1.     In the car

                         what Gabe wants is to turn back. What he wants is to end the trip before they get to Dixon— never mind Davis or Sacramento or Truckee. What he wants is to stop worrying about his hands slipping from the wheel or his feet forgetting which pedal is the gas and which one is the brake. He keeps his eyes trained straight, but the cars around him dart in/out/across all four lanes. What he wants is to blast the AC, crank up the playlist Seb made, and pull off at the nearest Taco Bell. He wants to cruise through the drive-through like he knows what he’s doing and order three crunchy tacos and a Gatorade. He’ll get one of those bright blue slushies for Gretchen if she promises to shut up and a small bean burrito with a side of nachos for his mom. She’ll claim the stuff is bad for them and then eat it all, licking her fingers when the cheese drips down. But the exit comes and goes and Gabe’s too nervous to do anything but drive. It’s all stop/speed up/slow down with the flow of traffic, so he misses whole fields of sunflowers drooping. Rows of corn stalks. Farm stands with peaches, nectarines, plums.
          “It’s okay. Go ahead and switch to the middle,” his mother instructs. Only his second time on the freeway, but he insisted on driving. Gabe nods but ignores her, keeping the car where it is, his hands at exactly ten and two. In the backseat, his sister sighs. Too loud to be genuine.
          “I just don’t get it. If Dad’s the one who’s allergic and if he’s not living with us anymore, why can’t we get a puppy?” 
          His mother ignores the comment, but Gretchen won’t give up: “Hello? Hello? Anyone up there?”  
          Gabe offers this bit of trivia as a distraction: “Gretchen, did you know it’s a federal crime to abandon an animal on the side of the road?”   
          “Well, who would do that?” Gretchen scoffs. “I would never!” 
          “You could go to prison. Plus, there’s like a huge fine.” 
           “I said I’d never.” 
           In the rearview mirror, Gretchen shifts in her seat and leans her head against the window. Gabe hates most things about her. The way she chews with her mouth open, and how she tries to cover up her B.O. with a gallon of musky spray. The way she turns everything into a TikTok dance and struts around all bro all chile, anyway, so—whatever the latest saying is. When he tries to explain cultural appropriation to her, she just laughs: You can’t tell me what to say.   
          Gabe would pray—no, he’d pay, a million dollars—not to be on this last-minute trip to Donner with his family. Not the whole family, of course. Just his mom and sister. He wants to be with Seb. In Seb’s backyard, so far back against the fence, hidden by the weeds and bushes he’s supposed to be mowing and trimming but— 
          Isn’t.   
          Back there, the two of them can be anything together. 
         In the car, Gretchen still rattles on about the puppy. 
          “I wouldn’t leave my puppy by the side of the road. I would keep it so safe and I would . . .”  
          Out the window, the box stores roll by and Gabe knows Gretchen is thinking she wouldn’t mind being in Target right now. Moving in and just living there. Hiding out in the cool air of it, the wide aisles and everything in its place. She could play her own kind of God. Set up a little universe, organize her life room by room: kitchen, bathroom, bedroom. Rug, pillows, and plants—but not the real kind.   
         “Anyone hungry? Want a baby carrot?” his mom asks. 
          “Really, Mom?” Gretchen groans. “What else is there?” 
 

