Cleo dangles her keychain beside Logan’s face and the rainbow-glitter egg nearly brushes his cheek. She got that Tamagotchi back when we were freshmen, when she cracked it open and configured it to live forever. Cleo never met a rule she didn’t love to bend.

“You’d better give Toky a kiss before they throw a tantrum.”

“Now, now, I thought we agreed tantrums are only allowed in Charvan on Wednesdays,” I say, watching Chase bristle. His parents gifted him this ancient Volkswagen van when he turned sixteen, and he has since meticulously transformed it into our happy place. We both decided to name this mobile headquarters Charvan, after the tarot’s Chariot card. Chase would prefer we keep Charvan curbside forever, but I’m thrilled we finally get to take it out on this long-overdue adventure.

“Remind me why I agreed to come on this trip again?” Logan sighs.

To answer that, Chase leans forward and kisses him on the side of his neck. At first glance, it’d be easy to question how buttoned-up Chase and athleisure Logan go together, but they’ve been the perfect couple for years.

“Oh, right, my brainiac boyfriend has me under his spell,” Logan says.

Chase smiles, settling back into his seat. He then returns to his combination-lock journal, the little leather notebook that’s like his permanent appendage. No one, not even Logan, gets to read inside that locked journal, but I bet Chase is going over his plan for the front end of our trip. Personally, I’d rather see where the road takes us, but that’s why Chase and I work so well as best friends. He plans, I deviate. He thinks, I act. He writes, I talk:

“Okay, I think the next junction is coming up pretty soon. Which means you all know what time it is.”

Cleo groans from the front, but Chase snaps his journal closed.

“It’s tarot time.”

“I can’t believe we’re actually going through with this,” Cleo says, her short black hair swinging as she turns to face us. She sports a pair of sunglasses with green triangular lenses, one of my favorites in her legendary collection.

“This is a perfect idea and you know it,” I answer. “Chase plans our general route, but we let the tarot cards decide the specifics. It’s perfectly balanced.”

I reach my hand over and squeeze Chase’s. He is more like a brother to me than a best friend. Really, he is my NRLP: my nonromantic life partner. Plus, a sometimes-maddening reminder of my complete lack of an actual romantic life partner. The two of us separating for college is still a thought I cannot process, so I focus instead on pulling the tarot cards out of their faded cardboard box. All these years later, they still have that fresh cardstock smell, with just a hint of lavender.