“Did my mom call you?” Evan asks.
“What? No. Why would your mom call?” the redhead asks with her face screwed up in confusion.
“What do you guys want?” Evan asks, hiding the look of hurt, or maybe disappointment, that flashes across her face, but not before I see it.
“I came to explain,” the guy says. “Savannah, tell her.” He nudges her forward, causing her to stumble in her shoes that could be used as a murder weapon. The redhead—Savannah, apparently—rolls her eyes and mumbles something as she inspects her fingernails.
“Speak up,” Evan commands, and I quirk a brow at her take-no-prisoners tone. I’m not going to lie. That was almost hot.
“I said I’m sorry. Or whatever.”
Evan huffs out a sardonic laugh, and I take that as my cue to leave.
“As much as I’d love to see how this little after-school special plays out, I gotta run.” It’s Sunday. Also known as slough night. We’ve got one last show, then we have to tear everything down and hit the road in the morning.
“Give us a minute,” Evan says.
“We’ll be inside.” The kid pulls the reluctant redhead toward Evan’s front door.
“Sorry…about all that,” she says once they’re inside, one hand rests on her hip as the other one blocks the sun from her eyes. “So, you’re leaving? For the rest of summer?”
I nod. “We’ll be gone tomorrow morning.”
“It feels different this time,” she says, looking past me, toward the street. “Doesn’t it?”
“What does?”
“You. Leaving.”
“You telling me you’re going to miss me, Princess?”
At that, she scoffs. “You wish.”
“You good here?” I ask, straddling my bike. It’s not my business. Evan isn’t my business. But leaving her in the middle of this shit show niggles at the conscience I didn’t know I had.
“I’ll survive.”
“Yeah, you will,” I agree. She’s tough for a spoiled chick. “Have fun in New York.” Before she has a chance to respond, I start up my bike, walking it backward down her driveway until I reach the street. Evan holds up a palm, giving m
e a half-hearted wave. I rev my bike, and then I’m gone.
“That’s a wrap,” Eros says, loading the last of the gear into the trailer. “Elliot driving?” he asks.
“Yep.” He does the majority of the driving—that was the agreement when he wanted to come on the road with us. That, along with emptying the toilets at the dump site.
“Good. I need to get some shut-eye before we get to California.”
“Maybe if you didn’t stay up all night snorting coke off Destiny’s tits, you wouldn’t be so tired.”
“What else was I supposed to do?” he asks. “You were gone. Lathan and Tres passed out. I was bored.”
“Ready?” Lathan calls out the door of the bunkhouse that’s hitched to the truck that Elliot’s driving. Tres is driving the trailer with our bikes and equipment.
“All loaded up,” Eros says, sliding the door to the trailer shut. Rounding the trailer, we walk up the steps into the bunkhouse. Elliot starts the truck, waiting for the caravan of cars, trucks, and trailers for his turn to leave. Generally, we travel with the rest of the carnival. It’s easier to stay on schedule that way.
“Elliot wants to ride in the globe,” Lathan says, smirking from his spot in the U-shaped booth behind the table before ripping a piece of licorice off with his teeth. “He brought it up again after the show last night.”
“Not happening.” I shut that shit down immediately.