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“Don’t be. We’ll probably put in seventy miles, and I don’t plan to stop so you can hurl,” I said.

“Come on, man. The seventh would be better. Lucky and all—,” he began before I cut him off.

“The sixth,” I said.

He sighed. “Whatever. Roger … or something.”

I hung up, picked up a pen emblazoned with the name of my parents’ bank, and wrote
CHRIS & WIN LEAVE
in careful block letters on the calendar.

My mother walked in bearing a load of folded laundry.

“What’s that?” she asked, gesturing toward the date I’d been filling in on the calendar.

“A promise,” I said, capping the pen and tucking it back into the mug on the counter before I headed to my room.

“That’s not possible,” I said, shaking my head. “His uncle was always part of the plan.”

Ward paused for a second. “What’s his name?” he asked.

“What?”

“The uncle. His name.”

I stared at the FBI agent. “I can’t remember,” I said, suddenly wondering if the reason I couldn’t was because Win never told me. Suddenly remembering how his parents looked at me the first time I mentioned Win’s uncle. The one Win made up. His father’s eyes narrowed, his mother’s widened in confusion, and she started to say something before Coggans placed a hand on her knee. She stopped immediately.

“If he doesn’t have an uncle in Seattle, why didn’t his parents
say so? I must have mentioned it a hundred times last week when we met with them.”

Ward reached for the back of his neck, rubbed a spot behind his ear, and looked past me in a way that told me he wasn’t about to answer my question. “Whose idea was it to take this trip?”

“Nobody’s. Both of ours. We sort of both took credit for it when the other wasn’t listening.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Look, Win and I have been friends since third grade. Best friends since about sixth. At one point we sorta started sharing a brain,” I said. “The trip idea more just
happened
to both of us at once.”

“So how come that shared brain didn’t clue you in that Win was lying?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Win lied about a lot of stuff. A lot.”

“But you never thought to check on the Seattle thing?” he asked me.

I shook my head, suddenly feeling stupid. “Guess I never thought he’d lie about something so obvious.”

Ward made a face and shook his head slightly from side to side in a way that reminded me of my history teacher from tenth grade when somebody said something boneheaded in class.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” I said.

“Where’s Win?” he asked me.

“I have no idea.”

“Tell me again why you didn’t call Win’s parents when you got separated?”

Pick a reason. After 3,200 miles of riding, Win had done more than enough to piss me off. I was done being his Boy Scout. Was it my problem that his folks had finally managed to muster up something resembling concern for their only kid? “I was mad, I guess.”

“Mad?” He grabbed that one out of the air in a hurry. “As in angry?”

“Not like that,” I backpedaled. “Look, what do they think happened to Win?”

“We’re going to find out, Christopher,” he said. “Trouble is, right now the only person who can tell us anything at all about Win’s disappearance is you. And this whole Seattle story? Not making you look too hot.”

“What, do Win’s parents think
I
did something to him?” I asked. They didn’t like me any more than they did Win, but the fact that they thought, what, that I’d hurt him or something, made me feel sort of ill. Granted, if anybody had motive, it would have been me. I’d actually entertained some pretty morbid thoughts after he left me alone on the side of the road. But I’d never have done anything like … like whatever Ward was suggesting.

But just because I hadn’t hurt him didn’t mean someone else hadn’t. Or that he hadn’t been hit by a car. Or attacked by something … or any of the scenarios my mother had cycled through during the week I was home, between the trip and coming to school. I was pretty sure Win had just bailed, but even copping to that much to anyone—my parents, his, or now Ward—made me feel sick for another reason.

“They don’t know what to think,” he said. “They haven’t spoken with their son since he left.”

“But he called them every week!” I said.

Ward shook his head. “Win left phone messages for the first six weeks. He stopped leaving them a couple of weeks before he disappeared.”

Something else they forgot to tell me last week when they’d grilled me after I returned without Win. Then again, they’d never corrected me when I mentioned the uncle in Seattle, so apparently there was a lot they didn’t tell us, a lot they didn’t want us to know they’d overlooked.

