Page 51 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
“She’s stressed about her pretty schedule,” Liv drawled lazily from the back. She’d finally stopped singing and was now lyingacross the seat, legs hanging out the window. “It’s under your seat, Dove, if you’re interested.”
I groaned.
Dove immediately leaned forward and rummaged around before yanking out the thick black folder with a triumphant look on her face.
“You made a binder?” she asked incredulously, running her hand over the cover like it was a sacred artifact.
“It’s not a binder,” I defended with a glower. “It’s a folder. A slim folder. With guided, uh, notes.”
“Guided notes?” Dove snorted. “Ellis, this is a travel dossier. Holy shit, is thislaminated?”
“It’s weather-resistant,” I muttered, gripping the wheel as Liv burst into laughter in the back seat.
Dove flipped a page. Then another.
“Damn. Ellis, did you create an actual master plan for this trip?”
“No.”
“Ellis, this has color coding. It has fuel stop projections and highlighted traffic alerts. Oh my God, it has a weather key. Who are you? You did lodging research for every city between here and California.”
“It’s not like it has to be followed exactly,” I mumbled. “It’s just… some structure. Anyway, I built it off Liv’s original schedule.”
“Yeah,” Dove said, snickering. “Liv doesn’t strike me as the type to color code.”
“Yeah, that’s not me,” Liv said flatly. “Do I look like a girl who usesaquato highlight a title?”
“Look, someone has to make sure we don’t end up lost in the middle of Arkansas with a dead phone and no gas,” I snapped, feeling my cheeks flush.
Dove blinked and closed the binder. “We aren’t even going through Arkansas.”
“Exactly,” I said matter-of-factly. “Because of the plan.”
Dove gave me the long look you give someone when you’re deciding whether to push the red button or let it go.
“Okay, so you’re a little terrifying,” she said with a nervous laugh. “It’s like… like if a Virgo and an Excel spreadsheet had a baby.”
“I’m not a Virgo,” I said, my tone clipped.
I turned up the stereo. I didn’t register the song, it was just noise, something to drown out the car and give me a few moments of peace inside my own head.
If we drove nonstop to Springfield, we could make it in roughly three hours. As long as neither Dove nor I needed a bathroom break—and Liv didn’t spot something shiny she wanted to pull over for—I was silently crossing my fingers for a straight run.
“We’re stopping at the Gemini Giant, right?” Liv asked suddenly, her head popping up so fast I flinched, the car swerving slightly.
“No,” I snapped. “It’s not on the schedule.”
“It was onmyschedule!” Liv growled, her outrage unmistakable.
“Oh! I know that thing!” Dove jumped in. “I want to get a photo with him for my Instagram.”
“If we stop at the Giant, then by the time we get to Springfield we’ll only have time to check in at the Motel 6 andmaybesee the Lincoln Home and the McLean County Museum of History. And Liv, you still wanted to go to Knight’s Action Park!”
“Alright,” Liv said, raising her hands in surrender. “How about we fob off the boring field trip stuff and just do the fun things instead?”
“You wanted that stuff too!” I snapped. “It was in your document!”
“That was a shared document with my best friend,” Liv said airily, flopping back into her seat. “That washerinterest, not mine. To the Giant Man, I say! Onward!”
