“I’m serious,” she says. “I’ve thought of everything. I hope you have some money for bus fare.” She holds up the wipes. “See? We can sanitize anything we have to touch, like bus seats. And if we have to sneeze, we have tissues. My mom didn’t have any smaller packages, sorry.”

“What do we need an old map and bus schedule for?”

“To find our way, obviously.”

I hold up my phone. “Haven’t you ever used Maps on your phone?” I nudge the flashlight with my toe. “And, I don’t know about you, but my phone has a flashlight, too.”

“Okay, fine, we don’t need those.” Mattie shoves the flashlight, map, and transit schedule back into her bag. “But we definitely need these.” She holds up her ID and baby picture.

I grab the picture. There is little chubby Mattie with round cheeks, thick black hair, and her tongue sticking out. Mom told me that when she first started dating Frank Gómez, he showed her a photo of his baby that he had never met. I always imagined his daughter as a baby—like in this picture. When I thought about Frank’s daughter, I never imagined her growing up, just like me. I look from the picture to the girl in front of me to try to see if I can tell she’s the same person. I wonder if Mom would recognize Mattie from the photo she saw.

“This is how we’ll prove who we are when…” She pauses. “When we find our dad.”

“Okay, I guess that’s a good idea. But I don’t think we need to worry about clean underwear.”

“What if the bus breaks down? Or what if there’s a mudslide and we can’t make it home?”

I roll my eyes. “In that case, you forgot about toothbrushes.”

“You’re right!” Mattie takes out a gold-trimmed notebook. She opens it to a page covered in scribbles and I watch her write Toothbrush and toothpaste.

“What’s the knife for, killer?” I ask.

“If we get lost, we can leave behind hashmarks on tree trunks to mark the way.”

“You do know we’re going to a college, not the Alaskan wilderness, don’t you?”

Mattie picks up her knife. “I took it—I mean, borrowed it—from Kenny,” she says.

“Who’s Kenny?”

“My mom’s new husband’s kid.”

“In other words, your stepbrother?”

She shrugs.

“Well, you can let him keep it. I don’t think we’ll be slashing up trees.”

“We could use it for self-defense?”

I hold up my phone again. “9-1-1 is my self-defense. And my camera. You always have to video record everything.”

“Fine,” Mattie says. “But you have to admit we need this.” She opens the first aid kit. It’s stocked with Band-Aids and antiseptic and little packets of Tylenol.