“You’re kidding me – you listen to Rihanna?” Mitta asked as my face slowly started turning red.

“I mean, not that much.” Except all the time, when Mama didn’t know.

“Girl, you have known every single word to all of her songs that have come on. I knew you had a rebel streak buried somewhere in there.”

“Rebel streak?”

“I mean, most ‘good girls’ wouldn’t be caught dead listening to that last song, especially not belting it out in the middle of a highway. You do know what it meant, right?”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t…” I just shrugged, not really sure what to say. I’d never thought of it that way, but she had a point. Why did I really listen to it though – because I liked it, or because it was one way I could disobey Mama without her ever finding out? I wasn’t sure.

“Oh, bejeezus,” she muttered, looking at her hand. “One of my fingernails is chipped. Can we stop somewhere so I can get some more nail polish?”

“Sure.” I found a dollar store up ahead and pulled in.

“We should totally paint your nails, too,” she said as we got out of the car.

“Nah, I’d just bite it off anyway,” I said, showing her my hand.

“I bet you wouldn’t do that if you had neon green fingernails.”

“Neon green? Of all colors, why neon green?” We walked into the store, both laughing, and headed for the beauty supplies.

“I don’t know. Why not!”

“I guess, maybe I could paint them red,” I said, picking up a bottle. “I like red.” I’d never painted my fingernails before, but maybe it would be fun.

“How about…” she said, running her finger along the bottles. “This?” she asked as she picked up a bottle – a sparkly, forest green. “We could match like cheesy fifth graders.”

“Why not?” I agreed, laughing. “Definitely better than neon green.”

“Definitely. Need anything else?” she asked. I shook my head, so we turned back toward the cashier to find him staring right at us. Or, more specifically, right at Mitta. It was very disconcerting. Nevertheless, we walked up to the counter and Mitta set the bottle down, a small smile plastered on her face in an attempt to hide her uneasiness.

“This all?” he asked, clearly distracted.

“Yes, please.” He scanned the bottle, but didn’t put it back down on the counter. Almost hesitantly, he started reaching for his back pocket.

“You’re the missing girl,” he said, pointing the bottle at Mitta. I could almost feel her heart start pounding.

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?” she asked. He pulled out a cell phone.

“The one on the news – Grace or somethin’. The Barnum girl. You changed your hair, but I swear you’re her.

“I’m not… her. I can show you my ID if you want.” He started dialing something on the phone, and Mitta started to panic. “Sir, I’m not whoever you think I am, and if you call the police you’ll only waste their time because I’m just headed back to my apartment with my roommate,” she said, talking fast. I nodded, hoping my feeble attempt at support helped. “I’m not Grace.” The man was just eyeing us, finger poised over the dial button. I had to do something.

“Come on Sara, let’s go,” I said, grabbing her arm and heading for the door.

“Sara?” she asked as soon as we were outside.

“I had to make something up.”

“Well, thanks,” she said, climbing into the car. “Let’s get out of here.” I turned on the engine, then sat back. I had to know.

“Mitta? I need you to answer one thing.”

“Just, drive. Get us away from here.” I took a deep breath. I could do this.

“Are you Grace?” Silence. I knew I shouldn’t ask, but it was driving me crazy to go back and forth every other minute. “I won’t ask anything else. I promise. Answer that and we’ll drive.” Mitta stared straight ahead at the man inside, who was walking out from behind the register toward the windows, phone still in hand. She took a deep breath.

“No. I’m her sister.” Her sister? Her… the news said Grace’s sister killed herself. What was- “Drive!” I backed out of the parking space and headed out to the main road, flooring it once we were on the highway again.

What was going on? We were in Maryland. How could some random man all the way out here have heard enough about a missing girl from Maine to think he recognized her? And Mitta – how could she be Grace’s sister? Did she know where Grace was? Why did everyone think she was dead?

“Let’s get off the highway,” Mitta said. “I want to find a payphone or something.”

“A payphone?”

“Yeah, I… I need to tell my parents to stop looking.”

“So, do you know where Grace is?”

She didn’t answer. To be fair, I had said I wouldn’t ask anymore questions. I kept my mouth shut as I took an exit and started scanning the roadside for payphones. Did those even exist anymore?

“There, pull over up there,” she said. I looked where she was pointing, and lo and behold, there was a payphone inside a little blue box on the wall of a grocery store. She jumped out of the car almost before I had stopped and walked over to the phone quickly, not shutting her door.

I hadn’t planned on eavesdropping, but the door was open, and I was close enough that it was almost impossible not to. She shoved a few coins in and dialed the phone, looking around impatiently as she waited for someone on the other end to pick up.

“Mom? It’s Grace. I… I’m fine. Just, please stop looking for me.” She hung up the phone abruptly as soon as she’d stopped talking – her mom couldn’t have gotten two words in. I was beyond trying to figure out what was happening. She just stood there for a moment, leaning her forehead on the top of the phone. After a few seconds she turned back around, got in the car, and fastened her seatbelt. “Let’s go to the art museum.”

I started driving, but a thought crossed my mind. “Umm, you realize they could probably trace that, right?”

“Oh my God,” she said, putting her head back against the headrest. “You’re right.”

“So…” I started.

“We have to leave. Go somewhere else.”

“So much for the art museum,” I said as I turned onto a street headed back to the highway. We were silent for a minute, both lost in our own heads.