Signs of You by Emily France

and they’re all into social justice and stuff. And Noah has written a note on the side. Pope Francis, elected March 13, f irst Jesuit pope in history. ”
    I shake my head, staring at the highway. I’m more confused then ever. “How the hell did your dad f ind the necklace in the f irst place?” I wonder out loud. “I mean, the guy was Spanish. It was around the time of Columbus. Hardly any Europeans were here. The necklace was in a cave in Maryland .”
    Kate shifts in her seat and sighs loudly. “First, it’s not all that surprising. Think about it—MARY-land. The whole state was like, founded by Catholics, for Catholics. His cross must have been sent here to his Jesuit buddies for good luck in the New World or something.”
    I nearly gasp. I know that Jay shares the silent shock that reverberates through the car. To say that Kate would be the last human on earth we would expect to know any United States history would be an understatement so huge it would be virtually immeasurable. But the smirk Jay and I share in the rearview also sends a pang through me. Noah should be here, to share in this moment, too. He’d practically faint if he heard Kate spewing facts about US states.
    â€œWhat’s the second point?” Jay asks.
    â€œThat if I’m going to be called upon to absorb any more of this theology presentation, I’m going to need a Diet Mountain Dew.” Kate runs a hand over her forehead like she’s already mentally exhausted. “Scratch that. I need a full-sugar Dew. And chewy Sweet Tarts.”
    I take an exit near Newton Falls.
    â€œWho names a gas station Sheetz?” Kate says as I ease into a spot by a pump. “It sounds like they sell gas, snacks, and a room for a quickie in the back.”
    â€œThere’s a Speedway four miles from here. Gas is two cents cheaper per gallon,” Jay says, urgently tapping my shoulder from the backseat.
    â€œHow do you know that?” I say.
    â€œGas price app,” he says, waving his phone. “It’s the bomb.”
    I resist the urge to tell him he sounds as dorky as Noah right now. I don’t want to think about Noah until I can scream at him face-to-face for all he’s done.
    â€œYeah, but do you have an app that tells you whether the Speedway has a slushie machine?” Kate asks, f lipping her long black hair over her shoulder. “Because I can see one inside the Sheetz, and I need a slushie. And some gummy worms.”
    â€œI thought you needed Sweet Tarts and a Dew?” Jay asks. He stows his papers and books in the way-back, maybe mentally exhausted himself.
    â€œI’m wildly unpredictable like that,” Kate says dryly, hopping out.
    I head for the pump, but Jay beats me there.
    â€œI’ll do it.” His f ingers brush mine as we both reach for the pump handle.
    â€œDude,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Thanks, but this isn’t a guys-pump-gas-while-girls-go-to-the-bathroom thing is it? Because I can totally pump my own—”
    â€œHold on, Susan B. Anthony,” he says with a smile. “You’re driving and all, and I just thought I could do something nice. Go in. Have a slushie. Relax.”
    Again, I wish Noah were here, so we could f inish our last conversation, so I could say to him: See, this is why I’m into Jay. He really is wildly unpredictable. And always in the best way and always at the right time.
    But then I imagine the super intense eye roll Noah would give me if I actually proclaimed this about Jay. And how he’d probably nail me for labeling someone who plays a loop of exactly three Pink Floyd songs and likes the same parade of popular girls wildly unpredictable. I shake it off and follow Kate into Sheetz.
    She immediately heads for the slushie machine, f illing a cup the size of her head with bright red frozen goo. I look around at all my options—Fritos, nuts, granola bars, candy, gum, pop, f