Page 43 of The Fast Lane

Me: Stop it.

Mae: No then. Bummer. He likes to take his time, doesn’t he? Really playing the long game.

Ellie: I’m trying to work here. What did I miss?

Mae: Nothing. Unfortunately.

Ellie: Damn. I was hoping for something juicy.

Me: I’m not talking to either of you ever again.

Mae: You love us.

I glared at the phone like they could see me.

Mae: Did you see the surprise I put in the front pocket of your backpack?

Me: Still not talking to you.

Mae: Text later?

Me: Fine.

After rummaging through my backpack, I found the “surprise” Mae was talking about. I flattened out the folded piece of paper and frowned at it.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” I moved to stuff the paper in my backpack, but Theo gently tugged it out of my hand. “Hey, give that back. You’re driving.”

“Declaration of Candidate for Mayoral Election: Town of Two Harts, Texas,” he managed to read.

When he didn’t say anything, embarrassment rolled through me. I swallowed and picked at the raw edge of my denim cutoff shorts.

“It’s a dumb joke. Mae put it in my backpack. She’s not serious.”

“I don’t think it’s dumb,” he said quietly and handed me back the paper.

“Oh, sure. Could you see it? Alicia Ramos for Mayor.”

“Huh.” Nothing else. Just a little sound from the back of his throat.

I turned and pressed my forehead against the passenger side window and tried to sort through this knot of humiliation in my chest. Me as mayor was a dumb idea. I had zero experience. Zero political aspirations. Zero knowledge of how to be a mayor, let alone do it successfully.

Yet—and I was going to beat Mae with a wet noodle for this—a teeny, itty-bitty part of me was thinking about it. And everyone knew, when I got to thinking about something, things happened.

EIGHTEEN

Note to self:

Become a cat person.

Amarillo

The little yellow house on the corner of Oak and Delmont had always been my favorite place to visit when I was younger. It still looked exactly the same, too. Like time hadn’t touched this magical place where homemade cookies were always available, and hugs were given out freely.

Theo and I climbed out of the car and were immediately serenaded with a rich, hearty baritone coming from the back corner of the yard where Grandma Grace’s prized roses lived.

“Is he singing a Taylor Swift song?” Theo asked.

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