Jenna Holloway's Arc

Chapter 2 of 8

They needed a plan. Jenna sat on top of the camper the next morning, her legs dangling over the side. Her friends climbed up beside her with notebooks and pens they'd grabbed from a corner store. They started making lists—places to go, things to try, rules to break. One friend drew a map of the county, circling spots they'd only heard about in rumors. The other wrote down supplies they'd need: flashlights, rope, a cooler, blankets. Jenna added matches and a portable speaker. They decided their first real mission would be tonight—find the old drive-in theater everyone said was still standing past Route 9. They'd heard the screen was still up, leaning against the sky like a ghost. If they could get there, they'd make it their own. They folded the papers and stuffed them in the glove compartment of the Honda. Now they had a direction. Now summer had a shape. By midnight, they were hungry and lost. The drive-in had been a dead end—just an empty field with tire marks and no screen anywhere. They drove back toward town, arguing about the map until they spotted the diner. Fluorescent lights buzzed through the windows, casting everything in harsh white. Inside, they slid into a booth with cracked red vinyl seats. A waitress brought them menus without asking. They ordered fries, shakes, and coffee they didn't really want. Jenna spread the map across the sticky table. Her friend pointed to another spot—an abandoned railroad bridge they could reach before sunrise. The other pulled out the notebook and added it to the list. They stayed until two in the morning, refilling their drinks and making new plans. The diner became their headquarters. Every mission would start or end here, under these bright lights, figuring out where to go next. They left the diner at three and made it six blocks before the Honda died. The engine coughed twice, then went silent. They coasted to the curb and sat in the dark, listening to the ticking sounds under the hood. Jenna popped the hood and stared at the engine. None of them knew what they were looking at. Her friend pulled out a phone and searched for answers while the other kicked the front tire. The battery wasn't dead—the lights still worked. They needed to lift the car to check underneath. They walked two blocks to an all-night gas station and bought a jack with crumpled bills from their pockets. Back at the Honda, they figured it out together, reading instructions by phone light, cranking the handle until the car rose off the pavement. Jenna slid underneath with a flashlight. A belt hung loose, frayed at the edges. They couldn't fix it tonight, but they knew what was wrong. They lowered the car and pushed it to a side street where it wouldn't get towed. Summer wasn't just about the adventures—it was about learning how to keep them going. By dawn they had the belt replaced and were testing the engine when it clicked but wouldn't turn over. The battery had finally given up. One friend ran back to the gas station while Jenna and the other waited by the Honda, slumped against the doors. He returned with jumper cables coiled over his shoulder. They flagged down a truck and the driver agreed to help. Jenna connected the cables, red to red, black to black, her hands steady now. The engine roared to life. They thanked the driver and climbed back in, tired but ready. The sun was up. They'd survived their first breakdown. Jenna looked at her friends and knew they'd survive the rest. This was what they'd remember—not just the nights that went right, but the ones that fell apart and got put back together.