“Fuck you, Kalamack,” the usually posh woman shot back.

Oh yeah. We were all having fun now.

Ivy shrugged, so I pulled up and rolled my window completely down.

“Hi. Can we have a day pass?” I asked after reading the rates painted on the brown sign.

“That will be five fifty,” the weathered woman said, and Trent shoved some money at me over the seat.

“Let me get you a receipt,” she said, ducking inside her window to hit a few buttons. “Are you camping?” she said as she leaned back out and handed me a receipt stapled to a brochure. “We don’t suggest it this time of year. And you’ll need to take a class before you can get your camp permit. If you’re not prepared, the desert can be deadly. The class just takes twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes to preserve your life? I thought. Is that all? “We’ve got lots of water.”

Seeing Trent’s eager hand on the seat, at my shoulder, I handed him the brochure, and he settled back like a kid with a new toy.

“It’s not just the water, it’s the heat and elevation,” the ranger said, her gaze on Vivian. “Is she okay?”

The bar ahead of us was still down, and I took a deep breath.

“Too much partying,” Trent said over the crackle of new paper, surprising me. “She’s not even going to get out of the car.”

The ranger smiled, and the bar rose. “The gift shop is up on the right. If you change your mind about the class, they start every half hour.”

“Thanks,” I said, wanting to floor it, but she hadn’t given me our sticker yet.

“Well, enjoy the park. There’s a large group of Weres out at the hotel for a company retreat, but other than that, all the exhibits are open.”

Finally the little yellow sticker was stuck to the inside of my window, and I exhaled, turning it into something I could blame on the heat instead of relief. “Thanks! Bye now!”

Waving, the woman went back into her air-conditioned hut, and I crept forward at the posted forty miles an hour. After blowing down the interstate at ninety, it felt like I was crawling. I started to fidget.

“It says here the average person needs a gallon of water per day,” Trent said, reading from the brochure. “How much do we have?”

“None.” I eyed the empty water bottles in the cup holders. “It’s twenty miles to any road. I think we’ll be okay.”

“All I’m saying is if we have to walk, we don’t have any water.”

Ivy glanced at him. “You’re not walking anywhere. You’re staying in the car.”

From the lump of blanket came an irate, “I’m trying to sleep! Will you shut up!”

Ivy settled back, and I said nothing, dividing my attention between the unmoving dot of Jenks on the amulet, the winding road, and the shocking views of sharp-angled ravines and colors that were like nothing I’d ever seen before. We passed pull-off after pull-off, Trent rolling his window down, sucking the cooler air out of the car, the flat of his arms on the frame to get a look at the admittedly spectacular views. It wasn’t until we found flat desert again that he sank back into his seat. As expected, we crossed under the overpass and headed south.