Page 31 of Chasing Stardust

“Don’t listen to Jeanie, she’s had way too much oxy and not nearly enough reefer. Take it from an old hippie who hitchhiked all the way across the country and back without so much as a scratch. Trust your instincts. Your gut won’t steer you wrong.” G-Lo rambles on as if dictating a self-help book.

“I don’t know.” Keeping Dash in my peripheral vision, I lean against the wall and gnaw on my thumbnail.

As if he senses me watching him, he glances my way and smiles.

Cringing on the inside, I smile back and wave like an awkward teenager. “I don’t think he’s a psycho, but I haven’t exactly had time to psychoanalyze him, so how can I be sure?”

I was wrong about Junior—and T. J.—but I don’t mention either of them to G-Lo. She already has more than enough evidence to doubt my survival skills in the wild.

“Ask him what color crayon he’d be,” she says.

I snort. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I have no idea, but they always ask that in interviews. I’m definitely blue . . . with a swirl of chartreuse.”

I choke back a laugh. “I’m not trying to hire him. I’m trying to make sure he won’t kill me and wear my skin as a suit.”

“Then you should steer clear if he says he’s scarlet or crimson . . . too close to blood.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Life is an adventure, Zoey, but it isn’t without risk.” G-Lo rattles off her fortune cookie wisdom without a drop of sarcasm. “What if you took a picture of him beside his car? You could get his license plate in the photo and send it to me.”

“My phone died. Remember?”

“Oh, right. Does what’s-his-name have a phone?”

“Dash?” I roll my eyes. “Barely . . . but yes, I guess that’s pretty much all it does—call and text.” I remember the lens on the back. “Oh! It has a camera.”

“Good! Grab it and call me so I can trace his number.”

“You can do that?” I spin around again, tangling myself in the pink phone cord until the spiral is pulled taut.

“No, but I used to sleep with a private investigator in Cincinnati. The sonofabitch owes me one.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Last time I stayed over, I found an empty tube of wild cherry lube, a purple dildo, and a picture of his mother beside his bed.”

“G-Lo!” I’m half a second from shoving my fingers into my ears and singing lalala, I can’t hear you.

“Tell me about it! It was my lube!” She bursts out laughing, and it takes her several moments to collect herself again. “Send me a text from Dash’s phone—don’t forget to get his license plate number in the photo—and I’ll get Cecil to run it.”

I nod, sneaking another peek at Dash. “What do I do until then?”

“Did you pack the anti-rape undies?”

Her question catches me off guard, and I hesitate for an instant. “I did.”

“Good. Put those on. They’ll give you peace of mind, if nothing else.”

They’re more likely to give me a wicked case of diaper rash . . . or a yeast infection.

“If you say so.” I pull the heavy underwear from my tote and stuff them into the front pocket of my hoodie before anyone sees them.

“This could be the biggest adventure of your life, Zoey. Don’t fight it. Enjoy the ride!”

“All I want to do is spread Mom’s ashes and come home.” The lie stings on the way out. Despite everything that’s happened, I want the adventure.