The van had broken down outside of Santa Barbara, which would have been a disaster if not for the fact that they'd limped into the parking lot of what appeared to be the world's most aesthetically pleasing auto repair shop. The building was covered in murals, the mechanics wore vintage band t-shirts, and someone had planted succulents in old tire planters.
"Well," Charlie said, surveying the steam rising from their engine, "at least we broke down somewhere photogenic."
"Very Instagram-worthy catastrophe," Venus agreed, already taking pictures.
The mechanic who emerged to help them was covered in tattoos and grease stains, with the kind of competent energy that suggested she actually knew what she was doing. "Radiator hose," she diagnosed after a quick look. "I can fix it, but you're looking at overnight at least."
"How much overnight are we talking?" Tara asked, mentally calculating their remaining funds.
"Parts and labor, probably three hundred. But there's a campground about a mile down the road if you need somewhere to crash."
As they walked to the campground, Kate found herself deliberately lagging behind the group, putting distance between herself and Anthony. For the past few days, she'd been pulling back whenever he got too close, changing the subject when conversations turned intimate, finding excuses to sit next to someone else in the van.
It wasn't that she didn't care about him. That was the problem—she cared too much, and it terrified her.
"Kate!" Anthony jogged to catch up with her. "Hey, what's wrong? You've been weird all week."
"I haven't been weird," she said, not looking at him. "I've been normal. This is my normal level of... normalness."
"You literally just said 'normalness.' That's not a word normal people use."
Kate stopped walking and turned to face him, arms crossed defensively. "Maybe I just need some space, okay? We've been living in each other's pockets for months."
Anthony's face fell. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No! God, no. You didn't do anything wrong. That's the problem."
"I don't understand."
Kate kicked at a piece of gravel, her usual gentle demeanor replaced by something prickly and uncertain. "You're fifteen, Anthony. Fifteen. And I'm seventeen, and we're living in a van, and this whole thing is crazy, and maybe we should just... slow down."
"Slow down from what? Caring about each other?"
"From getting too attached!" Kate burst out, then immediately looked embarrassed by her own outburst. "I mean... I just think we should be realistic about what this is."
Anthony stared at her. "What do you think this is?"
"I don't know! That's the point!" Kate's voice cracked slightly. "I've never done this before, okay? I've never felt like this about anyone, and it's scary, and I don't want to mess it up by moving too fast or expecting too much or—"
"Kate." Anthony stepped closer, his voice gentle. "You're spiraling."
"I don't spiral," she said defensively.
"You're definitely spiraling. It's actually kind of cute."
"Don't call me cute when I'm having an existential crisis!"
Behind them, the others had stopped walking and were watching this unfold with the fascination of people witnessing a nature documentary.
"Should we intervene?" Jon whispered.
"Absolutely not," Chelsea replied. "This is better than cable."
"Kate's being a total tsundere," Venus observed quietly.
"A what now?" Charlie asked.
"Japanese term. When someone acts cold or hostile toward the person they like because they're embarrassed about their feelings."
"Oh," Tara said with recognition. "Like when I used to be mean to boys I had crushes on in middle school."
"Exactly."
Back at the center of the drama, Anthony was trying not to smile at Kate's defensive posture. "So you're pushing me away because you like me too much?"
"That's a gross oversimplification," Kate huffed.
"But not wrong?"
Kate glared at him, then her expression softened. "You're really annoying, you know that?"
"I've been told."
"And you're too young for me."
"Two years isn't that much."
"And this whole situation is completely insane."
"Best kind of situation."
Kate studied his face—the stubborn set of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled when he was trying not to laugh, the small scar she'd traced with her finger weeks ago. "I'm scared," she admitted quietly.
"Of what?"
"Of this. Of you. Of how much I want this to work when everything else in our lives is falling apart."
Anthony reached out and took her hand, ignoring her half-hearted attempt to pull away. "Kate. Look at me."
She did, reluctantly.
"I'm scared too," he said. "I've never had anything good in my life that lasted. But I'd rather be scared with you than safe without you."
"That's..." Kate paused, searching for words. "That's either really romantic or really codependent."
"Can't it be both?"
Despite herself, Kate laughed. "You're impossible."
"Is that a yes to stopping the weird avoidance thing?"
"Maybe," Kate said, then stood on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly. "But I reserve the right to have more existential crises."
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
"FINALLY," Chelsea called out. "Can we please go set up camp now? Some of us are tired of watching you two work through your feelings in public."
"Says the person who literally stopped walking to watch," Kate shot back, but she was smiling.
The campground was basic but clean, with fire pits and picnic tables scattered among tall pine trees. As they set up their tents (a recent acquisition that had dramatically improved their sleep quality), the group fell into easy conversation about everything and nothing.
"I've been thinking," Jon said as he struggled with tent poles, "about what we're actually doing. Like, long-term."
"Surviving?" Charlie suggested, helping him untangle the rainfly.
"Beyond that. Are we just going to drive around forever? Don't get me wrong, I love this, but..."
"But we need a plan," Tara finished. "Something more sustainable than 'follow the highway and hope for the best.'"
Venus looked up from where she was organizing their camping gear with military precision. "I've actually been thinking about that too. What if we found somewhere to settle for a while? Not permanently, but... more than a few days."
"Like where?" Anthony asked, sitting next to Kate on a log bench. She didn't pull away this time.
"I don't know yet. Somewhere we could get jobs, maybe finish school somehow. Build something real."
"Real sounds good," Chelsea said quietly. "I'm tired of feeling like we're always running."
"We're not running anymore," Charlie pointed out. "We're exploring."
"There's a difference?"
"Running is about getting away from something. Exploring is about finding something."
Jon looked at Charlie with the expression that had become familiar over the past few months—surprise at hidden depths, affection for unexpected wisdom. "When did you become philosophical?"
"Must be all the quality time with my thoughts on the road."
As evening settled over the campground, they built a fire and cooked dinner over the flames. Anthony, who had progressed from "can open cans" to "can make actual food," grilled vegetables while Kate provided commentary that ranged from helpful to deliberately distracting.
"You're putting too much seasoning on those peppers," she said.
"I literally haven't put any seasoning on them yet."
"Pre-emptive criticism. I'm helping you improve."
"By being annoying?"
"It's one of my many talents."
Watching them bicker affectionately, the others exchanged glances.
"They're going to be fine," Venus said quietly to Tara.
"Better than fine," Tara agreed. "They balance each other out."
As the fire died down and they prepared for sleep, Kate found herself next to Anthony again, their sleeping bags close enough that she could hear his breathing.
"Anthony?" she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for not giving up on me when I was being difficult."
"Thanks for being worth the effort."
In the distance, the lights of Santa Barbara twinkled like earthbound stars, and somewhere in the darkness, their van waited for repairs that would carry them toward whatever came next. But for now, they were seven teenagers who had chosen each other, learning that love—romantic, platonic, or familial—was always complicated, often scary, and absolutely worth fighting for.