Be Good Be Real Be Crazy by Chelsey Philpot Page B

him. “It’s the only rest stop we’ve seen since Maryland, so it’s get money out here or leave you as collateral at the next tollbooth. That said, I think there’s a strong possibility that the Otis Amos Chester Memorial Rest Stop and Museum doesn’t have an ATM, which would make option two our only option.”
    â€œVery funny.” Einstein paused before adding, “And, for the record, I was against stopping at a place where the bathrooms might be part of a historical exhibit.”
    â€œDuly noted,” Homer replied before knocking the driver’s-side door shut with his foot. He’d parked in front of a picnic area that looked both unused and worn. Three out of the fourpicnic tables were missing legs, and one was so deeply sunken into the dirt that its benches rested directly on the ground. The scattered evergreens and bushes hid the ugliness of the highway but were poor barriers against the gritty sounds of traffic.
    â€œWhat does the sign say?” Mia bumped her shoulder against the inside of the passenger-side door, once, twice, before Homer jogged around and yanked on the outside handle. “Thanks.” Mia scooted out, grabbing Homer’s forearm to stand. “Phew. Watch out. Tadpole on board.” She squeezed Homer’s arm right above his elbow for a heartbeat and a half before walking up to a sign at the edge of the picnic area. “I can’t see the letters under all the bird poo. Can you guys?” She turned around without waiting for an answer and started walking in the direction of a squatty building surrounded by drooping pine trees. “I hope they have a vending machine. I would sell my shoes for some gummies.”
    Einstein slid next to Homer. One side of his hair was smashed flat from napping against the window. “I’d like to point out that this place is pretty much what the world would look like after a robot apocalypse. Also, there are only three cars here and the Banana is one of them.”
    â€œYup.” Homer moved toward the small, brown building. After a beat, he heard Einstein scurry to catch up to him.
    â€œHomer, you didn’t lock the car.”
    â€œYou really think I need to at this place?”
    â€œTouché.”
    The parking lot was optimistically big. It was dotted with potholes, broken branches, soda cans, wrappers, and other typical roadside debris. If there had ever been white lines to indicate parking spaces, they had faded to invisible. The sign hanging off the side of the building drooped significantly lower on one side. “We’re Open! Welcome to the Otis Amos Chester Memorial Rest Stop and Museum. Come on in. Please!” The “Please!” was written in red paint and glistened in places, as though it was still wet.
    Homer held the door open long enough for Einstein to duck under his arm; then he followed his little brother inside.
    It took a few moments for Homer’s eyes to adjust to the dark once the door drifted shut behind him. When they did, he saw that the inside of the Otis Amos Chester Memorial Rest Stop and Museum was as broken-down as the outside.
    The air in the small, square space felt compressed, like it was more densely packed than normal, breathable air. A water fountain between the uneven bathroom doors gurgled and sputtered. Mia and Einstein had immediately made their way to the vending machines against the far wall, and the machines’ weak light made their two figures look more like fuzzy shadows than silhouettes. Displays cases lined the wall to the right, but the scratched glass covers made their contents difficult to see.
    Homer’s sneakers squeaked against the linoleum floor as he walked toward the closest exhibit, squinting until he couldsee what was inside. When he did, he was instantly sorry he’d looked. “Holy—”
    â€œRaccoon? Ha-ha. I wish. That’s only a regular ole critter. Nothin’ holy ’bout him.”