“I don’t suppose I get a vote about music,” I say.
“Now you’re catching on,” Logan says.
I want to smack the smirk off that gorgeous face. Instead, I get my own tunes out of my backpack, put on my headphones, and close my eyes. It’s my road trip too, and Springsteen is in order. Even though he’s not who my friends listen to, I feel a special connection to him—even beyond the whole New Jersey thing—because my parents named me after one of his songs.
I cue up my Bruce playlist, and when the intro to “Girls in Their Summer Clothes” fills my ears, I feel a pang as I realize it’s summer and I want to be at the beach, not heading two thousand miles in the wrong direction. I need to sleep. Maybe in a few hundred miles I’ll look back on this, and just like it did for the Rosie in the Bruce song, it will all seem funny.
• • •
I wake up two hours later, my head against the window, the guitar’s neck in my lap, and drool in the corner of my mouth. The car is parked and I’m alone. I look out the window. We’re at some place called the Waffle House, and those bastards are going in without me. I push the guitar off me, wipe the spit off my face, and pick through the tangles in my long brown hair. I open the car door, grab my backpack, and stomp into the restaurant.
“Thanks a lot,” I say. The three of them are standing inside the door by the sign that says PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED.
“We’d have woken you up by the time we were ready to order,” Matty says. I’m pissed. He’s the one who wanted me here, and now he’s trying to starve me so he can impress Logan.
“Speak for yourself,” Logan says. “She knows the rules.”
Jerk. We follow the hostess to a booth by the window. I roll my eyes at Logan and then take the window seat. Matty slides in next to me. Thankfully, I’m across from Spencer, not Logan. I might have a muscle spasm and “accidentally” kick him.
“I would have brought you a bagel or something,” Spencer says. He shrugs and opens the menu.
“Thank you.” I give Spencer the best smile I’m capable of without lip gloss and nudge Matty’s leg with my foot. “Where are we, anyway?”
“It’s on the schedule,” Spencer says. “Didn’t you read your itinerary?”
Sleeping, duh. But I need Spence on my side if I expect to get fed on this road trip to hell. Besides, there’s no reason that Snoopy shirt should keep us from becoming friends.
“You planned all our pit stops?”
“Of course,” Spencer says. “We have an aggressive schedule. I want to make sure we get to see everything we want to see.”
“What if there’s something I want to see?”
“Is there something you want to see, Rosie?” Matty asks.
“I dunno,” I say. “I didn’t have a chance to think about it.”
“I guess launching a full-out vendetta against your ex-boyfriend takes up a lot of free time,” Logan says.
“What’s your problem?” I say. “Can’t you be nice?”
He’s smiling, in a cute-ish, not smirky way, and his voice softens. “I thought I was. I let you in my car, didn’t I? And I haven’t even asked you for gas money yet.”
“I guess that begs the question, why did you let me come along, anyway?”
“Because your friend Matty said—”
A waitress in a 1950s-style uniform arrives at our table and renders Logan, and the rest of us, speechless. The woman is older than my mom and has what appears to be a black plastic tarantula in her hair.
“Are you ready to order, or do you need a few minutes?” she asks.
I’d like to order, but my brain is screaming, Why is there a plastic spider on your head?
“I think we’re ready,” Matty says. “Cool hair ornament, by the way.”
I can’t look at Matty. I’m afraid I’ll get the uncontrollable giggles. He’s always been good at delivering these witty one-liners without cracking himself up. He does it because he knows what it does to me.
“Thanks. Keeps people on their toes,” she says, lightly touching the side of her head. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a buttermilk waffle, a side of bacon, and orange juice.”
“I’ll have the chocolate-chip Belgian waffle and coffee,” I say.
Logan and Spencer both order Farmer’s omelets, English muffins, and orange juice, although I notice Logan requests egg whites. Odd. I didn’t think anyone under thirty worried about clogged arteries.
It sounds stupid, I know, but I miss Joey. If we were here together, we both would’ve ordered grilled cheese sandwiches and fries even though it’s breakfast time. We loved grilled cheese dunked in ketchup. We also loved the Yankees, zombie movies, the beach (even in the winter), That ’70s Show reruns, arcades and skee ball, taking the ferry to New York City, and just doing nothing together—sometimes for hours. I miss all those little things. But mostly, I miss the comfort of knowing I can be myself around a guy. He fell in love with me. The real me.