Free Notes From the Backseat by Jody Gehrman Page B

inland.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Coop sighed. “Because, Dannika, this was a really stupid plan. It’s late, we’re hungry, there’s no place to eat out here, and the fog is so thick I can barely see the road.”
    â€œAnd your point is…?” She brushed a strand of hair back from her face and glared at him.
    â€œI’m going back to 101.”
    â€œWait a minute! This is my car.”
    â€œLook, stop being such a spoiled brat, okay? It’s not safe to drive in this.” He nodded at the swirling shroud of mist beyond the windshield.
    â€œIt’s right up here somewhere,” I said, still watching for the turn. “Oh, there it is.” I pointed at the road veering off to the right.
    Dannika scowled as Coop turned inland, but she knew it was no use; she was outnumbered. I was proud of Coop for standing up to her, even if it had taken him all day to work up to it. I wondered if he’d put his foot down very often during their ten years of friendship. I had a feeling this was more the exception than the rule.
    We rode a few miles in moody silence. The fog wasn’t thinning much. A possum darted into the road, pale and confused. Coop swerved, but instead of moving away from the car, it scurried blindly toward it. We all listened in horror to the sickening thud-crunch of first the front, then the back tire making contact. I couldn’t help swiveling around to check it out. The tail lights illuminated a pulpy mess of fur; I could see its rodent feet still clawing at the air.
    â€œGross,” I said, turning back around.
    Dannika shook her head. “Is that all you can say? Gross? ”
    â€œWhat, should I prepare a eulogy?” I was in no mood for an animal rights lecture.
    Coop intervened. “Gwen, how much farther to Mendocino taking 101?”
    I did some mental mapping and calculations. “Realistically? We’re probably looking at three or four hours, at least.”
    â€œYou know, I hate to be a whiner, but I’m so wiped out,” he said.
    â€œFine,” Dannika snapped. “I’ll drive.”
    â€œMmm,” Coop said, “I think that’s kind of a bad idea.”
    â€œWhy?” She said it in two syllables, like a pissed-off teenager.
    â€œI just think you’re tired, too. We all are. And this fog isn’t really getting much better.”
    â€œSee? We should have just stayed on the coast.”
    Coop let that one pass.
    Dannika turned around to face me. “Gwen, you want to drive for a while? You should be fresh as a daisy.”
    â€œShe doesn’t drive,” Coop said.
    Dannika looked amazed. “You live in L.A. and you don’t drive? ”
    I shook my head. I was used to this reaction. “Never have.”
    Coop looked at me in the rearview mirror. “What do you think, G? Should we stop somewhere and spend the night, or am I just wimping out?”
    â€œWhat, like a hotel?” Dannika asked.
    â€œYeah, I guess,” he said. “Something along 101. We could get dinner, chill out, have a drink. We haven’t eaten much all day.”
    â€œI don’t know,” she said. “I hate hotels—especially hotels along the freeway. And what would we eat? Big Macs?” She made a sort of half scoffing, half gagging sound. “Let’s just keep going. It’s only a couple more hours.”
    â€œThree hours,” Coop corrected. “Probably more if the fog doesn’t break up.”
    â€œYeah,” I said, “and the road back out to the coast is pretty gnarly.” We were only about six miles from my mom’s house at that point, and as much as I hated to admit it, staying there made sense. I agreed with Coop—it was dangerous to keep going when we were starving and tired and the conditions were so sketchy. The hotel idea was mildly appealing, but I had a feeling Dannika would make us drive around Santa Rosa for hours, trying to find a