Free Notes From the Backseat by Jody Gehrman Page A

we’d agreed on anything all day.
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    By the time Coop and Officer John-Boy got back, the twilight had given way to full-on night and we had cleaned most the coke off ourselves and the car. It was a good thing our friendly copper didn’t travel with dogs, though, I’ll tell you that. We were in no mood to be sniffed.
    Once the coke was gone, Dannika gave up her rigor mortis routine and managed to turn on a little charm. All she had to do was smile in Officer John-Boy’s direction and he went positively twitchy with delight.
    â€œYou guys okay?” Coop asked as he poured the gas into the tank. “You’re so quiet.”
    Dannika started to answer, but I kicked her foot, hoping Officer John-Boy wouldn’t notice. She sort of squeaked, but didn’t actually speak.
    â€œWe’re fine,” I said.
    Dannika smiled sweetly at John-Boy, illuminated by his headlights. The harsh white glare would have made anyone else look ghoulish, but she managed to work the effect as if they were twin spotlights. John-Boy fidgeted with his belt, his radio, his billy club, a gawky kid at a junior high school dance—albeit an armed one. Watching from the shadows, I just rolled my eyes and fought the urge to gag.
    When we were on the road with Coop at the wheel, Dannika riding shotgun and me (surprise, surprise!) in the back, I leaned forward so my face was in between them. “Dannika,” I said, “have you ever gotten a ticket?”
    â€œParking ticket,” she said.
    â€œWhat about a moving violation?”
    I noticed Coop was grinning a little in the dashboard light.
    â€œI’ve been pulled over,” she said. “Lots, actually. But I’ve only gotten one actual ticket.”
    â€œAnd was the officer a woman?” I asked.
    Coop’s grin deepened.
    â€œYeah, actually. How’d you know?”
    â€œJust a lucky guess.” I leaned back in my seat to watch the stars.
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    I realize, of course, that I haven’t yet covered how we ended up here, at my mother’s house, Chateau de Dog Hair. I’m getting to that, I swear.
    What happened is this: it was getting late, we were inching our way toward the Sonoma County line, when out of nowhere this fog rolled in that was so thick you couldn’t see two feet in front of you.
    â€œThis is crazy.” Coop sounded edgy, and it occurred to me that the running-out-of-gas episode had been even more trying for him. After all, he was the one who had to hitch-hike—a pretty scary thing to do, even if you are six foot four. Sure, we were nearly arrested for Schedule II narcotics, but he was the one who had to stick his thumb out and make himself easy prey for random serial killers cruising down the coast. And let’s face it, a wildly disproportionate number of serial killers end up in northern California.
    My thoughts were interrupted when a huge deer, wide-eyed with shock, emerged from the fog like a ghostly, overgrown Bambi. Coop turned the wheel sharply and missed hitting it by inches; it shot off into the darkness, a blur in the corner of my eye. My heart was pounding wildly and, from the silence in the car, I sensed they were similarly shaken.
    Coop sounded a little weak when he said, “Gwen, do you know if there’s a road that cuts inland? We’ve got to get out of this fog.”
    I closed my eyes, and a map of the coast came into focus. The obvious choice was Bodega Highway, of course, but the fact that it goes right past my mom’s house made me hesitate. The catch was that there really wasn’t a better way east for quite a while and the fog was likely to get worse from Salmon Creek to Mendocino, since the highway hugs the coast that whole stretch. “Yeah,” I said. “It’s not far from here.”
    â€œGreat. Let me know when you see it, okay?”
    â€œSure.”
    Dannika sat up straighter. “Where are we going?”
    â€œI’m heading