Free Mare's War by Tanita S. Davis Page A

act, but I will show her.
    I will show
everybody
.

11.
now
    The morning is so new the horizon still has bits of pink at the far edges of the sky. It’s just after five and too early to be hungry, but Mare makes us visit the hotel’s breakfast bar anyway, and we pack pastries, fruit, and small bottles of juice into our bags for later on. I don’t know how Mare got up at “oh-five-thirty” every morning and had an appetite to eat breakfast when she was in the army, but I guess they were on the move so much they ate as much as they could when they had a chance, even if they weren’t hungry.
    Most of the people we see on the road are alone in their cars, sipping coffee or applying makeup. I slump in the corner of the seat farthest away from my grandmother and look out over the flat yellowish landscape, thinking about putting my feet up on the dashboard. The map shows nothing exciting on the way for miles and miles and miles. Inside the car, we reflect the same featureless boredom—three people staring out at the morning with nothing to say.
    The traffic slows to a crawl as we reach a business district.Mare looks distracted, slips on her sunglasses, scowling. She turns on the radio, tapping her long nails against the steering wheel as we move through the slowdown.
    “In more news, the president has announced sanctions against—” Mare clicks her tongue and changes the station.
    “… stop-and-go traffic on the expressway, as police are still clearing the site of this morning’s big rig—”
    “Should players who fail steroid testing get into the Hall of Fame? Fans argue that—”
    “… amid rumors that the group will feature the recovering rocker in a reunion tour—”
    “Students at a German university rioted last night over proposed—”
    Mare shakes her head and pushes in a CD.
    From the backseat, Tali lets out a loud sigh as the gravelly vocals and twanging guitar of Muddy Waters fill the air.
    “Mare,” she moans. “It’s too early for blues. Can we at least listen to someone who doesn’t play guitar?”
    “Oh,
Lord,”
Mare groans. “You put in what you want, girl. God knows it’s too early to listen to you whine about my music again.”
    Tali rummages around in her bag and thrusts a CD case in my face.
    “This one,” she says. As usual, Tali doesn’t bother to say thank you or ask me if I had something else I wanted to listen to. She never thinks of me at all, and I’m right here in the front seat. Mare and Tali are completely alike—they both expect people to do exactly what they want exactly whenthey want. I slide down in the seat and cross my arms as the music fills the car.
    “Well, she’s got a nice voice at least,” Mare says grudgingly as the smoky-voiced musician begins to sing.
    “I thought you’d like her,” Tali says smugly. “You should try a little music from this century every once in a while.”
    Mare laughs, a surprised-sounding bark that leaves her coughing. “From this century?” she sputters. “What for? There’s no good music to listen to these days. Now, back in the day …”
    Mare and Tali are debating the relative merits of Erykah Badu versus Sarah Vaughn when out of nowhere, it seems, a raised pickup truck, red-crossed flag flying from the antenna, zips out of the stream of traffic. Swerving up from the right lane and into ours, only half a foot ahead of us, he barely fits himself between us and the next car. Mare slams on the brakes and, on a reflex, throws her arm across my body. The tires squeal and she swears as we lurch to a stop.
    “Jerk!” Tali yells, reaching around me to lower my window. The car behind us also screeches to a stop, the driver leaning on his horn.
    “Tali,
don’t,”
I warn her as she unclips her seat belt. “You’re not even driving.”
    “I don’t care,” Tali fumes. “That freak cut us off!”
    “Look at the flag on his car,” I say. “Isn’t that a Confederate flag? What if he’s a skinhead or something?” I can