She ignored that commonality and peered at the map. “People like animals.”

I didn’t remember that Holly didn’t like animals, wanted to understand. Years ago, I would have asked her straight out, but every question that I came up with sounded like recrimination, even to me. Maybe if I pretended we were friends, spoke like I used to when she liked me. I unlocked my jaw, searched for something other than acres and numbers to talk about, to try to explain Peanut and Katie without explaining anything to know-it-all Holly.

I had barely completed the thought when the camper slid into view directly outside the window and stopped. “Summer’s back!” I shouted. I felt like a suspenseful movie had ended unsatisfactorily even while being happy the tension line had been cut. Oof, my brain said.

“Son of a bitch, you were right.”

We raced out the door just as Summer hit the sidewalk. “You guys! Wait until you see what I did!” She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail, and the expression on her face gave her the look of a hopeful grade-schooler excited about a floppy art project.

“What the heck, Summer? You can’t just take our crap and leave us!” said Holly.

Summer did a stutter step of indecision, like she’d never for a second considered she’d done something wrong. “I didn’t leave you. I’m here. That is the definition of not leaving you. Sam texted me the address.” She shifted her annoyed gaze between us and said, “Where’s Peanut?”

“They moved him to Utah,” I said, so relieved that Summer had returned, so ready to forgive and reduce the friction of the moment.

“Utah? Huh. Random, but okay.”

Holly yanked the front door of the bus open and, without looking at anything, grabbed my bag and her phone. She shoved my purse at me, and I embraced my nondescript belongings. As much as I had believed Summer would return, I’d missed the security of having my small comforts. I pulled out my ChapStick and swiped it onto my lips.

I had learned a couple of things already about traveling with Holly. Even though we had the same assignment, the same higher mission, and a celebrity guest, no less, she wasn’t going to ease up on her Holly-ness. On the other hand, Holly would always be Bad Cop in our threesome, so if not Good Cop, I could be cease-fire girl, peace-out girl. I could just observe with serenity the way that Summer lit Holly’s irritation on fire and maybe even enjoy it.

“Thanks for the texts, Sam. I found you guys super easily,” Summer said to me. “But, remember, when you’re lost, you should always stay put.” She wagged her finger with a smile on her face.

“We weren’t lost, you idiot,” said Holly.

Summer said, “Ouch, Hol. No name-calling.” She counted off on her fingers. “No garbage dumping. No bringing up past grievances. ‘No’ is a complete sentence. That’s Crucial Conversations 101. I think that last one might be from The Gift of Fear: How to Spot a Predator. Both books I think you should read, Holly. You could use interpersonal help.”

Holly sputtered. I loved that I didn’t have to say a thing, but Summer may have gone too far.

“This is not working out, Summer,” Holly said, rubbing her eyes. “Enough is enough.”

Summer moved to the side of the camper, and I followed. I’d have followed her anywhere at this point. When she opened the side door, I gasped.

“Give us the insurance and registration. We’ll drop you off,” Holly said. “You pick a location.”

“Holly. Check this out,” I said, unable to tear my eyes away from the inside of the camper.

She sighed that beleaguered Holly-sigh and peeked around the door.

The inside of the camper had been transformed from a grubby, ugly, 1970s disaster to an updated, chic glamper. I’d seen the pictures on Pinterest and Instagram-people renovating small spaces—dorms, tiny houses, and Airstreams—in luxurious ways. I’d never seen one in real life.

Summer’s hundred-watt smile and jazz hands were unnecessary as I stepped up and into the camper that smelled of paint and something fresh. Everything had been whitewashed, the walls, ceilings, and floors.

“Don’t touch the edges quite yet—we used quick-dry paint, but we don’t want to smudge the sheen,” said Summer from behind me.

The windows had natural roman blinds, and the upholstery looked straight out like a design studio for small spaces. Summer saw me examining it and said, “It’s anchored in there. You can pull it out, and it becomes a bed. Lift the mattress; the linens are stored there. Even the throw pillows are Velcroed into place so they don’t fly around when we’re driving.”

