I’m not sure where to drive. I could go to the gas station and ask about Wal-Mart, but it feels like so much effort for something that might not be better. I know how to get back to the campground, and from there, if I follow the road north along the lake, eventually I’ll find the sign for the highway. Maybe I could stay at the motorhome again for a few days before anyone noticed. I miss the company of my tiny TV and knowing what the land around me looks like even when it’s dark. I recognize the men who stumble home after Gary’s closes. I know their children. I understand who’s dangerous and how to hide from them, mostly. I don’t know these boys shouting at the party, and the streetlights make me feel like a doll in a display case.

I think about hiding on the back seat, covering myself with sheets and clothes so no one can see me. Once, in the woods behind the motorhome, I turned over a rotting log and there was a tree frog underneath trying to hibernate for winter, his body curled up and tense like he was in a trance. When I tried to put the log back, I worried I might have squished him against the frozen ground or left him too exposed. I wasn’t sure he could snap out of it to move himself. I feel stuck in my brain that way.

The party is getting louder. It’s not like the party at Lion Boy’s house; there’s an edge to the sound. Tears drip into the collar of my coat. I know it’s bad to be wet when it’s cold. I try to picture the times I fell asleep in a booth at Margo’s Diner, pretend the angry noise outside is chatter and kitchen sounds and Margo telling stories. Outside, someone walks between my car and the streetlight. I keep my head down and wait for the light to shine on my face again, but it doesn’t. When I look up, Adam is there, hand raised like he was about to knock on my windshield.

Something isn’t right about how he’s found me, but seeing a face I recognize makes the blood flow back to my fingers. I wipe my cheeks, turn the key in the ignition.

“Are you alright?” he asks as I roll down the passenger window.

“Why are you following me?”

“I was hungry.” He holds up a plastic bag with a box in it. “Calzone. You want half?”

“No.” I can smell the calzone, greasy and warm. I want him to take it away before I cave.

“You sure?” He smiles. “You’ve got to be cold.”

“I’m fine.” I want him to leave, except once he does, I will have sent away the one person in the world who knows where I am.