A mere hour into the drive and with less than six words between them, Sarah had already decided that she wanted to be Dee. There was something refreshingly innocent about the girl; a youthful feel about her that came more from a state of mind than a lack of time.
She sat in the passenger seat of the El Camino with one pretty, slightly chubby, but shapely leg hanging out the window and her foot propped between the side mirror and car. Whether she was still awake or not, it was hard for Sarah to tell because of the mop of curls that guarded Dee’s delicate face.
Against the rust brown backdrop of the Arizona desert, Dee’s pale lustrous skin, seemingly untouched by sun, made her that much more mysterious. Sarah had to wonder; how did this girl get out here? Why was she hitchhiking? These were the questions one never asked, rules of the road—the rules of those running away. It was never about where you came from and it was all about where you were headed.
Everyone had something to run from.
When Dee stirred and crooked her head to the side to glance at Sarah, she smiled with the hot dusty air whipping her hair back around the headrest. “How much further to Vegas?” Dee asked as they passed another sign for U.S. Route 93.
“We’re almost to Boulder Dam, not sure how far it is from there,” Sarah said with torrid diesel aroma burning at her eyes.
Dee rolled over, adjusting to the hard leather of the seat and tugging her velvety dress down around her hips. “About an hour now, we’re making good time,” Dee said.
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