2.     In the lake

                         what Gabe wants is for Gretchen to fucking shut up. Stop splashing, stop pushing, stop laughing. But Gretchen never gives up. She wants the inner tube, so she’s kicking up waves of water, cackle-crack laughing with her mouth open, tongue a disgusting lime green from the Otter Pops they got at the market across the street. Nothing is funny. But she keeps laughing, trying to tip Gabe out of the tube. There’s no way so she can lift him, so she swims under and feels the cold water press against her head, her ears. 
          She isn’t scared. She likes the quiet. The dark. That’s where God lives, she thinks. Deep down there. And up above, too. When she bursts up for air, she sees the way Gabe has pulled the inner tube up onto the dock so she’ll have to get out of the water if she wants it.
          “No fair!” she screams at him. He shrugs.
          “Better be careful,” Gabe yells to her from the rickety wooden pier. “Donner is something like 328 feet deep. You know that? You sink to the bottom and . . . well, I’m just saying, it’s a long way down.”   
          Gretchen pushes her chin out, calls back: “So? Maybe I want to stay down there. Away from you!” 
          Gretchen used to like that Gabe knew things she didn’t know. That he could tell her the exact temperature on every planet or how long it would take to walk from the South to the North Pole. But now that she’s figured out he’s full of shit, none of it matters.
          Why bother knowing or pretending to know anything?
          “I mean, Tahoe is like over fifteen hundred feet deep.” 
          “Wait. What’s the deepest lake in the world?” Gretchen asks before she can stop herself.
          “Crater Lake is pretty deep, but . . . in the world? Shit, I don’t know.”
          “Don’t know, don’t care!” She climbs up on the pier and jumps in. When she gets out, he’s still talking.
          “I knew this once. Somewhere in Antarctica, maybe?  No, Russia? Seb would know.” 
          “Whatever.” 
           The angle of the early afternoon sun turns the surface of the lake to glitter. Gretchen is thinking about recording the light on her phone. She wouldn’t use a filter. Wouldn’t have to.  She would post it and then wait, wait. Seeing how many people cared enough to like her post after 30 seconds, after a minute, after two.
           Gabe looks across at the train tracks built into the side of the mountain and wishes, for the millionth time, that Seb had been able to come on the trip. He would be off on his own up there at the tunnels, hiking through and taking pictures next to the graffiti art. Holding hands. Kissing in the dark.   
          His mother is reclining on the small sandy side part of the beach, probably doing work even though she promised not to bring any with her. She’s wearing that old crumpled straw hat and a gauzy white beach cover-up that’s meant for someone younger. 

In the water, Gretchen dives down and bounds up, over and over again, like a shimmering fish. The mountains, the trees, the blue of the sky, and the dry heat, the smell of pine needles, the distant train tracks. It is enough until it isn’t, and then Gabe and Gretchen are at their mother’s side dripping water onto her papers. 
          “Yeah! Can we, Mom? Can we?” 
          “Can we what?”   
          “Weren’t you listening? You always ignore us.” 
          “Can we rent a boat? Everyone else is going out. See?” 
          “I’ll drive it! Can I drive it?” 
         “I’m sure you need to have your license or be 18 or something to rent it.” 
         “You can rent it then, but let me drive, okay?” 
          “No fair! I want a turn steering.” 
          “Hey, wait, wait. I haven’t even said . . .” 
          “Ew, you didn’t shave your legs, Mom?” Gretchen backs away. “Gross.” 
          “We never get to do anything fun.” Gabe sighs. Another asshole move, he knows.
         “This is fun. Swimming. Being up in the mountains?”
          She says it like a question, and that’s when they know they have her. 
          “But going for the boat ride would be more fun.” 
          “Real fun.” 
         “Alright. I’ll go see how much it is and if they even have any openings for the afternoon.” 
          Gabe knows she’s planning to lie. To walk over and talk to the guys at the rental place under the canopy just to make it look like she’s trying. Then she’ll come back and tell them, Bummer, too bad, everything’s booked. So he walks over with her. Excited, bounce in his step and all. Daring her to tell him no. 

