don’t look like happy travelers. We’ve got Kayla, pale and limp with a fifty-yard stare; Brecken with his too-tight shirt and nervous hands; and Josh with his pained sighs and sad crutches. And what about me? On the outside, do I look like a girl whose world is smashing to pieces?

Finally, Brecken says something about calling his mom, and the spell is broken. Obviously relieved, we all nod, wandering in different directions to make calls or look through our bags.

I dial Mom automatically and remember when her voicemail picks up that she’s at work. I hang up without leaving a message. I don’t even know what I’d say to her. A divorce is not something I can ask about over the phone. Certainly not when I tell her I’m not going to be at the airport as expected and am instead driving through the mountains with total strangers, but hey, enough about that, Mom; tell me about your supersecret divorce!

I look at Zari’s text instead—When do you land?—and pull up her number.