His mom
had
spent plenty of time complaining that they should have been able to reach us by cell phone. We’d packed Win’s because both sets of parents insisted we keep it for emergencies, but Win went swimming with it in his jersey pocket on, like, the third day and shorted out the insides. We knew we’d get an earful about responsibility and safety and all that if we told them what had happened, so we just made lame excuses about not getting reception along the back roads we were following. The only help in an emergency it might have been would have relied on our throwing it hard enough at whoever was trying to mug us. Truth was, I never wanted to feel like anybody from home could reach us whenever they wanted. Win had even more reason.

“As far as I knew, he was calling them every week. We’d find a set of pay phones every Sunday and call in,” I said.

Ward shrugged. “Win left messages. His parents managed to miss every call.”

“They never said anything to my parents or me,” I said. “My mom would have gotten me to make Win call them at work or something.”

“He hasn’t spoken to either of them in more than two and a half months,” Ward reiterated.

“And it only took ’em that long to get concerned,” I muttered.

“What was that?” Ward asked.

“Nothing,” I said, popping to my feet. My legs were going crazy. “Can I ask a question?” I didn’t wait for a response. “Why are you the first legal-type person I’ve talked to? I mean, we’ve all been talking with Win’s parents and stuff, but I haven’t heard from them for a week, and I sort of figured that meant Win had come home after he got bored doing whatever he was doing. Isn’t jumping straight to the FBI, well, a little much?”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, let his hands dangle to the floor between them. He looked like a folding table collapsed in the wrong position. “Missing persons is federal jurisdiction. I have a good reputation,” he said simply.

It struck me that he was actually being less honest with me than I was with him, though I was the one under suspicion.

“And his folks are trying to keep it quiet?” I supplied.

Ward nodded. “When he didn’t show up at home in time to go to his orientation at Dartmouth, well, they didn’t want to let on that he was missing. Seems Win just barely got in, his father had to pull a few strings … and if he blows this shot …” He trailed off. “Let’s just say his folks want to get him home.”

I laughed. “Sounds like them. Win would have enjoyed the fact they were squirming in the face of the precious Ivy League.”

“Interesting choice of words,” he said, rubbing his temples.

I panicked. “Look, I only meant if he were here to watch it, not like he’s … you know.”

“You sure you haven’t heard from him?” he asked again.

“Positive.”

He rose to leave, fished a business card out of his wallet, and handed it to me. “I’ll be back Monday—around this time.”

“Classes start Monday,” I said, though I knew it wouldn’t help.

He shot me another stare. “Enjoy your weekend, Mr. Collins,” he said, heading for the door.

A thought occurred to me. Curiosity got the better of good sense.

“What do you owe him?” I asked. “Him” was Winston’s father.

Ward paused in the doorway, dropped his chin, but didn’t turn back to face me. “Small favor for a friend,” he said. “That’s all.”

And then I knew I’d guessed right. Win’s father didn’t have any friends.

“Tell me again why we’re here?” I asked. We’d taken our last high school final yesterday and had the day off today. Graduation practice was this afternoon. Somehow the school got away with requiring the senior class to go to the wave pool on the day before graduation every year. But Win fed Principal Keller two ridiculous lies: He had a life-threatening chlorine allergy, and I was suffering post-traumatic stress disorder brought about by witnessing my cousin’s drowning at a waterslide park. I’m pretty sure Keller would have bought any lie as long as it meant he didn’t have to chaperone Win. He just ordered us to be back on campus by four for practice.

The lies were justified, though; we really needed time to finish preparing for the trip. But this detour to his father’s office wasn’t
part of the plan. “My dad left a note telling me to come by,” he said, turning without warning down a short hallway that ended with a frosted glass door flanked by two fake ferns standing in planters.

“Why?” I asked.

Win shrugged. “Dunno. I’m trying to keep from pissing him off so he can’t change his mind about the trip, but if you want to demand answers from the guy, be my guest.”

