16 Things I Thought were True Part 30

"Maybe he can't use his phone for help. He could be in trouble."

I sit up and look around for my phone. "I don't know." It's on the floor beside an unopened bag of salt and vinegar chips, so I reach for it.

"You don't know?" Amy says. "I thought you were on the phone since we pa.s.sed through the border crossing."

"I haven't been on my phone at all," I say, and it's a shock to hear those words come out of my mouth.

"Never mind that!" Adam shouts. "What about that guy?"

I frown at his profile. Maybe it's not a big deal to him, but it is to me. I turn my phone on. "I've got one bar," I tell him.

"One? I don't have any. We should go back and help that guy."

"What if he's a deranged murderer?" I ask and reach for the bag of chips. I'm not hungry but something salty can't hurt. I rip the bag open with my teeth and the smell of vinegar immediately fills my nose.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "What if he's not?" Adam says. "What if he's just a dude who needs help?"

"Adam," Amy says. "There is absolutely no way we are picking up a hitchhiker. Have you not watched any scary movies? Do you not know that three teenagers on a remote highway are not supposed to pick up hitchhikers? Like ever. He's probably a serial killer. I'm not about to die now after all of this."

I nod agreement, dip my hand into the bag, and pull out a hand- ful of greasy chips.

"What are the statistical probabilities that guy is a serial killer?

How many serial killers are there, really? Maybe thirty out of three billion people? What's the likelihood he's one?"

"We are not picking up a hitchhiker!" Amy shouts.

My mouth stops right in the middle of chewing chips. Adam and I both stare at her.

"Wow." Adam says after a silence. "You seem a little bitter, Amy.

I didn't know you were so against hitchhikers."

She waves her hand in the air. "Chips."

I hand her the bag of chips.

"I hate statistics," she says. "And I don't believe you should put yourself in danger if you don't have to." She puts the bag on the console and scoops out a handful and dumps the pile on her lap.

Then she takes one and shoves the whole thing in her mouth.

"What about people who look away?" Adam says. "So many crimes are committed right in front of people and they don't even help or report them. It's a frigging epidemic. No one wants to get involved."

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e "People always think it's not going to be them," Amy says, "that things only happen to other people. Well, life doesn't happen that way. Look at Morgan. What's the statistical probability her video would go viral? How many people try and never succeed to do that? It's like winning a lottery, only for Morgan it was a bad one."

"True story." I wipe my greasy hands on my pants and reach to the floor for a c.o.ke. Amy's not done though.

"What are the statistical probabilities that Morgan would never know who her dad was until she was eighteen? And never mind the statistical probability that I'd live past my survival rate."

Boom. The words bounce with physical force. A bee splats against the winds.h.i.+eld, leaving behind a streak of bright yellow.

Adam reaches for the radio, turns it off. The hitchhiker is a dis- tant memory.

"Survival rate for what?" Adam asks.

I lean forward so my face is in the middle of them in the front seat.

Amy's cheeks are red, and she keeps her eyes on the road and swal- lows the last of her chip. "Nothing." She presses her lips together. "I didn't mean to say that."

"Amy," I tell her in a gentle but firm voice, "pull over."

"No." She shoves another chip in her mouth. "Forget it. Forget I said anything. I didn't mean to."

She's clearly fl.u.s.tered. There's practically smoke coming off her cheeks.

"Amy," Adam says. "As your boss, I insist you pull over."

"You are not the boss of this road trip," she says, but the car is already slowing down, and she puts the signal on, moves to the shoulder of the road, and puts on her hazard blinkers.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "I really don't want to talk about it," she says with both hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

We wait.

"Cancer, okay?"

I point at the field beside us. "Come on," I say. Someone has to take charge. "We're going for a walk." It's not drizzling anymore, but the shoulders are muddy.

"There's a herd of cows over there." Adam points to a herd of black cows in the field beside the road. The only thing keeping them from crossing onto the highway is a wire fence.

"Screw cows, Adam," I say. "The girl had cancer. You can face down some living steaks."

"I don't want to make a big deal about it." Amy is still gripping the wheel. "I only wanted to make my point that my mom and dad refused to believe the stats. Because they were pretty grim."

I open the back door. "Well, maybe you did a little, 'cause it came out. And I'm glad it did." I climb out and bend down, holding the door. "How come you can casually mention masturbation, pee on the side of a highway, but forget to mention you had cancer?" I slam my door then and walk to the driver's side and open her door.

