Jenna Holloway's Arc

Chapter 3 of 8

They spread a county map across the hood of the Honda, circling places in red marker. An old quarry. Train tracks that cut through the hills. A state park with caves nobody talked about. Her friend tapped the paper where two highways crossed, mentioning a twenty-four-hour truck stop with showers and vending machines. Jenna added it to their list. This whole county was theirs if they knew where to look. One of her friends pulled a crumpled red aluminum can from his backpack, small holes punched in the side. Green leafy material was tucked inside, thin smoke curling up from it. He took a hit and passed it over. Jenna held it, feeling the warm metal against her palm, then brought it to her lips. The smoke burned her throat but she didn't cough. They passed it around until it was done, then crushed it flat and tossed it in the back seat with the others. Her friend pointed at the quarry on the map—said there were cliffs there, forty feet up, with deep water at the bottom. People jumped from them all the time. Jenna circled it twice with the marker. That's where they'd go tomorrow. Every spot on this map was a chance to push further, to prove they weren't afraid. She folded the map and climbed into the driver's seat. The summer was opening up in front of them, and they had the whole county to burn through. They drove until they found a park on the edge of town. The jungle gym stood in the center, all metal bars and platforms, dark against the night sky. They climbed up to the top level and sat with their legs hanging through the railings. One friend pulled out a bag of chips and they passed it around. The metal was cool under Jenna's hands. They could see the whole park from up here—the empty swings, the parking lot, the trees beyond. This spot was theirs now. They'd come back here between adventures, to eat and rest and plan the next move. Her friend pulled out the notebook and they went through the list again, crossing off what they'd already done and adding new ideas. The truck stop. The caves. The quarry tomorrow. Summer had places for them everywhere, spots where they could be loud and reckless and free. Jenna looked at her friends and felt it—this was exactly what she'd wanted. Endless nights with nowhere else to be, building a summer that belonged only to them. Later, hunger pulled them back to the road. They drove past closed stores and empty lots until a warm glow caught Jenna's eye. Felix #9 sat back from the highway, wood paneling lit by soft yellow lights through the windows. She pulled into the parking lot and they filed inside, sliding into a booth near the back. The waitress brought water and menus without a word. They ordered burgers and split a plate of fries while the notebook came out again. Her friend sketched a rough timeline on a napkin—quarry at sunset, caves after midnight, truck stop by dawn. Jenna nodded and added the waterfall to the rotation. Every place they'd found was a piece of the summer they were building. The diner, the jungle gym, the camper, the Honda—all of it connected now, a circuit they could run forever. Outside, headlights swept across the parking lot as another car pulled in. But this booth was theirs. This whole county was opening up, and they had the rest of the night to chase it.