Free Drowning Is Inevitable by Shalanda Stanley Page A

though.”
    â€œNew Orleans is a pretty big place,” Max said.
    Maggie spoke up. “Wait a minute. There’s this artist on Oak Street. His name’s Steve or Steven or something. My mom used to sleep on his couch every once in a while. I met him once when my dad took me to New Orleans to see my mom. He seemed like a good guy. If he’s still there, maybe he’d let us stay with him until we found your mom’s friend.”
    â€œAre you sure you don’t mind asking?” I asked.
    Maggie shrugged.
    â€œThat’s a good idea,” Max said. “We can dump the truck when we get to New Orleans.”
    I must’ve looked nervous, because he added, “Nowhere near Oak Street.”
    â€œThere’s a map in the glove box,” Max said to Jamie. “Let me see it.”
    Jamie pulled out the map and handed it to Max.
    Max unfolded it and studied it. After a time he said, “We could make it to Maurepas by tonight. It’s not that far outside of New Orleans. There’s a lake. I went camping there once.” He showed us the route with his finger. He handed the map to Maggie.
    â€œDon’t take the most direct path,” he told her.
    â€œGot it,” she said.
    â€œI’m beat,” Max said to me and lay down in the backseat. I climbed in next to Jamie.
    â€œDid I get it all?” Jamie asked. He turned his face from left to right. I took the wet wipe from his hand and wiped at a spot next to his ear.
    â€œNow you did.”
    He grabbed another one and started wiping at his arms.
    Maggie cranked up the truck, jammed it into drive, and sped off. She flipped through the radio stations, relaxing as Janis Joplin started up from the speakers, crooning about the pieces of her heart.
    We got off the Trace and cut across Mississippi before hooking a right and coming back down through Kentwood, Roseland, and Amite. Max slept solidly. At Tickfaw we took a left, wanting to avoid the bigger town of Hammond. We went through French Settlement twice, as Maggie often came to a crossroads, shrugged, and took a right. She drove like there was no concern for gas money, and the needle slowly made its way down to empty.
    Max woke up after a few hours. He reached into the front seat, hooking me under my arms and pulling me into the backseat. It took my breath away. He always took my breath away. He reached for my hand. I didn’t know why at first, but it was an inspection; he was making sure all the blood was gone.
    He traced the scars on my palm as he spoke. “I love you,” he said.
    My stomach flipped, and I didn’t know if it was from what he said or his soft touch. He didn’t wait for me to say it back. He’d stopped doing that.
    We sat for a while in comfortable silence, then Maggie, who couldn’t stand quiet for too long, thought it would be a good time to play one of her favorite games. She asked a question, and you had to answer with the first thing that came to your mind.
    â€œNo thinking, just speaking,” she said. “Max, what’s your favorite color?”
    â€œBlack.”
    â€œPresident?”
    â€œWoodrow Wilson.”
    â€œBand?”
    â€œThe Beatles.”
    She nodded, seemingly pleased with that answer.
    Max smirked and added, “Justin Bieber’s cool, too.”
    Maggie swerved and almost ran the truck off the road.
    Max laughed, making me do the same. Then Maggie started laughing, and even Jamie chuckled. I caught his eye, and it felt so good for two seconds, but then his face changed, seeming to say that laughing was wrong the day after you stabbed your dad, and we promptly stopped laughing.
    Max got in a few questions of his own.
    â€œHave you always hated living in a small town?”
    â€œNo, but it seems like it got smaller as I got older.”
    â€œIs that why you wanted to go to New York?” Max asked.
    She nodded.
    â€œYou’re not scared of anything,” he said.
    Maggie