If the streets had walls, Rachel would be bouncing off them. She runs up the darkened road ahead of me and spins herself around a lamppost, holding on with one skinny arm.

"Sweet tarnations!" she calls out. "Keaton's face when you went up on stage…"

"Ugh," I say, covering my smile with one hand. "I was shitting myself."

"He was shitting himself."

Rachel launches herself from the base of the street light and runs back to my side.

"'My dear, what if I told you the entire fate of our production rests on your slender shoulders?' I love this time of night. Don't you feel like anything's possible?"

She links her arm with mine.

"Yeah," I say. "Is it always like this?"

"Oh, totally! It's such a high. No more nerves, just the adrenaline." She kicks at the pavement with her shoe. "So, first-timer, are you proud of yourself? You were literally perfect. I was blown away. Even your ad-libbing was surprisingly good."

"For someone like me."

"For someone who isn't an experienced thespian. It's a compliment, Chloe."

"Thanks. I'm not really used to those. I feel…really good. If you told me this morning I'd be this happy tonight?"

Rachel smiles at me.

"You've gone through so much shit today," she says.

I smile back at her.

"I take it you're not mad at me?" I ask.

"For what?"

"For…you know."

"For your amazing ad lib? That's what acting is all about: living in the moment and sharing that moment with others. Those lines were really damn good. I didn't know you were into Shakespeare."

"Neither did I. It just came to me."

"You have a real gift, an untapped inner energy just waiting to be unleashed. That's why you need to get the hell out of here—you can do so much, Chloe. All you need is the right environment, the right encouragement, and the right…people."

Her fingers magically slide between mine. An invisible wind whips through my body. I'm as light as air. Rachel pulls on my hand and sends us skipping down the street. We come to a sudden stop. I almost bowl her over. Rachel turns to me.

"Let's leave," she says. "For real."

"For real?" I say.

"You said you wanted to skip town and never look back. Let's do it!"

"I've been thinking about that all day. But that was…"

"Don't tell me it was just a crazy thought. Did you see yourself on stage? That's you—the real you. And all it took was a new adventure to bring it out of you."

I laugh with nervous energy. Rachel releases my hand. I let her go. She skips down the street like a forest faerie trying to escape the paved roads and concrete buildings that the rest of us city-dwelling barbarians call home. I walk toward the place where she disappeared into the darkness.

"Boo!"

She jumps out of nearby bushes. I double over and try to catch my breath, but she grabs both my hands and starts twirling us around in maniacal circles. I'm about ready to throw up again. This is exactly why Dad used to tell me and Max not to play too hard after we had stuffed ourselves with grilled cheeseburgers and hot dogs and—Rachel's forehead slams straight into my shoulder. She laughs like a little kid.

"You're a great actress, Rachel."

"Thanks."

My hands fall to my sides. I swallow hard to keep the wine down. Rachel puts her hands on my arms.

"This isn't a dream, Chloe. This is real. I know you want this. You could have run away by yourself any time you wanted to, but you didn't. You're still here. Now I'm here, too. I'm here for you." Rachel holds out her hand. "Let's go now. We already agreed on stage."

"So that's what that was." I take her hand.

"What did you think it was?" she asks.

"I don't know." I shrug my shoulders. "Could have been anything."

"It can be anything. Let's make it happen."

"Okay, but…"

"For fuck's sake! I've never been more serious in my life!"

And then her lips are on me, her mouth opens into mine, the heat of her breath fills my chest with a thousand days of sunshine, walks on the beach, countryside train rides, summer vineyards, fragrant wine, gentle breezes rippling through wheat fields as far as the eye can see. I don't even have time to come back down to planet Earth before she does it again.

"Holy shit," I say.

"Right?"

"Of course you would say that."

"What's wrong with confidence? Look what it just got you. Hang around me and you'll have more confidence than you know what to do with."

Rachel laughs, then runs off to the street lamp and hides behind it. She cups her hand beside her mouth.

"Say yes!" she calls out.

I look down the street behind her, over my shoulder, at the lights lining the sidewalk leading to the front door of a neighborhood house.

"Dad?" I whisper.

Rachel strolls back to me, head down, her hands in her pockets, stomping the heels of her shoes against the pavement. She looks up at me.

"Listen, Chloe…we can sit around in this small town waiting for the whims of fate to one day decree that we're worthy, or we can get out there and get up in fate's face. You know what we'll say?"

Silvery-grey snowflakes descend all around us, onto my shoulders, my shirt, my shoes, onto Rachel's hair. I let a bunch collect in my hand, then blow the dusty specks back into the air.

"Thanks, Dad," I say.

Rachel chokes on her words.

"Uh, not exactly," she says. She looks up at the sky. "Oh. See? It's a sign. We were meant to share our gifts with the world."

"What are you now, Santa Claus?"

"Only if you're Mrs. Claus."

The flakes grow in size as they fall in greater numbers. I close my hand around a pile of them. They're warm to the touch. I close my eyes and nod.

"So, where are we taking Kris Kringle's sleigh?" I ask.

Rachel smiles. "You tell me. You're the one fixing up our sled. What uniquely twisted destination does Rachel Amber plus Chloe Price equal?"

I look down the street.

"The open road."

"You and me driving down the coast, filling up our truck with hilarious souvenirs, and every night we'll find a different beach to walk along as we watch the sun go down. One day, you'll be at a gas station fixing the brakes and some guy with no shirt on will come up to you."

"Yeah, whatever," I say. I shove her shoulder playfully.

"And he'll say, 'That's so hot that you know about cars.' And I'll say, 'Back off. She's with me.'"

"We'll need proof," I say. I thread my fingers between hers and hold up our arms together. "We should get matching tattoos."

"Nice."

"I was thinking a vine-wrapped rose the color of blood that snakes all the way from our elbows to our shoulders, capped with a skull that symbolizes a life where the shepherd of our days is always in our fucking faces."

"Sounds like you've given this some thought."

"I may or may not have a lot of free time."

"That skull of yours isn't just a symbol of fate, though. Neither are these ashes. Think about it: what comes after those things?"

"Decay?"

"Rebirth," she says. "A gift from the spark that sets in motion a series of unforgettable, life-changing events."

She puts her hands on my shoulders. I rest my fingers on her wrists.

"A butterfly flutters its wings for the last time in a place called Carmel-by-the-Sea, two new butterflies in a northern seaside town emerge from their cocoons to begin the rest of their lives."

"You never left the stage, did you?"

"I was just waiting for you to join me. We leave tonight. Let's go sneak some clothes from my house, then we'll go set up camp in the junkyard while you work on that truck."

"What if I can't get it running?"

"Then we'll hop a train, Jack Kerouac style, and sail wherever the wind blows us."