People were talking and laughing, like they already knew each other. Were we supposed to enlist with friends? Or were they bonding in that way normal people did when they met someone with similar interests?
The only open seat was in the back, next to a girl about my age with pale skin and dyed black hair. She peered at me, didn’t appear to approve of what she saw, and turned back to the window.
I walked down the aisle and sat down, backpack in my lap. The girl wore leggings, an old white T-shirt, and, notably, handcuffs. They weren’t attached, a chain dangling from each wrist, like they’d been cut off.
It was jewelry. Probably.
She caught me staring and raised an eyebrow.
I quickly looked away.
“Hey.”
I turned at the whisper from across the aisle. We were five hours into the twelve-hour drive to Atlanta, and so far I’d spoken to no one.
It was the tall, ridiculously attractive Asian American boy seated in the row across from me. He had tousled black hair, long, lean limbs, and a smile like he’d never been so happy to see anyone as he was to see me. He should have been modeling skinny jeans, not joining an elite group of monster hunters.
“Were those handcuffs on her wrists?” he whispered, his gaze cutting to where my seatmate had disappeared into the bathroom.
“I think they’re jewelry? I hope?” I said softly.
He tilted his head back as he laughed. He had the sort of laugh that put normal people at ease. The guy in front of him actually looked back and smiled just at the sound of it.
“I’m Patrick,” he said, extending his hand to me.
I shook it. “Clara.”
He leaned closer, gesturing for me to lean in as well. “Do you get the feeling we’re on the wrong bus?”
I laughed softly, relieved he felt the same way. “Yeah. Everyone seems kind of . . .”
“Intense? Yeah. This guy next to me?” He glanced over his shoulder as if to confirm the large bearded man next to him was still asleep. “He went to Belgium last year with friends to chase down scrabs. Just for kicks. One of them stuffed a scrab head, shipped it back to himself, and hung it on his wall.”
“Wow. That’s . . .”
“Illegal?” he guessed.
“I was going to say intense, but that too.”
His eyes skipped over me, though not in a sleazy way. It was hard to describe how some men simply surveyed you, and others were obviously mentally running their hands all over your body. You just knew.
“You didn’t run off to Europe to chase scrabs for fun, did you?” he asked. “I guess I’m making assumptions because you look young.”
“No, you’re right. I’m seventeen. No time for trips to Europe yet.”
“Eighteen. Are you done with high school?”
“I mean, it wasn’t done with me, but I ended the relationship anyway.”
He laughed. “I can respect that. I mean, I did well in school and everyone loved me, but not everyone is so lucky.”
“And you’re so modest about it too.”
“Modesty is overrated. I’m great, honestly. Just wait until you get to know me.” He leaned out of the aisle as the handcuffed girl exited the restroom. I stood so she could slide back into her seat.
Patrick grabbed a black messenger bag from the floor and flipped it open to reveal snacks—chips, cookies, nuts, a few sodas, even some sandwiches packed in plastic bags. He noticed me watching him, and I quickly looked away.
“Did you forget snacks?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I lied.
“Here. Do you like peanut butter? My mom packed me enough for five people.”
He held out one of the sandwiches and a bag of chips. I could see why everyone loved him.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the sandwich. My stomach had been rumbling for hours. In fact, he may have heard it.
I unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. Patrick passed me a soda, and I smiled at him as I took it.
“So why’d you join?” he asked.
I chewed slowly, considering how to answer that question. “The fame. The glory.”
“Well, of course.”
“What about you?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice that I hadn’t given a serious answer.
“Well, I was always complaining about the government’s policy to close our borders and not help overseas. I marched and protested and yelled at my dumb friends until they were smarter. So when the opportunity came up, I couldn’t really say no. What was I going to do, make my Facebook picture a solidarity ribbon again and not join? I mean, come on.”
“Sure.” I was surrounded by badasses and do-gooders, as expected. I was going to be the only loser who joined just to put an entire ocean between her and her family.
“Are you from Dallas?” I asked.
“No, Austin, but Dallas was the only Texas bus. My boyfriend drove me.” He rolled his eyes like he’d just remembered something annoying. “Ex-boyfriend. He said he couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if he was scared for their life the whole time.”
That sounded reasonable to me. “That sucks.”
“Meh. Clearly I can do better.” His phone dinged, and he pulled it out of his pocket. A smile twitched at his lips. He typed something and glanced over at me. “Are your parents freaking out too?”
“A little bit.”
“My mom’s been texting me every twenty minutes.”
I popped a chip in my mouth. “I guess it’s good I don’t have a phone.” I’d really wanted it, but now I wondered if Dad would have kept the service on for the sole purpose of sending me mean texts. He loved dropping terrible shit on me randomly, probably just to ruin my day.
Patrick’s eyebrows knitted together. It was weird not to have a phone, and I realized too late that I probably shouldn’t have admitted it. He looked from my five-year-old backpack, dirty and frayed at the edges, to my scuffed combat boots. Judging
