desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well,’ ” I said.
“Huh?” Robinson asked, rubbing his nose.
“It’s a line from
The Little Prince
.”
“You and your books,” he said teasingly.
“It wouldn’t kill you to read one.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “You never know. It might,” he said, and smiled. “So where’s that well, then?”
I tossed him a water bottle from my backpack, but it arced wide. He scrambled to get it, then opened the lid and drained the liquid in about two seconds.
“You’re lucky I’ve got another one for myself,” I chided. “Otherwise that would’ve been very greedy. Very scalawag-ish.”
He snorted. “I know you, Axi. Of course you have extra water. Now I’m going to close my eyes. Wake me in ten.” Then he put a shirt over his face and fell asleep, just like that, at the bottom of a sand dune.
We washed off the grit in cold, clear Medano Creek, and we set up our tent at a nearby campground. After dinner—canned chili heated over the fire—we stored our food and packs in the metal bearproof box on the edge of the campsite.
Night came suddenly, as if someone had blown out the sun like a candle. And then the stars burst from the sky, more than I’d ever seen in my life. I stared up, dazzled, and by this point almost too spent to speak.
Robinson looked up, too. “There’s something I wanted to say to you that I never got a chance to,” he said.
I knew not to get my hopes up by now. “What’s that?” I asked.
“You throw like a girl.”
“You are such a jerk,” I said, laughing. I picked up the rinsed-out chili can and took aim. “I’ll show you throwing like a girl!”
“I’m kidding. Those are the last lines from the movie
Sahara
,” he said. “Since we spent the day in the desert and all.”
I put the can back down. I was too exhausted to throw, anyway. Instead, I took a deep drink of water. And I looked at the long, lean shape of Robinson through the darkness, thinking that there were many different kinds of thirst.
25
W E STOLE A PICKUP JUST AFTER DAWN, as the sun was rising golden over the mountains.
Isn’t it crazy, how matter-of-factly I can say that?
Well, Your Honor, we ate breakfast, and then we stole a truck. Granola bars and a Chevy, sir, if specifics matter to the court.
If I ever meet that judge, I’m sure he’ll ask me, “Did you two think you were invincible?” And I’ll look him right in the eyes. “No, sir,” I’ll tell him. “In fact, I thought the opposite.”
The engine of our borrowed truck was loud and rattling, and the radio played only AM stations. “This thing needs a new muffler,” Robinson said, frowning. “The exhaust manifold could be cracked, too.”
“Awesome, a broken getaway car,” I said. “And wow, are we listening to
Elvis
right now?”
“
Love me tender, love me true
,” Robinson sang. Then he stoppedabruptly. “It’s not like I had time to give it a checkup before I stole it.” Was it just me, or did that sound a little… huffy? “Anyway, variety is the spice of life, and we can trade up at the next stop. Would you care to tell the chauffeur where that is, Ms. Moore?”
I shrugged. The next stop I’d planned was Detroit, fourteen hundred miles away. “I don’t know. The world’s biggest ball of stamps? Carhenge? The Hobo Museum?” We were driving northeast, toward Nebraska, heading into what residents of the East and West Coasts liked to call flyover country.
“Carhenge?” Robinson asked, sounding interested. “I bet that’s like Stonehenge, but with cars.”
“Wow, ten thousand points for you,” I said. He gave me a hurt look. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
I was irritable because I’d been awake most of the night. And it wasn’t the claustrophobic tent or the hard ground; it was Robinson. What was I supposed to do about him? About us? We’d been through so much together—and our journey had started well before the trip began. Wasn’t it time for me to
“Huh?” Robinson asked, rubbing his nose.
“It’s a line from
The Little Prince
.”
“You and your books,” he said teasingly.
“It wouldn’t kill you to read one.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “You never know. It might,” he said, and smiled. “So where’s that well, then?”
I tossed him a water bottle from my backpack, but it arced wide. He scrambled to get it, then opened the lid and drained the liquid in about two seconds.
“You’re lucky I’ve got another one for myself,” I chided. “Otherwise that would’ve been very greedy. Very scalawag-ish.”
He snorted. “I know you, Axi. Of course you have extra water. Now I’m going to close my eyes. Wake me in ten.” Then he put a shirt over his face and fell asleep, just like that, at the bottom of a sand dune.
We washed off the grit in cold, clear Medano Creek, and we set up our tent at a nearby campground. After dinner—canned chili heated over the fire—we stored our food and packs in the metal bearproof box on the edge of the campsite.
Night came suddenly, as if someone had blown out the sun like a candle. And then the stars burst from the sky, more than I’d ever seen in my life. I stared up, dazzled, and by this point almost too spent to speak.
Robinson looked up, too. “There’s something I wanted to say to you that I never got a chance to,” he said.
I knew not to get my hopes up by now. “What’s that?” I asked.
“You throw like a girl.”
“You are such a jerk,” I said, laughing. I picked up the rinsed-out chili can and took aim. “I’ll show you throwing like a girl!”
“I’m kidding. Those are the last lines from the movie
Sahara
,” he said. “Since we spent the day in the desert and all.”
I put the can back down. I was too exhausted to throw, anyway. Instead, I took a deep drink of water. And I looked at the long, lean shape of Robinson through the darkness, thinking that there were many different kinds of thirst.
25
W E STOLE A PICKUP JUST AFTER DAWN, as the sun was rising golden over the mountains.
Isn’t it crazy, how matter-of-factly I can say that?
Well, Your Honor, we ate breakfast, and then we stole a truck. Granola bars and a Chevy, sir, if specifics matter to the court.
If I ever meet that judge, I’m sure he’ll ask me, “Did you two think you were invincible?” And I’ll look him right in the eyes. “No, sir,” I’ll tell him. “In fact, I thought the opposite.”
The engine of our borrowed truck was loud and rattling, and the radio played only AM stations. “This thing needs a new muffler,” Robinson said, frowning. “The exhaust manifold could be cracked, too.”
“Awesome, a broken getaway car,” I said. “And wow, are we listening to
Elvis
right now?”
“
Love me tender, love me true
,” Robinson sang. Then he stoppedabruptly. “It’s not like I had time to give it a checkup before I stole it.” Was it just me, or did that sound a little… huffy? “Anyway, variety is the spice of life, and we can trade up at the next stop. Would you care to tell the chauffeur where that is, Ms. Moore?”
I shrugged. The next stop I’d planned was Detroit, fourteen hundred miles away. “I don’t know. The world’s biggest ball of stamps? Carhenge? The Hobo Museum?” We were driving northeast, toward Nebraska, heading into what residents of the East and West Coasts liked to call flyover country.
“Carhenge?” Robinson asked, sounding interested. “I bet that’s like Stonehenge, but with cars.”
“Wow, ten thousand points for you,” I said. He gave me a hurt look. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
I was irritable because I’d been awake most of the night. And it wasn’t the claustrophobic tent or the hard ground; it was Robinson. What was I supposed to do about him? About us? We’d been through so much together—and our journey had started well before the trip began. Wasn’t it time for me to
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