3.     In the boat

                         what Gabe wants is to skim the surface— fast, faster. The sun is shining, shimmering across the lake. It’s beautiful, all sparkle and shine. Gretchen laughs as the boat leaps over the small waves; Gabe studies the controls, ready to take over. 
          “Is it my turn now?” 
           His mother keeps her hands on the wheel. But what’s the harm?  It’s easier than driving on 80 through Berkeley and up into the Sierras. There are only a few other boats near them on the lake. The wind rushes forward, rushes through them and shifts things: they relax. Everyone actually seems happy. 
          Until Gretchen says: “Why don’t we have one of those inner tube things. Look, Mom. Look at those boats. Doesn’t it look like so much fun?” 
         “Yeah, you’re right.  It does.” 
         “We never have fun.” 
          “Gretchen, really?”   
          “It’s true.” 
          Their mother takes a deep breath and holds it, stares out at the water. Gabe knows she won’t push it. She never does. But then, an exhale, a sigh, and low, slow words: “You wanted to come to the mountains, we came. You wanted to swim; we swam. You wanted to get a boat. We’re literally in the boat RIGHT NOW!”    
           Gabe starts to whistle— a habit held over from when he used to hear his parents fighting. But Gretchen digs in. She isn’t about to back down now. “You wanted to come to the mountains. I wanted to go to Disneyland.”  
          “Well, so we are here.” 
         “But it’s not fun.” 
         “Let’s be appreciative. For once, okay? And I mean for fuck’s sake! Let’s be happy!”
          He stops whistling. Gretchen turns her head away, sulking. 
          “You can’t say that to me. The f-word.” 
          “I’m just so—” 
          “You’re a bad mother.” Gretchen scowls then lets out a wail loud enough to wake the fish— rainbow trout or mackinaw, whatever might be asleep down there, however many feet down.   

When their dad moved out after Christmas, nobody cried. Not even their mother. He had left before. Two or three times. Gabe was used to his parents giving up, trying, giving up again. His dad said this time it was different, and he was right. He also told Gabe he would love Jenn’s place. And he was right about that, too. She has a pool. At her place, they’re close enough to walk to Safeway and Jenn gives them money to buy whatever they want: Red Vines and Spicy Cheetos. The agreement is to stay at their dad’s on the first and last weekends of every month, but more and more Gretchen doesn’t want to leave. Gabe has tried to alert his mom but she only nods and gets that invisible look in her eye: her body there, but everything else dimmed down.   
          “Listen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, but I need to talk to you both about something.”   
         “If it’s about the house,” Gretchen says, “we already know.” 
          “Gretchen! Shit. Stop!” Gabe holds on to the boat’s steering wheel and makes the boat go faster. He needs to scare Gretchen into shutting up. This is the real thing; the new thing: Their dad wants them to move in with him. To visit their mom on weekends, not the other way around. He says it’s time for Mom to sell the house. Gabe will never agree to live with him. To change schools his junior year. To leave Seb. 
          “What, everyone’s just going to swear at me now? Fine. I’ll swear back.”
         “Don’t you dare! Gabe, slow the boat right now.” 
          “I can’t!” He teases, trying to bring back the fun.  
         “Can’t? Let me see.” Their mother starts to stand up, to get over to the wheel, but the boat is going too fast and she slams back into her seat.
          “It’s a roller coaster. Wheeeee!”  Gabe is laughing and then a little crying until Gretchen screams. “Oh shit!” 
          “Gretchen!” 
           “No! Shit! Stop the boat! Look!” 
           “What in the world?”   
           “STOP THE BOAT!”  
          He slows, curves the boat around. 
          “Careful, careful.” 
          “I am!” 
          “Dog!” Gretchen shouts.  “I thought so! Dog in the water! ”  
          “A what? Are you sure?” Their mother turns to look where Gretchen is leaning over, pointing.  Sure enough, there is a dog, soaking and struggling to stay afloat. 
          “Here. Mom. Take the wheel. I’m going in to get it.” 
          “Put on a life jacket! Where are the life jackets?” 
          “I don’t need a life jacket.” Gabe pulls off his t-shirt and jumps in, swimming out a few strokes to get the dog and help it into the boat. Gretchen coos. 
          “It’s okay, it’s okay. Come here, come on, boy.”
          It’s a golden retriever, reddish in color. Gabe can tell once it shakes off. It looks young but tired, panting. 
         “Give it water.” 
          “Poor thing!” 
          “And some of my sandwich—here, you can have my whole sandwich.” Gretchen opens the cooler. 
          “We’ll have to find out whose dog this is.” 
          “It’s ours now. He’s ours because we saved him. Right, Mom? Right?” 

