“Yes, you do. You ruin this for me, and I ruin your face, bitch.” Rowan smiles sweetly and hands off another order through the window.

“Wow.” I glance at Sawyer and he’s grinning. He looks at me. “I freaking love you guys. Can I work at your place?”

“Um . . .” we all say, knowing it was a joke, but I change the subject back to what Sawyer just said. “Anyway, I think you’re right, Sawyer—we don’t have enough information, so we go with what we know. We know the shooter walks down the sidewalk by Cobb Hall. So we plant ourselves there around sundown in the next few days, or whenever the weather looks like the skies could be dark.”

“And that’s so easy to predict in Chicago in spring,” Trey says. He hands off another order. “Nice, too, that the campus is just around the corner from our house.” His sarcasm is evident.

“But we’re on spring break, so that’s easier.”

“But we have jobs.”

“Some of us do,” pipes Rowan from outside the window.

“This is more important,” I say.

“Your face—” Rowan says.

“Shut it,” I say. “Inappropriate at this time.”

“I love you all,” Sawyer says.

“Well, let’s just get through this before you go spouting off with your overemotional diatribe,” Trey says. “Sheesh. You’re even scaring the gays.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Sawyer says, scooping up his diced onions and putting them into the onion bin. “At my place, it’s a bunch of old ladies, my parents, my older brothers, who are almost never there, and me. And my cousin Kate—she’s cool. But she’s in college so she only works a couple shifts a week.”

I frown, glancing at Trey, who looks horrified. “That sounds awful,” he says.

“It is, trust me.”

“And then you also get punched in the face.”

There’s an awkward pause. Sawyer tries to blow it off. “Yeah. Just one of the many perks of the job.”

I shoot Trey a warning glance, but he chooses not to see it. “You know,” he says, “once this whole thing is over, we’re going to talk about that.” He looks at his ticket. “One salad, one balls minus cheese, one heart attack,” he calls out. “Come on, step it up back there.”

And there’s something comforting about Trey being there, knowing he’ll be with us tomorrow and the rest of the week too. Once we get Rowan out the door, we’re home free.

Thirty-Four

My parents are strangely silent about my being gone all day, probably due to Rowan handing over gobs of money and telling them how I went out to save them when they were blown away. My mother thanks me for helping out, and I respond kindly, coolly, and that’s the end of that.

Sawyer and I talk on the phone until he falls asleep. I toss and turn all night, and so does Rowan, making me think she’s actually nervous about flying for the first time all alone.

Sunday morning dawns, and I hear my mother moving around the apartment, getting ready for mass. Rowan has already begged off mass after the long, arduous day on the food truck, and Mom said she could skip today, which was the plan all along. Rowan goes through her duffel bag for the millionth time. By eight thirty, I think I hear dad moving down the hall, but when Mom leaves, I strain to hear Dad’s footsteps on the steps too and I don’t hear them. Rowan looks at me and mouths a cuss word.

I sit up and shrug, hearing his door close again. “Meh. No worries. It’s not like he’s going to notice us.” Once we’re ready, Rowan gets her bag and we sneak out to the pizza delivery car. I have directions printed out and Rowan goes through her purse nervously. “Photo ID, ticket, toiletries,” she mutters. She tells me her airline and we head out to the glorious world of O’Hare Airport, a slithering ant farm of a place where even really seasoned drivers choke and get lost. After missing the correct terminal, almost getting plowed over by a bus, and more swearing by the innocent fifteen-year-old I once knew, we finally find the right place, and I do what everybody else seems to do—park any old where I feel like it.

She puts her hand on the door handle and looks at me. “Thanks,” she says.

I smile. “Have a blast, okay? And if it’s not what you expect, call me. I will come and get you.”

She laughs. “You have a few other things on your mind.”

“You’re my number one,” I say. And then I have to punch her in the arm before things get mushy. “You know what signs to look for inside?”

“Yeah. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You either.” I pinch her knee, which she hates, and then she’s opening her door, slipping out, and she’s gone. A second later I roll down the passenger window and yell out, “Call me when you get there!”

She looks over her shoulder and smiles. “I will,” she says. She lifts her hand in a wave. And she looks so damn excited it makes me cry.

On the way home I can’t get my stomach to settle down. I know our parents are going to freak, and if they find out I drove Rowan to the airport, they’ll probably have me arrested or something—I wouldn’t put it past them. My dad, anyway. And you know what? I’m trying really freaking hard not to care. Before I head back inside the house I call Sawyer to discuss the plan for the day, which is to get the hell out of here before my parents figure out Rowan is gone.