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mattress, totally deflated. I stare at my black messenger bag, which is stuffed with everything I had planned to bring to her house—my change of clothes, a pint o’ JD stolen from Dad’s personal collection, gum, my driver’s license (ahem!), Mom’s twenty-spot;
everything
.
    “You know what?” I say. “Screw it. Just come pick me up.”
    “Are you sure?” Ash doesn’t sound like she thinks it’s a good idea.
    “Of course I’m sure, Ash! Call me when you’re at the corner of the street. I’ll be on the sidewalk by the time you pull up, and then I’m going to get in, and no matter what, you just
drive
, okay?”
    My rage is turning to excitement. This is going to be fun. A total jailbreak. And there’s a good chance my parents won’t even notice. Once during a 49ers game, I told my dad I was pregnant just to see what would happen. The truth is, I’ve never had sex, because my stupid-ass ex-boyfriend got it into his wee stupid head that it would be wrong for some reason—like that’s what God says or something. (Don’t
even
get me started.) Anyway, Dad didn’t respond until the next commercial, when he said, “Did you say you were having a baby?” And I said, “No, I said I have
rabies
.” And he kind of smiled uncertainly and turned back to the TV.
    So I’m pretty sure I can bust out of here without attracting their attention.
    Which, if you think about it, kinda sucks. What if some psycho broke into my room and kidnapped me? Theywouldn’t know until they got one of those ransom notes made from cutout magazine letters.
    Maybe I should make one, just for laughs. But I remember a girl last year who called in an Amber Alert on herself, like she’d been kidnapped, so she could spend the night with her boyfriend. No way was I going to do something
that
stupid.
    Ashley is a lot more cautious than I am. Which is probably a good thing. Her parents do pay attention to where she’s going to be, who she’s hanging with, that kind of thing. I’d never admit it, but it was kind of cool. Of course, we never did anything so bad that they’d bust her, even if she didn’t tell them the truth.
    Ashley’s parents rock. I totally love them. And they totally love me. I spend as much time at her house as I can without being a pest. Her mom, Dianne, is a great cook, and even takes requests. (I love her baked pasta dinners.) My mom, on the other hand, orders in. Ashley’s dad, Bob, always compliments our clothes. Ashley models new stuff for him whenever her mom takes her shopping. My dad? He frowns absently if I show off my belly, but doesn’t comment. And they all hug each other, all the time. Even her older brother James hugs them. They don’t exactly smother her or anything, but they, you know …
give a shit
.
    Anyway—Ashley’s caution comes through over the phone. She sighs and goes, “You know we were going to hang out all summer.”
    “I know. What’s your point?”
    “My point is, when you get home tonight—”
    “Tomorrow,” I interrupt, and laugh, because as this plan takes shape, I realize I’m going to have to milk it to be worth it. May as well stay out till dawn!
    “When you do get home,” Ashley goes on, “you are going to be grounded for like ten frickin’ years, and then our summer is going to suck. You think about that?”
    I shrug. Of course I haven’t thought about it; I’m making this up as I go! And I tell her that, since she can’t see the shrug.
    Ashley sighs again. “All right, I’ll do it if you want. But if you get grounded until school starts again, I’m beating you insensate with your own boots.”
    I grin. My best friend totally rocks. She’s like my sister. If I had one. She was the first person I met when we moved to Santa Barbara two years ago, and we’ve been best friends ever since.
    “Just call once when you’re at the corner,” I say, and hang up.
    My heart is racing. I’m generally a
good girl
, in my opinion, but this whole car thing