“He’ll panic, his blood sugar will drop, and he’ll start vomiting.”

Holly paused, seemingly to picture the barf. “Right. We’ll go get the camper. Do you want to call the Uber?” She saw my expression; I had no idea how to summon one. “Never mind, Sammie. I’ve got it.” She punched a few things into her phone and then scanned the incoming traffic. “We are looking for a green Honda Accord driven by a Terri. If you see a moving edamame, that’s our ride.”

The nut of dread in the pit of my stomach calcified as I visualized a day (a week?) of her simmering scorn.

“We meet again!” Summer Silva appeared in front of us with the recognition energy of a long-lost best friend. I couldn’t have been happier to see her, and before thinking I said, “An Uber is coming. Can we give you a ride?” From the corner of my eye, I saw Holly whip her head around with a deadly glare.

“You guys! I’ll give you a ride. That’s how I’ll contribute.”

She gestured to a black sedan with a driver standing ready holding the rear door open, a sign dangling from his side. I started to refuse, but Holly touched her phone and said, “That sounds great; just canceled the Uber. Come on, sweetie,” with another malicious wink. It was my turn to glare. What was going on?

Summer clapped her hands, saying “Wonderful!” like this was the best thing that ever happened to her, and we settled into the back seat. “Give the driver the address.”

In minutes we were engulfed in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

“So, Summer. How was it sitting next to Sam on the flight? Did she talk your ear off?”

“Her aura spoke to me.” Summer stretched the seat belt and propped herself up against the side door. She trained her eyes on me and said, “Your aura speaks volumes when you’re sleeping”; then she waved her arms. “So much love and sadness, confusion and empathy. Plus, so good at math and your home filing system is to die for. What a gift.”

I can only imagine what my face looked like. Aura? What? But Summer was dead on about my filing system, and for once I was content to not have Holly’s withering look targeting me.

Holly had half a smile on. The one that looked friendly but when you knew her meant, Oh, shut the ef up. “So what is my aura saying to you?”

“Oh, sweetie. You know what it says. A wall is not a door to good parenting.”

Holly shot a killer look at me, but before she could get a word of outrage in edgewise, Summer said, “So, what’s the plan?”

Holly said, “You and Samantha must have had quite the conversation on that plane.”

Summer closed her warm, bony hand over mine and said, “Oh, we did. She can’t stop talking when asleep.”

“I do not talk in my sleep.” If Holly thought I was revealing information about our history and her life to complete strangers, the rest of this trip was going to be absolute torture. “I slept the entire flight. Summer, tell her I slept the whole flight.” I looked at Holly. “She told me I should cut beans from my diet.”

Holly looked out her window, and Summer patted my hand. “You two have some work to do if you’re going to take this relationship to the next level.”

There was nothing I could say to that.

“Where are we going? What are we doing?” Summer asked.

“We have to go get a camper from our friend’s ex-husband so we can pick up her dog at a shelter, transport him back to our friend, who is sick. The husband is a dick. His new wife hates us. We don’t have keys, permission, or authority to do any of this,” I said.

Summer nodded and said, “I thought it was something like that.”

Holly scoffed, but Summer didn’t seem annoyed in the least.

“Are we going to call Tom?” I said.

“No,” Holly said. “This is going to be a surprise. I don’t want him to prepare. Katie said the VW wasn’t in the divorce papers. Peanut and the bus went together, but I think we can make a case that the vehicle still belongs to both of them.”

“What if nobody’s home?” I asked.

“We take the camper. He’ll probably thank us.”

“OMG! I love crime,” said Summer like it was a danish at a buffet. I couldn’t help but be drawn into the fiction and excitement of Summer’s view. I was like a kid watching this all on television.

