Allman scratched his head. “Sorry, honey, everyone’s gone now.” He had a gentle Southern accent and a sweet, shy way of speaking. “I told ’em to scram. I’ve got a gig tonight in Chicago and need some rest. So if you’ll—”

She peered beyond him to see if she could see Mitch on the couch she’d slept on. “Everyone?” Her voice was small and sad.

“Yup, it’s just me here.”

She was worried she’d start to cry. “Gregg?” Sherri reached into her purse and rifled around for something, anything to write on. “Is there any way I could get your autograph? For my friend Roberta? She loves you. She really does. She always has.”

His sigh was impatient and laced with irritation. “Sure, but then you’ve got to go, OK?”

“One sec.” Lipstick, nail polish, powder, a comb. There was a felt-tip pen, but no paper. Nothing. He yawned. She bit her lip. She had to find something, she just had to. She wanted to make things right with Roberta, with Gloria, with Arthur. With everyone.

“You take care,” he said, and he began to shut the door.

“Wait, here.” Sherri pulled out the only thing he could possibly write on: a maxi pad. She unfolded it and handed it to him.

He seemed amused. “What’d you say her name was?”

“Roberta. And could you do me a favor? Could you sign it Greggy? That’s what she calls you.”

“Now, which one of us is going to tell her I hate that name?” He winked and handed her the maxi pad and pen. “Now get lost.” He paused and looked right into her eyes. It was as if he saw something in her that he recognized. “And honey, watch yourself.” The door shut with a soft clicking of the bolt.

Sherri held the maxi pad in her fist. Now what? Just like that, with Mitch and her ticket to California already gone, an impulsive plan she’d made for the rest of her life burst as quickly as it had come into her head. She needed to replace it with a new impulsive plan.

One thing became clear: she needed her car in the same way that Raylee had needed her old Sundance bike. Wheels meant freedom.

She went to her dorm room to grab a few of her things. Val and Danny were asleep in her little twin bed, wrapped around each other like pretzels. She used to think they were a cute couple, but she was too fried and hurt for anything to strike her as cute. She resented their closeness. Her gaze rested on the moped, a horrible reminder of that awful day, leaning against the far wall of her dorm room.