“No, I don’t care,” Roger said, coming to join me by the counter, tossing down two mini Paydays by the register, and plunking down a quarter for them. “I just don’t want you to have to keep squinting into the sun.”

“I’m fine,” I said shortly, and I saw Roger blink at this, then nod and head back to the car as I handed over my credit card.

“Okay. So it’s a she. And she’s dead. And famous. Very famous. And she’s not Queen Isabella.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe that was your first guess. Fifteen.”

“How do you do this?” I asked, looking across Roger at the speaker box outside something called a Sonic Drive-In, where we were attempting to have lunch.

“There’s a cherry-lime soda on the menu,” Roger said, staring at the huge, illuminated menu adjacent to the covered area we’d pulled the car under. “I have no idea what that is, but I might just have to try it.”

“Oh my gosh,” I said, also staring at the menu, which was almost too much to take in. There was grilled cheese. There were tater tots. There was chili—several kinds. “They have mozzarella sticks. I have to get some.”

A crackling sound came out of the speaker near Roger’s side, then died away again. Roger tapped it tentatively. “Hello?” he asked. “We need mozzarella sticks out here!”

“So,” Roger said. His mix was playing for the third time, and I mouthed along to the lyrics of the Fountains of Wayne song I had already memorized.

Our Sonic lunch had come with two mints stapled to the brown paper bag, and I unwrapped one and dropped it into his palm, then realized what I’d done and sat back hard against my seat.

“To recap. She’s dead, very famous, and not Queen Isabella, Margaret Mead, or Queen Elizabeth.”

“Correct,” I said, staring out the window. “Thirteen.”

When we were an hour outside of Wichita, the skies began to darken. I thought I’d known what cloudy skies looked like. We did get them occasionally in California. But I’d never seen anything like this. There was just so much sky, and all of it started to look cloudy, and I got the sense that things might turn on us, very quickly.

“Um. Roger?”

He glanced over at me, looking stressed. “I’m thinking,” he said. “Don’t rush me. I only have one question left.”

“Not that. I was just wondering … do you know when tornado season is?”

“Oh.” I saw him peer outside, as though noticing the cloudy skies for the first time. “Hmm. No. Do you?”

“No.” I looked out at the clouds, which were now covering the entire landscape, hanging low, and stretching on for as far as I could see.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “the signs aren’t flashing yet. So maybe we don’t need to think about it.”

“Okay,” I said, but I stared out the window, worried about what might be headed our way.

Roger stared at me in disbelief. “Who?”

“Ethel Merman,” I said, helping myself to some Skittles. “She’s female, dead, famous.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of her,” he said, frowning at the road.

“She’s a renowned actress! She originated most of the major musical theater roles.”

Roger just shook his head. “I think you made her up. I want a do-over.”

“All right,” I said, turning in my seat and facing him. “Your turn.” As I said this, we crossed the city limits into Wichita, and I let out a sigh of relief. Even if a tornado did show up, at least we weren’t in the middle of the highway, totally vulnerable.

“Wichita,” said Roger. “Finally.” He extricated his cell phone from the cup holder, where it had been buried under the collected detritus of the day—candy wrappers, white Sonic napkins, empty soda bottles. “I should call Drew.”

Roger had started talking about Drew more as we got closer, mostly trying to stall as he pumped me for Twenty Questions clues. He didn’t think we’d need to stay the night in Wichita—and we really didn’t have time for that, if we were going to make it to Kentucky—but he thought it would be a good place to take a break. And seeing how tired Roger was looking, how he kept shifting in his seat, I realized that he was probably ready for a rest. I was too, actually. My butt was starting to go numb, and my leg muscles were feeling tight. “Drew’s a friend from college?” I asked.

“Yes,” Roger said. “He lived on my floor last year, and was always crashing in my room because he kept getting locked out of his. He lost his key more than anyone in the dorm’s history. The RA finally stopped charging him for replacements, because she was starting to feel bad about taking all his money.” Roger pressed a number, listened for a moment, then shook his head. “Voice mail,” he said to me. “Hey, Cheeks,” he said into the phone. “Listen, dude, I’m with a friend in Kansas, and I was wondering if you wanted to meet up. Call me if you get this, it’s almost eight.” He then hung up without saying good-bye, which I was getting more used to now, and placed the phone back on top of his empty M&M bag.

“Cheeks?” I asked.

“Oh,” Roger said, laughing, “it’s just a stupid nickname thing. All the guys on our floor had them.”

“What was yours?” Roger didn’t appear to hear me but looked out the window intently. “Roger?” I asked. “What was—” Before I could finish, his phone started vibrating in the cup holder. Roger glanced down at it, but on impulse, surprising myself, I grabbed it and saw that the display read CHEEKS CALLING. I ignored Roger’s hand, which was motioning for me to give him the phone, and opened it. “Hello, Roger’s phone,” I said, sliding to the edge of my seat, out of his reach. Roger continued to try and grab for the phone, causing the car to weave slightly in the lane.

“Hey,” a low-pitched voice on the other end said. “Is Magellan there?”

I turned to Roger, who was still trying to get the phone, feeling the smile taking over my face. “Magellan?” I repeated gleefully.

Roger sighed, and his hand drooped. Clearly, this was why he’d been trying to intercept the call. “Yeah,” the voice on the phone said. “You know … Roger.”