I'm shocked Amy's kept such a big secret.

She stares at me without moving. "I made it past the five- year survival mark a couple of years ago. So technically I'm considered cured."

I put out my hand, and she stares at it and then sighs and takes it. I pull her from the car, and chips from her lap fall to the ground.

"Bird food," I say. "Come on. Let's go stretch our legs. Or you can 208.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e pee on the side of the road again." Amy snorts as we walk to the shoulder of the road.

Adam comes out of his side of the car. "I still hate cows," he mut- ters and slams his door and hurries to catch up to us.

"Suck it up, princess," I tell him. Amy giggles.

Adam walks with both hands in his pockets and mumbles some- thing else about cows.

"So I'm flipping out about my stupid life, and you don't think to mention your much bigger problems? You totally win," I say to her.

"I don't win." Amy pushes me hard and I stumble. "I don't want people treating me like I'm fragile or creepy. Which they do- if they know." She waves her finger in front of my face. "And my problems don't make yours less. It's not a compet.i.tion."

"I know." I lift a shoulder. My troubles seem pretty shallow, no matter what she says. I'm seeing a whole new dimension of Amy.

And her eternal optimism and sweetness only add more layers to her personality. I can't even imagine what she's been through.

"What kind of cancer?" Adam steps up so he's alongside us and stares down at Amy as if he's X- raying her insides.

"Leukemia. They found it early. I was lucky."

"You had a good doctor?" Adam intently studies her from behind his gla.s.ses like an investigator or something.

"Only the best. Perks of a rich daddy- chemo, radiation, stem cell, blood transfusions."

Adam whistles. Amy stops walking. She stares out at the cows.

"I've been clear for almost seven years. But two-thirds of survivors will face chronic health issues."

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "I thought you hated statistics," I say.

"Sometimes they're hard to ignore," Amy answers.

We all silently acknowledge that.

"So what about now?" Adam asks. "Are you still being moni- tored? Do you still see an oncologist?"

"Why do you care?" Amy asks.

"He wants to be a doctor, remember?" I remind Amy. "Plus, we're your friends."

"Yeah. You've kind of grown on me." Adam b.u.mps a hip against her and she loses her footing.

She steadies herself, puts both hands on her hips, and glares at each of us. "Why do you two seem like you have some weird thing going on. Did you make out?" she asks.

My mouth drops open. Adam looks at me and then looks away.

"Um, change the topic much or what?" he mumbles.

"I knew it!" She claps her hands together. "Wait, what about the girlfriend?"

"She dumped me," Adam says, "after Morgan threatened to kick her b.u.t.t."

"I did NOT! It was before the summer. He's a liar, liar pants on fire, ahhhh," I shout and run toward the field and scissor jump across the barbed- wire fence. Unfortunately, the seam of my jeans snags on a barb. There's a long rrrrrrrrrip sound.

"Oh my G.o.d!" I scream and try to pull my leg off the wire, but I'm off balance and drop over half the fence from the waist, hanging off the barb by the ripped hole in the b.u.t.t of my pants.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e "Eeee!" Amy screams, pointing and laughing. "You're wearing your 's.e.xy And I Know It' boy underpants!"

"I am not!" I shriek. "I threw those out. Get me off, get me off!"

Amy's laugh erupts into an almost hysterical sound, bursting from her tiny body. "I'm ssss- sorry," she tries to say, but she can't stop giggling.

Adam's deeper laugh joins hers, and neither one moves to help me. They're losing it over my split pants while my b.u.t.t hangs out over the fence for a cow to come along and chomp.

I manage to unsnag my leg and drop to the ground, roll, and then pull up what's left of my pants. Both of them hold their stom- achs with tears rolling down their cheeks. I try to stay mad, but their laughter is contagious. Soon my own giggling starts and I'm holding my stomach, getting cramps along with them.

Finally when we manage to get our senses back and start walking toward the car, we're splattered by a truck driving in the opposite direction. It zooms too close to us and the back tire hits a mud puddle. It only makes us laugh harder.

I try to hold on to the comical break as we drive on, but reality settles in over me like dark clouds once we reach the city limits of Tadita. I listen as Adam tells Amy the truth about his girlfriend and why he lied to her, but I can no longer partic.i.p.ate in conversation.

The chips I ate no longer seem like a good idea.

I still have to face my mom.

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