The ceiling had been draped with a white filmy fabric that gave the entire space an Arabian tent feeling. The small cabinet had been covered with something that looked like shiplap but on closer examination was wallpaper.

“I picked white because Peanut is a Pyrenees, and they’re usually white, right? When he sheds, we won’t even notice.”

“This is amazing,” I said.

“We’re not paying for this,” said Holly, ready to litigate.

“How did you do this so fast? How is this even possible?” I said.

Summer shook her head, disappointed. “You guys. Obviously neither of you uses the internet extensively, so fine, okay. But, didn’t you even google me while I was gone?”

“You stole my phone, Summer.”

“Oh, Holly. I didn’t steal your phone. I borrowed your camper. But a good lesson for you. Don’t leave your purse and phone behind. You never know.” She tsked. “Midwest women. So trusting.”

I had to admit she was right: we should have done research on her.

“I have a YouTube show called Trick Out My Tent. The goal is to create luxurious spaces for vacationing in the wild. We do it all in my friend’s backyard a couple of blocks from here. The show is on hold until we find another sponsor or we make nice with IKEA. They got mad when we spelled their EKTORP sofa with a c in the Buy links. Said we were unreliable. Can you imagine?” She rolled her big eyes. “I mean, nobody knows Swedish here—who cares?” Summer stepped into the camper with me and said, “Apparently, IKEA cares, and if we want them to keep donating their stuff, we have to spell things right.”

Holly looked like she was trying to focus on a hummingbird but didn’t have her glasses on.

“Anyway, my friend and his wife are the fastest reno-geeks in the business.”

I said, “Reno-geeks?”

“Renovation geeks. You know, like Geek Squad, but not for computers. She can trick out a space and have it camera ready in a couple of hours. Honestly, Sam. I’m disappointed in you. Didn’t you check out my IMDb page?”

“I guess I just trust you, Summer,” I said with a grin.

In the front of the camper, through a narrow opening just big enough for a person to sit, I noticed that the dated control panel shone. Somehow it looked charming against the rest of the renovations in the cab. The cracked seats were covered in taupe linen, each layered with a bright-white sheepskin throw. The dashboard was a trimmed version of the fur on the seats, and it should have looked tacky and thrown together, but it didn’t.

I touched the soft fur, and Summer said, “It’s vegan. Don’t worry. We’re going to an animal sanctuary. How would that look if I’d used leather?” She laughed and covered her mouth with her hand, and the mission took on a new sparkle.

“I could do so much more with this thing, but I knew you guys wanted to hit the road. Smell that? There’s an aromatherapy diffuser in the cigarette lighter. I have lavender in there now, but I have peppermint for you, Sam. It’ll keep you awake.”

Right or wrong, I loved what Summer had done with the camper, but I waited for Holly’s next move.

She surprised me: “All right, you two. Wheels up.” She clapped her hands like a very stern, very organized kindergarten teacher. “Since we never unloaded the camper, it’s ready; we’re ready. Let’s hit the road.”

“What about our room?” I said.

“What about it? We paid for it already. The money’s gone if we stay in it or don’t stay in it.”

I didn’t want to mention that I was hungry, but my girl Summer had me covered.

“I stocked up.” She opened a tiny, vintage-looking fridge. Inside I spotted raspberries, ready-made salads, and predictably, sushi.

Holly stared, then slowly shook her head as if defeated. “Fine, Summer. I don’t know what you’re up to or why you’re so into this, but you can come with us. But no more disappearing. No more”—Holly waved her arms around the camper—“magic tricks.”

I leaned in and whispered to Summer, hoping to create an ally while making fun of Holly, “Yeah, no more magic tricks.”

Holly took two steps to the side door and slammed it shut. The window rattled in the frame, and the light in the trailer dimmed. “Sammie, you’re rested and caffeinated. You take the first leg. If we drive all night, we’ll get to Utah by the morning.”