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map of where
    we’re going.”
    â€œSpeaking of maps,”
    Twig said, “are you lost?”
    â€œI’m the boss,” I said.
    â€œHold onto the hoss, cowgirl,
    because we’re almost
    in New York.”
    With those words,
    I made some tight right
    turns as a fly-by bird
    splattered a
    shattered souvenir
    of Newark smack-dab
    in the middle
    of the windshield.
    Maybe that’s why
    I missed the YIELD
    sign.
    Or maybe it was
    the sun
    in my eyes.
    Or the fact
    that I couldn’t stop
    cackling about
    the pink-dress
    guy.
    I don’t know why,
    but in the blink
    of a winking
    eye,
    my Firebird
    was smashed,
    crashed,
    bashed
    on the driver’s side
    full force
    by a Mustang
    that was no dang horse.
    When the universe
    stopped spinning,
    I thought maybe
    I was dead
    and in heaven.
    But then again,
    my wrecked head
    was dizzy
    and fizzy from
    the crash.
    Twig groaned,
    and I heard the
    ding-a-ling ring
    of a cell phone.
    â€œI guess this isn’t heaven,” I said.
    â€œYou don’t need
    to call people
    when you’re dead.”
    Twig and I kicked
    wickedly
    with our Doc Marten
    boots,
    pushing
    our way
    through
    the ruckus-buckled
    doors,
    and the roars
    of traffic
    whooshing,
    rushing,
    whizzing past,
    hissing,
    blasted fast
    into my head.
    â€œWhat the heck
    is up with all
    these accidents?”
    Twig asked,
    and I shrugged.
    â€œBeats me,” I said.
    â€œAre you sure
    we’re not dead?”
    Twig asked.
    â€œAll I saw was blue,
    coming at you. Whew!”
    Twig’s knee was bleeding,
    tiny droplets of blood leaking
    through her skin.
    I didn’t know where to begin
    figuring out how the crash happened.
    â€œWhat the hell?”
    somebody yelled.
    â€œEverybody all right?”
    I saw the white light
    of fight, and was in
    the mood for super-bad attitude.
    â€œHow rude!” I shouted,
    but then doubted
    my sanity and bit
    my lip when I
    caught a glimpse
    of the cute dude
    in the blue Mustang.
    Dang, he was hot.
    A lot. We don’t
    often see good-looking
    guys in the boondocks
    of Banesville.
    I stuttered,
    words spreading like butter,
    heart fluttering,
    muttering something
    about how manically
    sorry I was
    to have blurted
    impulsive stuff
    to such a hunk.
    I was such a punk.
    The guy’s eyes
    were kind of like
    green lime, except sweet.
    Avocado-hotto green,
    the shade of Kool-Aid
    with sugar.
    I’m a sucker
    for hunky guys
    with green eyes,
    and was suddenly
    struck shy.
    â€œHi . . . wh . . .what’s
    your name?”
    I was so lame.
    My claim to fame
    isn’t playing the game
    of flirtation.
    The sensation
    of numbness
    and dumbness
    made my brain
    fall asleep.
    I was a geek.
    I was weak
    in the speaking
    department.
    â€œMy . . . my
    name is
    Laura,”
    I mumbled,
    stumbling, fumbling
    for something
    not bumbling.
    â€œSister Slam
    on this trip,”
    said Twig,
    and I jabbed
    her with
    my elbow.
    â€œOww!” howled Twig.
    The guy smiled,
    and his teeth
    were like a
    tooth whitener
    commercial,
    or an ad in a magazine.
    I was smitten, bitten
    by a love bug
    or something.
    I didn’t
    even care
    that I’d
    just been hit.
    I was in deep smit.

Lesson 13
Always Be Ready to Be Struck by the Love Bug
    My car (it had been Mom’s car, too,
    which made me kind of blue)
    was totaled, and a passing tow truck
    stopped to hook it up.
    Soon, they’d be taking my Firebird
    away to the Graveyard
    of Crashed Cars.
    I had a vision that my car
    would rest in peace,
    and that at least
    I would get
    a big insurance settlement
    from the wreck.
    â€œHow are you
    getting home?”
    asked the guy
    of the sweet green eyes,
    and I shrugged.
    The love bug
    affected my tongue,
    and I clung to Twig’s arm.
    I was charmed,
    struck speechless.
    â€œWe’re going
    to the city,” said Twig.
    â€œMe, too,” the guy said.
    â€œI live near here,
    but I’m meeting my parents
    for a week of