I shut up as he pushed open the glass door and we found ourselves in a large waiting room lined with leather couches studded by brass rivets, and bookshelves bearing various award plaques and three-ring binders, spines all clearly labeled and turned the same way. A woman in a yellow dress sat at a small desk next to a heavy wooden door bearing a brass plate etched with Win’s father’s name and title.

“Hello, Winston,” she said. “Mr. Coggans will be with you in a moment. His ten o’clock ran long.” Her smile failed just a bit as Win’s dad yelled a little louder at whomever he had locked in his office with him. Win nodded and slid onto one of the leather sofas a few feet away, picking up a crisp copy of
Newsweek
and flipping straight to the editorial cartoon pages.

“How come there are no windows in here?” I whispered to Win. He looked up, surveyed the oaken paneled walls and paintings of warships on stormy seas. “You saw what we drove through,” he said, adding, “This way management can at least pretend they’re not working in the middle of a chemical manufacturing plant.”

I’d seen the smokestacks and acres of holding tanks of Titan
Chemical from the freeway during countless trips up to Charleston. But I’d never even been off the exit here, much less to Coggans’s office. What was amazing was that I was surprised to find that the tang of chemicals was stronger sitting in Win’s car on the freeway outside than it was in here.

Before I could ask how they managed that, the door to the inner office opened.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Mr. Coggans,” said a man in a pin-striped suit who looked familiar. Like I’d seen him in a commercial or something on TV.

“You’ve always been a friend to Titan, Senator,” Win’s father said, extending his hand to his guest as I gaped. Grayson Samples had just won reelection last fall to his post in Washington. Now he was sweating and looking like he might piddle on the floor. “I know you’ll take care of this.”

I leaned over to Win and said quietly, “What the hell? Your dad’s been screaming at a senator?”

“Better him than me,” Win said without looking up.

“Who gets a senator to come to his office?” I said, staring at the two men like they were a traffic accident on the freeway. I couldn’t seem to look away.

“My dad,” Win said as we watched Samples hasten for the door. Win’s father turned to us. “Boys,” he said, nodding and stepping back into his office, leaving the door open for us to follow.

“Our turn,” said Win as we rose from the couch, then hurried around the table and across the waiting room.

Win’s father’s office was even bigger than the waiting room.
One wall held a row of windows up high near the ceiling, but the frosted glass blocked the view of smokestacks spewing fumes into the air. Mr. Coggans walked to the other side of a desk that was easily the size of my bedroom, and opened a drawer.

“Winston,” he said, “come here.”

Win walked over while I hung near the doorway. Mr. Coggans pulled a slip of paper from the drawer and held it out to Win.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Your graduation present,” his father said.

“Oh,” Win said, and then after looking at the check, said, “Oh,” again.

“Tomorrow’s going to be rather full, and I may be a bit late to the ceremony, so I thought we could take care of this today,” he said.

“Thanks,” Win said, sounding as surprised as I felt that his dad was actually acting like a human being.

“You’re to buy a new bike with that,” he said.

Win looked up sharply. “What?”

“You heard me. I’ve already had my secretary call the shop in Town Center. They assure me they have the best possible bike for your needs.”

Even though he was being a little controlling, it was still a nice gesture.

“Dad, that’s cool, but I already have a bike. And Chris and I have been doing a lot of work to get them ready. It takes time to prep for something like this—”

“Go get the bike,” he said, sitting down and turning to his computer. “I won’t allow you to blame your failure on faulty
equipment. If you have the best, then when you don’t make it, you’ll be forced to deal with the real reason why.”

If I hadn’t known Win better, I wouldn’t have seen his shoulders fall the way they did, the way he fought to keep his hands steady. But I knew him.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Good thinking.”

His father said nothing more, just reached for the phone and began dialing a number. He was already ripping into someone else as we closed the door softly behind us and quickly crossed the outer office. In the hallway outside I hung back a little as I followed Win through the maze of corridors back to the parking lot. When we could see the haze of the morning sunshine filtering through whatever the plant was refining today, he stopped and looked down at the check in his hand. He stared at it for a second, shook his head softly, and then folded it once.