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this?” Ardelia said, holding a small plastic package.
    “Bubble Tape? It’s bubble gum. It’s awesome.” Cherry counted the meager handful of quarters. “I think we can only get two things, though.”
    Ardelia waved. “Nonsense, it’s on me.”
    Cherry ruffled. She leveled a Pixy Stix at Ardelia. “I don’t let people buy me things,
comprende
?”
    Ardelia snatched the Pixy Stix away.
    “Oh, get
over
it, Cherry Kerrigan. I’m paying and that’s final.”
    The clerk clicked the register. “Is that all?”
    “Wait . . .” Cherry blinked. What just happened?
    “No,” said Ardelia. She stepped back, examining the rack of candy. “I can’t decide.”
    “They’re all good,” the clerk offered.
    “Are they? Fine, then,” said Ardelia. “How much for the whole rack?”
    Wrappers littered the Spider’s floor, the cramped space behind the seats stuffed to the wheel well with boxes and boxes of Nerds, Bottle Caps, Mike & Ikes, and every other bad-for-you whatsit the 7-Eleven had to offer.
    “What is it?” Ardelia asked.
    A length of licorice rope dangled from Cherry’s lips. She chewed, quiet since 7-Eleven, working her thoughts into a soft, gummy paste.
    “I don’t know,” she said. “You’re not like most rich people.”
    Ardelia tipped back a box of Sno-Caps. “What are most rich people like?”
    “I couldn’t imagine them eating Sno-Caps, for one thing. You’re kinda . . .” She swallowed the licorice rope. “I like you.”
    “Well, thank you. I like you, too.” Ardelia tossed a crumpled carton into the backseat. “Most of the poor people I know make unfair generalizations about entire swaths of the population.”
    Cherry rallied a comeback, then caught herself. “Ahh, I see what you did there.”
    “Clever, right?”
    Cherry smirked. “Very clever, movie star.”
    Ardelia offered her a bag of candy. Cherry took a piece.
    “What are these called?” Ardelia asked.
    “Marshmallow Circus Peanuts,” said Cherry.
    “That’s what they
are,
but what are they
called
?”
    “That’s their
name.
Marshmallow Circus Peanuts.” Cherry was laughing. She was actually having a good time.
    Ardelia held one up. “Absolutely brilliant.”
    There was a
crack,
and the wheel spun free of Cherry’s hands. The Spider swerved, sending a landslide of sugary orange puffs into the foot well. They wobbled into the right lane, Ardelia shrieking. Cherry steadied the car.
    “Bloody Christ, twice in one day,” Ardelia gasped, clinging to her seat belt. “What happened?”
    “Wait,” said Cherry. “Listen.”
    Something made a warbling sound underneath the car.
    “Did we hit something?”
    Cherry signaled into the breakdown lane, and the girls stepped onto the shoulder of Route 9. This stretch of road was dark, with thick forest beyond the reflectors and guardrails. A green exit sign gleamed up ahead. A semi blasted by. They came around to the rear of the car. The bottom of the right tire lay flattened against the asphalt, air hissing from an invisible puncture.
    Ardelia pressed a hand to her forehead.
“Shit.”
    “Fuck. It’s my fault,” said Cherry.
    Ardelia sighed. “It was an accident. What do we do now, though?”
    “You have Triple A?”
    “Triple what?”
    “Okay.” Cherry considered their options. “We’ll change it ourselves. I’m sure there’s a spare in the —”
    She popped the trunk. It was tiny and packed with luggage, a field of
L
’s and
V
’s.
    Ardelia winced. “I took the tire out.”
    “So you could fit . . .” Cherry started.
    “So I could fit my new luggage,” Ardelia finished.
    “Right.”
    “Right.”
    “So?” Ardelia brandished her smart phone. “Tow truck?”
    “There’s only one mechanic in town, and right about now he’s watching
My Name Is Earl.
” Cherry nodded toward the exit sign. “Pop’s auto shop isn’t far. We can get a spare tire there.”
    “How do we get there?”
    Cherry patted the rear bumper. “We push.”
    “As in . . . the