The truck stop wasn’t too far back – 10 minutes at most. I pulled out onto the highway and, to my surprise, Mitta didn’t try to strike up a conversation. Instead, she started fiddling with the radio until she got a pop station to play.

What was our plan once we got there? Get jobs and find somewhere to live? If the plan was to start a new life, Mexico wasn’t the place to do it. Maybe I could convince her to stop at the border and stay in Texas, where we might actually have a chance of starting over.

I glanced over as Mitta reached to mess with the radio dial again and caught sight of the glovebox.

I couldn’t start over.

I couldn’t do any of this – I should have been going to a doctor, trying to eat healthy for once in my life, not calling some crackers dipped in peanut butter and a candy bar a meal. I should have been planning and making decisions and-

“Ready?” Mitta asked. It took me a moment to realize that we were in the parking lot of the truck stop; I didn’t even remember pulling in because I’d been so lost in my own thoughts.

Not today.

“Yeah, let’s go,” I told her, and we went around back to rummage through the bags to pull out what we needed. I found the two boxes of dye and looked at hers – it was red. Not the crayon-red that you’d only see on a goth girl, but a nice, natural red. I liked her hair blonde, but I thought it would be pretty. And she wouldn’t look like the Grace on the news anymore.

“Come on,” she said, holding two bowls and the paintbrushes she’d shown me earlier, Polaroid camera around her neck.

“That’s it? We don’t need anything else?”

“I mean, if we do, we’ll have to deal without it, because this is all I knew about. Let’s go!” And we headed toward the door to truckstop.

“So, how does this work? Are there just shower stalls in the bathroom?”

“I think it’s like a separate thing, but I’m not really sure,” she said as she opened the door. “We’ll ask the lady.” She walked straight to the cashier at the counter. “Hi. So, we’ve never done this before, but we’d like a shower. How exactly do we go about that?” The lady smacked her gum.

“Girlie, it ain’t that complicated. You pay me, I hand you a towel, you go where I tell you and do your business, then leave. That clear enough?” I could see Mitta holding back a snarky response.

“How much is it?”

“Twelve per room.”

“Can we share a room?” Wait, what?

“Listen, it ain’t none of my business what you do in there. I just take the money.” Mitta took a deep breath and I saw her free hand clenching into a fist.

Without a word, she pulled out some money and set it on the counter. How much was it? Had she gotten two rooms? I prayed she had – I couldn’t shower with her. That simply was not going to happen. Maybe… maybe we were only going to rinse our hair? That would be okay.

“Number three, down there,” the lady said, pointing down a hallway, then sat back and started reading a magazine.

She only paid for one.

I followed Mitta silently, not knowing what to say, and before I knew it we were in the little room with the door closed behind us. There was a toilet on our right, opposite a small mirror and shelf. Behind them, with a slightly mildewed, off-white curtain, was the shower.

I was still looking around the room when I noticed Mitta toss her shirt on top of the toilet tank. I turned my back to her as quickly as I could. What was she doing?

“What? I don’t want the dye to stain it. It’ll stain yours too if you leave it on, you know.” So, I could either get a big black splotch on one of my two decent shirts, or be half-naked with another girl for however long this took. Perfect.

I realized that the smart decision was to just take it off; I could switch between two shirts for a lot longer than I could one, but I couldn’t do it. If I kept it on, I could pretend that my sides weren’t covered in stretch marks.

“You have to at least turn around, Marg. It’s fine,” she said as I heard her open one of the boxes. I took a deep breath. It was fine. I was just being ridiculous.

I turned around, my eyes firmly fixed on the boxes. Mitta had unfolded a piece of paper now, reading it. “Okay, so we have to get our hair wet first,” she said and turned toward the shower. I found a nice crack in the tile next to the shower head to stare at. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her dunk her head into the stream of water, flinging her hair around to get it all wet. “Your turn,” she said, looking at me. I closed my eyes and turned toward the shower, quickly jerking my head in and out of the freezing water. “You have to be more thorough than that!” she said, jokingly shoving my shoulder toward the shower.

This was insane. I was standing in a truck stop shower with a half-naked girl. A week ago, I didn’t even know these, or she, existed! It barely felt real, but you know what? I could do this. Whatever else she had me do, well, who knew, but I could dye my hair black. Most Mexican women had black hair anyway, right? It would be fine.

I dunked my head into the frigid water, making sure everything was thoroughly soaked. When I stood up again I flung my hair back, flinging water all over the place. “That’s better!” Mitta said, smiling at me. “Now, let’s see…”