“I—I wasn’t going to,” Rory says. “I like it.”
He puts the car in drive without another word.
Chloe tells them about the elevator and the nail polish note and then sits silently and waits for their reaction. Maybe it’ll be a breakdown this time, or one of them will cry, or Rory will pull over to write the next great sad-boy anthem. Surely, if she’s at her wit’s undeniable end, they must be too.
Instead, Smith tips his head back and laughs.
“I don’t know what I expected,” Rory says, and then he’s laughing too.
“What about this is funny?” Chloe demands.
“The whole thing,” Smith says, shaking his head. “Like, I have to laugh.”
“But she—”
“Do you wanna go get some snacks?” Rory asks.
“Damn,” Smith says, “yeah, I do.”
“But—” Chloe starts.
“Chloe,” Smith says, “there’s nothing we can do about it tonight.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but then Rory is pulling into a gas station and she’s the only one left in the car, fuming in her ill-fitting suit.
She glares out the window as Smith and Rory elbow each other toward the glass doors, which are emblazoned with a giant, peeling picture of a 99-cent corn dog. Shara could be anywhere, and they’re getting corn dogs.
She sighs, opens her door, and yells, “Get some mustard!”
* * *
They drive, and they drive, out of town and up the hills until they reach a dirt road toward Lake Martin. The trees spread out and vanish into the dark the closer they get to the water, until the damp dusk opens all around them.
Rory parks on a cliff fringed with dense greenery and big, round rocks, and when he kills the headlights, Chloe can see over the edge into the distance, down to the sparkling water and the green and red dots of boat lights. The afternoon’s rain left the ground soft and damp, the mossy trees dripping with leftover rainwater. Everything out here is green, green, green.
They climb up onto the hood of the car, Rory in the middle, and Smith passes out warm foil packets of corn dogs. Rory opens his and takes a deep whiff.
“You ever notice that greasy gas station food is like, the greatest smell in the world?” he says.
“Disagree,” Chloe says. “The greatest smell in the world is when your mom brings home fresh cilantro from the grocery store and you stick your face in the bag and take the biggest huff of your life.”
Rory wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”
“Oh, you’re a cilantro hater,” Chloe says.
“He’s a hater in general,” Smith says. He glances over at Rory with a wink, like he’s making sure Rory knows it’s a joke. Chloe watches the moment bounce between them.
“Whatever,” Rory says. “What do you think the best smell is, then?”
Smith considers it, swallows a bite of corn dog, and confidently declares, “My mom’s chicken and gravy.”
“Oh, man,” Rory moans. “Chicken and gravy. I miss my dad’s. I haven’t had it since I saw him for Christmas.”
“You should come over next time my mom cooks it,” Smith says.
Rory misses the straw for his ICEE but gets it on the second try. “You know what else smells amazing? Sharpies. Like, a fresh one, when it’s juicy.”
Chloe lets out a laugh. “Did you just say juicy?”
“You gonna tell me a brand-new Sharpie isn’t juicy?”
“Orange juice,” Smith says. “That’s the best smell. Or like, your hands after you peel an orange.”
“Lilacs,” Chloe blurts without thinking. She waits for Smith or Rory to react, but if either realize she’s talking about Shara, they don’t say. Cheeks pink, she hurries to add, “Or a really old book.”
“Taco Bell nacho cheese.”
“Sage.”
“A standardized test booklet when you break the seal on it.”
“That smell triggers my fight or flight,” Rory says. “Pine-Sol.”
Smith just laughs, but Chloe asks, “What? Why?”
“When I was a kid,” Rory says, “I’d go stay over with my cousins on my dad’s side in Texas, and every Saturday morning my aunt would get up early and start cleaning the whole house. Loud as shit, always woke us up, but we’d all lay there pretending to sleep so we wouldn’t have to help until she came and made us. So now that smell just makes me think of being in a sleeping bag on my cousin’s floor, listening to my other cousin fake snoring and trying not to laugh so I wouldn’t have to roll socks.”