Page 20 of My Star-Crossed Summer

“Y’all hang tight a minute,” I tell them. “I just need to check something on the car.”

Fingers crossed, I climb out and walk towards the back, telling myself I’m just being extra cautious and imagining the worst case scenario.

Except that I’m not, because the rear passenger tire is flat as a pancake.

On our side of the road is a wide-open meadow, full of knee-high weeds and wildflowers. On the other is dense forest with the mountains looming beyond. Thirty yards away, a ramshackle barn sits across the field near the tree line. It’s the only man-made thing out here, aside from the telephone poles that look like they’ve been here for a hundred years.

Once all the kids are out of the car, I haul the bags out of the back because of course, the spare tire is in the compartment below, under ten thousand pounds of Derrick’s luggage.

“Can’t you call like, roadside assistance?” Derrick says. He shoves his hair from his eyes, and for a moment, it stands straight up.

“That’ll take too long out here,” I say. “I don’t want you to miss the evening activities.” I stop short of telling him that we’re in the middle of nowhere, a solid hour from even a Starbucks. Laurel Creek isn’t far, but it’s Sunday, and that means the whole town’s closed.

“Besides,” I tell them. “It’s just a flat. An easy fix.”

They look at me with varying degrees of doubt etched into their faces.

“So today you learn a new life skill,” I quip, digging the jack out of the side compartment.

“My dad had a flat when we went to the beach last summer,” Ethan says. He’s all lanky limbs and sharp angles, with a mop of sandy blond hair that keeps falling in his eyes. “But he just kicked it a bunch of times and called a tow truck.”

I sigh, lifting the spare tire from the floor compartment. I haven’t changed a flat since college, but I’m hoping all the steps come back to me once I get my hands dirty.

A car zips past us, the only one I’ve seen since we pulled over. “I need all of you to stay there in the shade, okay?” I point them towards the grassy area between the shoulder and the tree line, several yards from the car. “You can help me by watching for traffic.”

“On it!” Layla sings. Everything about her screams bright energy, from her electric blue shirt and pink shorts to the perky top note of her voice. Her dark brown hair is cut right below her ears, her bangs falling in her eyes. She skips toward the clearing with the other kids at her heels, far enough from the road that I won’t worry about them.

The memory of how to do this comes back to me as I remove all the bolts from the hubcap, just like Dad taught me when I first learned to drive. My hair’s falling in my face, and my tee shirt is sticking to me, but I manage to assemble the jack andremove the tire without too much difficulty. Meanwhile, the kids sit in a semicircle, a couple of them staring intently at the road.

“Car!” Priya shouts, pointing in the opposite direction.

I give her a thumbs-up and move the spare tire over and slip it into place. After some fussing, the bolts are tight and the tire is secure. I double-check everything and then put the jack and the bad tire into the floor compartment.

I give myself a mental high-five and call out, “Okay guys! Let’s load up.”

They help me pile the luggage back into the car as I brush a bit of dirt from my eye. The next time I look up, I only count three kids.

“Hey, where’s Derrick?” I ask.

Layla says, “He was here a minute ago.”

My stomach drops to the ground. I look all around us, down the road, across the meadow, over by the big oak with the pool of shade.

There’s no sign of him.

My throat starts to close up, but I force out a yell anyway. “Derrick!” I holler. It’s a strangled cry, but I pull myself together because the last thing these kids need is to see me panic.

I call his name again, and the other kids do, too, and my heart is pounding like a jackhammer. It’s been less than three hours, and I’ve somehow lost a kid? When there were only four to begin with? A hundred terrifying thoughts race through my brain. I will never forgive myself if I don’t find him in the next ten seconds.

I bet Noah Valentine never lost a kid out here. He probably never even loses his car keys.

My eyes rest on the barn at the edge of the field, and I bite my lip.

“Hey, there he is,” Ethan says, pointing in the opposite direction, toward the trees.

I follow his gaze, and sure enough, Derrick is shuffling out of the tree line like he’s just out for a stroll.

“Derrick!” I call, trying not to sound like I’m screaming “FIRE!” to save a whole city from an inferno, and wave him over to us.

---