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realized it was the first time her and Amanda had come close to agreeing on something.
    â€œJust try to sound confident,” Cass continued. “I’ll handle the rest.”
    â€œSweet,” I said, clapping my hands. “Mutant-powers time!”
    â€œWhat if it doesn’t work?” Amanda asked.
    Cass shrugged. “What do you guys normally do when you need something?”
    â€œSteal it and run away,” Amanda answered.
    â€œLike badass outlaws,” I added.
    â€œIf it doesn’t work, do that.”
    Amanda shook her head. “I’ll keep the car running.”
    â€œOne last question,” I said, stopping Cass before she could get out of the car. “Should we be worried that you might suddenly go all Dark Phoenix?”
    Cass stared at me blankly. “I . . . don’t know what that means.”
    â€œJust ignore him,” Amanda said, rolling her eyes. “It’s probably about comic books.”
    Inside, the first item to catch my attention was the grizzly bear. It was stuffed and mounted, up on its hind legs, flailing its paws and roaring. A price tag dangled from one of its claws. I raised my eyebrows hopefully at Cass.
    â€œUm, let’s maybe start smaller?” she replied.
    Besides us and the bear, the only other creature in the store was the withered old man hunched behind the cash register. He looked like the type who’d have a banjo close at hand and probably had a ton of stories about “the Japs.” He sucked on some hard candy judgmentally, watching as I inspected a rack of hand-carved stone Native American pipes.
    â€œSup,” I said to him.
    He wrinkled his forehead at me in response. “You aren’t from around here,” he observed.
    â€œNah. I’m from back east,” I replied casually, remembering my sophomore-year community service at the old folks’ home and how much they liked hearing a young person talk. “Just passing through.”
    â€œThat’s wise,” said the old man. “You won’t want to linger.”
    He turned away from me, busying himself with something behind the register. Cass had sidled up next to me.
    â€œI feel like we’re in the beginning of a horror movie,” she whispered.
    â€œI know,” I whispered back. “When does the guy with the leather mask burst out of the back room with a chain saw?”
    She shuddered, but grinned at me.
    I picked out one of the cooler medium-sized pipes. The thing looked like a hybrid between a flute and a crowbar, and was decorated with beaded leather tassels and what I assumed to be authentic American eagle feathers. I held the pipe up for Cass to inspect.
    â€œThis good?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s your, uh, paraphernalia.”
    I snorted. “Paraphernalia. Who calls it that?”
    Cass looked a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I’ve never actually done that,” she said, waving at the pipe.
    â€œOh man!” I exclaimed. “We’ve gotta smo—”
    â€œDecorative use only,” barked the old man, interrupting.
    I examined the pipe again. “Psh,” I muttered. “We’ll see about that.”
    On my way to the register, I also grabbed a black cowboy hat off a rack. It wasn’t exactly Johnny Cash level—the material seemed more like cheap felt than whatever actual cowboy hats are made out of (cowhide? I dunno), but it looked badass. And I was a zombie outlaw now, so why not?
    This was the point where I’d usually just strut out the door, brazen stealing having become our style over the last couple days. Instead, I glanced over my shoulder at Cass. She was biting her lip but gave me an encouraging nod.
    I set the items on the counter in front of the old man. He sighed, like I was disturbing him.
    â€œLet’s call it fifty dollars,” he grumbled.
    I looked him in the eyes, trying to really amp up the incredulity.