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“Gonzo—” I start to ask if I can use his phone, but I know he’s terrified of using up his minutes. “Listen, I gotta make a call. Keep an eye on the bus, okay?”
“Sure,” he says, eyes glazed.
Around the back is a pay phone. I drop in my coins and punch in the digits I know best. On the fourth ring, Jenna’s sleepy voice answers.
“Hello?”
“Jenna?”
“Cameron? Oh my God, is that you? Where are you?”
“Shhh, don’t wake up Mom and Dad.”
“Okay,” she says. And I know how hard it is for her to break the good-girl code for me. The line buzzes with static and the occasional click. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. How is everybody there?”
“Mom and Dad are completely freaked. They put posters up all over town. And people have these brown and white ribbons on their trees that they say they’re not taking down till you come home again.”
“Brown and white?”
“Like a cow.” She sucks in her breath. “The cops are looking for you, Cameron. They traced your credit card to New Orleans. Cameron, why don’t you just come home? Please?”
“I can’t do that, Jenna. Not until I find the guy who can cure me.”
“What are you talking about? What guy?” She sounds like she’s about to cry.
“It’s … complicated. But I promise I’m okay. Listen, Jenna, I need you to do me a favor.”
There’s a pause. The line is really bad. “Okay.”
“Just let Mom and Dad know I’m okay. I’ll call back as soon as I can. I promise. I …”
Another phone picks up.
“Cameron? Cameron! Is that you? Where are you?” It’s Dad’s voice. In the background, I hear Mom telling him to let her talk. “Cameron, just tell us where you are and we’ll come pick you up. We love you. We—”
More clicks. A finger comes down on the clicker. “They’re tracing the call.” Dulcie’s standing there. Something serious in her eyes makes me obey. Slowly, I put the receiver back into its cradle.
“You have to let them go, Cam. You have to move forward. You’ve got a mission.”
“I know that, okay?” I explode. “Just leave me alone, would you?”
“Leave you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Totally alone?”
“Yes! God.”
She bites her bottom lip. “Okay. See you around, cowboy.”
“Yeah. See you.”
I run across the parking lot to the bathroom island and push my way into the filthy hole of a men’s room. The E-ticket scratches against my arm. Frontierland’s gone even lighter, the lettering getting hard to read. How much time do I have left? In the cracked mirror, I look like Grade-D crap—pale and stubbly.
“What the f**k are you doing?” I ask my fractured reflection. Tears sting at my eyes. A big guy in cowboy boots comes in and I splash water on my face.
