Jake could have found out a million different ways. Our farm was so close to West Virginia, just across the river. The boy with the station wagon could have sold to Jake. A kid, a girl, could have smoked something good at Skate State, brought something to a party, something that attracted attention, something strong and sweet. Maybe she was asked where it came from. Maybe she was still there and recognized me when I pulled into the compound with a truck, two boys, and a tiny house.

Maybe Jake himself had bought from Lobo. Maybe he had been one of the men at the farmhouse who smoked at the table, who laughed at my mama. Had he seen me there?

“How did Skate State make its money?” I asked Jamey. “How did you eat?”

“Stealing, shows, and drugs. Same as everybody else,” she said. “I guess that’s not gonna work now.”

“I guess not.” I had been sitting in the cold stands for too long. I stood and my knees and back felt stiff, the bleachers groaning. The sky was too white for stars.

Jamey was still looking down at the track. “Do you know I saw a girl win once?”

“Derby night?”

“Yeah. Only we didn’t know it was a girl at first. She had a helmet on. Black car, some shit sponsor like the pet store. She got pushed into a corner at the beginning, but then she reared out of it. Came out swinging, striking everybody. She got hers, pinning them into the corners, every car that ganged up on her in the beginning. By the end we were all rooting for her. And she won. They called it for her. Jake was on his feet, fists pumping like crazy. Then she crawled out of the window and threw her helmet down. She had pigtails, little purple bows. She was a girl. Jake was so mad.” She shook her head. “Her name was Starla. I just thought that was a real pretty name.”

“I should go back to the house. You okay to keep watch for an hour or two? I should get some sleep, check on Starla.”

Jamey didn’t look at me. “Starla’s fine.”

15

It always felt right to leave in the morning, like we were headed off to something good. There was always the chance that we’d find an open gas station. Maybe they’d have a carton of ice cream, frosted over and forgotten in the back of the freezer. Maybe we’d run across a flock of fat turkeys. Maybe we’d hit a stretch of clean, straight road.

In the morning, nothing had turned desperate yet. The frost sparkled, looking like a bright pretty thing, not like a killer. Maybe today the sun would break through. You never knew. Maybe this day would finally be warmer than the last.