4.     On the pier

                              what Gabe wants is to be alone. Sitting with his feet dangling off the pier. It seems too dark to be a real night in the real world. Away from the streetlights and traffic lights and headlights of the Bay Area, the air feels dense. The night immense. He tries to text Seb a picture of the sky, but it doesn’t come out right. Too many stars; it looks fake. Movie-perfect. Hollywood’s idea of an August sky at Donner. He wishes this were a movie. Then Gretchen would have been able to keep the dog and she wouldn’t be in the condo crying and his mother wouldn’t be in the shower pretending not to hear.   
           It wasn’t hard to find the dog’s owner. He had a collar and tags. His name (Jake) and a local phone number. There was no way they were going to be able to keep him. Still, the excitement of it—the way Gretchen felt found and not the other way around. Like God had listened to her at last. All the secret wishes and prayers. God had delivered exactly what Gretchen needed: a pup of her own.
          Only to yank it away!
          The serendipitous finding of a dream dog. Right there in the middle of the lake! And the soured truth of it not being hers to keep. That’s the way life is, their mother had said. Give and take. Here’s what you want. Here’s what you can’t have. 
          But Gretchen had believed something different. Deep down, in the lake. Deep down, in the pit of her stomach. Whatever that feeling was. Faith. Hunger. She didn’t know what to believe now. She didn’t want to believe in anything.
           “All these tears about the dog or about . . . you know . . . ?”  
          “What?” 
           “Something else, maybe? Something else bothering you?”  
           “Oh, God. Not that.”   
            Gabe knew what Gretchen wanted to say: I’m going to live with dad. You can’t keep the house anyway.   
           But then—as if she knew— his mother turned away, into bathroom, and shut the door. Quietly. “I’m getting in the shower.” 
          No one answered. 
          “Then we can think about dinner. Maybe go to Truckee?” 

“I only want Taco Bell,” Gabe says even though that’s not entirely true. Then, to his sister: “You should say something. Be nice.”

        “Whatever.” 
        Now he’s outside, waiting for Seb to text back. It’s taking so long. Why is it taking so long? Gabe wonders if there is even a Taco Bell in Truckee. He could take the car himself and be back before anyone even notices. Eat three tacos and maybe get the cinnamon churro thing and a blue drink to shut Gretchen up. 
        Gretchen is coming out to the pier now. Still a loopy kid, dragging her feet a little. Gabe feels sorry for her. He at least has Seb. What does Gretchen feel lucky to have? Her phone, maybe? Her followers. He knows his father feels lucky to have Jenn. His mother? What? He feels bad because he knows. His mother feels lucky to have them. Her kids. That’s all. And most of the time, they are trying to find ways to get away from her. His mother will never let Gretchen live with their dad without putting up a fight. Expensive and legal. It won’t be easy.  
        The thought almost makes Gabe slip into the lake and sink—what is it?  
        328 feet deep.  
        Just to get away for a little bit.   
        But then he checks his phone and Seb is there, texting: dot, dot, dot   
        Head down, he doesn’t see Gretchen find a spot on the pier close (but not next to) him.  She keeps her back to her brother. The warm night, the calm lapping of the lake feels fake to her, too. Maybe none of this is real, she thinks. The real sky with the real stars and the face of God up there in the moon—that’s somewhere else. We aren’t here for real.  Mom, brother, sister. That stupid dog. Its neglectful owner. The stars. The moon. God with his give-and-take philosophy. It’s all just pretend. Not a dream, but not real, either. Gabe watches Gretchen pull out her phone and scroll through TikTok, liking everything just to like something. The glow of the screen brighter than the stars. It lights​ up her face so that when their mother comes around the corner, looking for them, there’s no way to hide, even if they wanted to.     

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