“You’re safe? Ten fingers, ten toes? Not sleeping on the street?”

“I’m fine.” There’s a row of chewed up gum along the top of the phone. The wads are different sizes, but they’re lined up perfectly. Pink, white, green, yellow, blue. I wonder who put them there—if it was one person or a group effort.

Margo sighs like there’s air leaking from her tires. “You’re making me prematurely grey, girlie,” she says.

I don’t know how Margo would ever know if she does go grey. She’s been dyeing her hair Cinnamon Red Hot for as long as I’ve known her. But I still feel bad. I can picture the worry crease she gets between her eyebrows before one of her sick headaches sets in.

“Did you talk to him?” I ask.

“Haven’t worn him down all the way yet.” She sighs. “He says if you bring the car back by the weekend he won’t file a report. Bought you a little time, at least.”

“You know I won’t be back by the weekend.”

“Gary’s gonna talk to him. Thinks it’s a man-to-man thing. Gary’s pulling for you too, you know. Says if he had a daughter he wouldn’t give her reason to run off in the first place.”

“Thanks.”

“Saw that Matty Spencer. He made me promise if I talked to you I would say to call.”

My heart beats crazy when I think about Matty. I don’t say anything.

“He’s walking around like someone pumped his puppy full of buckshot,” Margo says, clucking her tongue. She starts to say something, but stops and takes a deep breath instead. “You won’t call him, will you?”

“Don’t think so.” My nose stings. The phone crackles and a voice tells me to deposit ten cents to keep talking. I only have a few pennies in my pocket.

“I have to go,” I say. “No change.”

Margo says, “You call me. Promise you—” before the connection drops.

I keep the phone to my ear for a little while longer and pretend she’s still on the line telling me about the new beer Gary is serving, or how someone accidentally put a tomato on Ida Winton’s sandwich and she freaked out again right in the middle of the diner.