Project Eden

Chapter 25

Our trip through customs is anticlimactic, or at least Zee seems to think so. He's disappointed that we don't even need to use Spanish, since the Mexican border guards all speak English well. And it doesn't hurt that LAB has greased the wheels of the process so we don't have any issues getting across. Sometimes it helps to have a powerful international institution behind you.

"Sorry," I say as I turn onto the carretera that will take us through Chihuahua and its swaths of desert. "But you'll get plenty of time to practice your español once we get farther south."

He shrugs, though his sigh sounds somewhat wistful as he pulls out one of the books he got from the store yesterday. Although he's yet to realize it, he'll probably have more edge-of-your-seat thrills on this trip than he'll know how to cope with. Thrillers might be fun to read and watch, but they're not so great to live. I just hope it's not too much for him. I'd hate to see that boyishness erased from his personality. He's too good to become jaded so young.

Granted, most days the thrills are more of the hurry-up-and-wait sort, which includes a whole lot of traveling from one place to the next and then back again before dashing off to some other foreign locale. I don't often have a travel companion, at least for any extended amount of time, so the prospects for this mission are . . . eventful, to say the least.

After a couple of hours of reading what I'm sure must be the most boring book on the planet, Zee slips into slumber. I'm not the kind of person to creep around and watch people while they're sleeping—unless I'm trying to purloin something—but he very much looks like an angelic baby . . . until he snorts and turns his head to snuggle into the seat a bit more. Even with the seat pushed all the way back, I'm amazed he can fit comfortably into that space.

Seeing him sleep, I can't help noticing the innocence of his face, the naïveté of his whole life, really, and how soon that might come crashing down on him. I grudgingly admit to myself that, yes, I am glad to have him along for the ride, but I worry, too. I send up a prayer, Hail Mary, or whatever you want to call it, to the deity in charge that they'll keep an eye out for this oversized dork. And not just because I like his mom.

I sigh and turn up the radio just a little bit, trying to adjust the dial—yes, an actual old-school dial—to pick up a semi-decent station. With how old the receiver is, I'm amazed it's picking up anything other than AM radio. Another thing Zee needs to invest in for this car. Air conditioning primero, though, because I'm already sizzling and the windows have been cranked down for the past hour.

When the radio picks up a station blasting eighties hair rock, Zee rockets forward like a bomb just went off under his seat. I can't stop the manic laughter that bursts out of me. Too bad I'm driving and can't take a photo, because that one would look absolutely precious next to the pic I took the other day. Perhaps I'll make a collage for him. Something with lots of pink hearts on it.

He yawns and stretches—or attempts to, anyway, with the limited dimensions of the car—and lazily rolls his head to look over at me. "What time is i— Why did you let me sleep so long? We agreed that I'd—"

"And interrupt your little cat nap? I'm not that cruel." I give him a pouty face. "Besides, it's easier to drive without you making disapproving noises and clutching the door like your life depends on it."

"Maybe it does. Pull over."

"Rude." I hope the look I'm sending him right now is scathing, but I hit the turn signal anyway and make my way to the shoulder of the highway.

He opens his mouth to speak, but a ginormous yawn leaves it instead.

"Maybe you should take a lap or two around the car to wake yourself up, because we are very much lacking in the caffeine department."