Free Emily For Real by Sylvia Gunnery

scarf and mittens. Also a hat that pulls down over my ears. And very warm socks. I don’t get all this talk about global warming when it’s barely halfway through November and already it’s iceberg city.
    Leo’s wearing a heavy winter jacket with a hood.
    Ironically, a guy in an old car pulls over as we’re walking up the ramp toward the highway, and we haven’t even had a chance to get cold, “Let me guess. You two’re about to hitchhike,” he says. “Hop in.”
    Leo starts to get in the front when the guy says, “Girls in front.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” I say. I’m a bit creeped.
    â€œRules are rules,” he says.
    Leo says, “We’ll pass.” Then he slams the door and mutters something I don’t exactly hear but I can pretty much guess what it was.
    The guy takes off with squealing tires and blue smoke.
    â€œCreepy,” I say.
    â€œLoser,” says Leo.
    Eventually, another car stops and this time the guy looks like an ordinary person. No creep vibes. He’s going to Yarmouth, so we’ve scored a drive all the way to exit six.
    It takes three more drives before we get from exit six to North West Cove. The last drive is a guy who knows Leo’s aunt and the guy she lives with. “They got a little girl stayin’ with them, I hear.”
    â€œYeah,” says Leo. “My sister.”
    â€œOh. Mm.” Right away the guy reads Leo’s mind and doesn’t ask any questions. “Nice you’d be going to see her.”
    â€œYeah.”
    It’s comfortable in this car. I don’t mean the seats or anything. I mean the atmosphere. This man’s definitely very nice. Perceptive. Considerate. He drives us all the way to Jane’s house where there’s a transport truck parked in the driveway. Silver and blue and very shiny. It’s only half a transport truck because the big box part isn’t on it. Whoever owns this either just bought it or they clean it with a toothbrush after every trip.
    â€œShit,” says Leo, not quite under his breath.
    I’m putting two and two together, adding things up to the fact that this truck belongs to Leo’s father, because Leo said he was on the road so much. Genius.
    â€œAh, I don’t think Jane’s home right now,” says Leo. “Mind dropping us off down at the garage?”
    When the car pulls away from the garage, we stand there for a second not saying anything. Then I decide there’s nothing to lose by stating the obvious. “That was your father’s truck at Jane’s.”
    Leo says nothing.
    I make another loop around my neck with my scarf.
    â€œLet’s go in here for a minute,” he says.
    Inside the garage it’s only slightly warmer. There’s a counter where they sell bars and chips and pop. The guy who’s been putting cigarettes into a drawer stops and looks at us.
    â€œYou want anything?” says Leo.
    â€œNo, thanks.”
    He buys a chocolate bar and we stand inside while he eats it. I can tell he’s trying to figure out what to do.
    â€œMaybe he’s not actually at your aunt’s. Maybe he just left his truck there,” I say, trying to be helpful.
    The guy behind the counter says, “If you’re looking for someone from around here, they’re likely at the firemen’s breakfast. Pretty well everyone goes. Finishes up about eleven or thereabout.”
    Leo opens the door and leaves.
    â€œThanks,” I say to the guy behind the counter.
    I’m starting to wish I wasn’t here. I feel all weird again, like I’m nobody and I’m nowhere and no one knows me. Which in a way is true. I hate when I get this feeling. “So now what’re we going to do?” I ask.
    â€œGo back to Jane’s.”
    I don’t like the stormy look in Leo’s eyes. He’s fuming mad about something…probably the fact that his father’s around. I