“Here we are, ladies. Time to go!” The limo driver pulled into a cul-de-sac with modest-looking homes, some with palm trees and others with massive yuccas spanning the property. I’d spent the night before the trip perusing online real estate listings, just to get an idea of what kind of terrain we would be riding into. Tom and Misty’s house had a white stucco exterior and a big dormer window. It was not a large house and looked dated, but I knew that it had to be worth at least a million and a half in the Culver City zip code. I heard Holly talking to the driver, but my attention was on the old Volkswagen camper bus, which sat securely behind a black iron gate at the side of the house.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted to see if the gate was locked and if not, if the keys were indeed under the driver’s-side mat, where Tom had always kept them. I was thinking about what Holly would say to Tom when Summer brushed past me, her monstrous bag bouncing on her hip.

“You and Holly stay out of sight.” She strode right up the front path and knocked on the door. I hustled to the gate, and in seconds Holly crouched at my side. A déjà vu of another time, Holly, my friend, huddled next to me, watching a couple make out under our apartment balcony. The memory dissipated as her knee touched my leg, and she instantly pulled it away.

“Let’s see what happens.” Holly shrugged. “If I don’t have to talk to that son of a bitch, all the better. I might take a swipe at him, and then we’ll never get what we want.”

“This isn’t going to work.”

“That limo wasn’t there to pick her up at the airport. She stole someone else’s limo. She told him while I was paying.”

“That can’t be right. You said she’s famous.”

Holly gestured, and I saw the taillights of the sedan leave the cul-de-sac, the driver’s hand in a salute out the window, flipping us off until he was out of sight. “After this we’ll get rid of Summer. But, I gotta admit she’s got some skills.”

This was all happening too fast. I did not have this kind of life, but Holly’s expression was reminiscent of her undergraduate self when we stole from our favorite bar. She’d shove all kinds of things down her pants in bars: shot glasses, toilet paper, Tabasco sauce, Christmas decorations. She’d give me a wicked grin and I’d get the getaway car, my crappy Chevy with the missing gas tank cover. We were Bonnie and Bonnie, because nobody needed a Clyde when we were together. Today it was Bonnie and Bonnie’s nervous, sleepy, and slightly disoriented sister.

From our spot at the side of the house, I could only see Summer, hands emphasizing whatever obscure thing she was saying. “Who is she talking to?”

“Sounds like Misty.”

I heard snippets of conversation but nothing coherent. She reached into her bag and pulled something out. I heard a laugh; the tone changed. There were murmurs; they appeared to take a selfie.

Summer turned, and I heard her say, “Thank you so much, Misty. You are the high priestess your spirit is telling me you are.” A clunking sound followed, and the large metal gates opened out with some unseen mechanical force. Summer waved to Misty and gestured for us to follow, and I did as if I were hypnotized.

“Get in! Get in, you guys, before she changes her mind, googles She Talk Live, and finds out I’m not on the show anymore.”

We sprinted through the open gates, and Summer chucked the keys at Holly, who caught them in a one-handed, sporty catch I could never have managed. Holly slid behind the wheel, jammed the keys into the ignition, and the engine turned over. Summer sat cross-legged on the floor between the seats, and I slammed the passenger door shut, out of breath from excitement.

“My coffee! It’s in the limo.” There, I’d shown my cards. What I was truly concerned with was my own alertness and not what might be grand theft auto.

Summer said, “Well, it’s gone now. Let’s do this, squad.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE TIRED GIRL, THE MAD GIRL, OR THE CELEBRITY

The vehicle bounced out of the cul-de-sac and hit the curb, the glove compartment dropped open, and the horn beeped twice. The van sounded like it was held together by rusty hinges, and it stretched noisily with every roll of the tires in the quiet neighborhood. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

“Jesus, don’t hit the horn!” I said.

“I didn’t! It beeped by itself!” Holly laughed her deep college laugh, and it made me remember all those nights we’d spent together dancing in our apartment with Katie and singing into our beer bottles. When girls were friends, it was like a beautiful bouquet of funny flowers eternally watered by their togetherness. When the friendship failed, it was an ice storm on a hothouse plant.