The thing was a monstrosity that looked closer to a tablet than a phone. I knew because ninety-nine percent of the time, he had the device pointed toward me. It was penance for throwing his old phone under the bus tire. I was half-tempted to douse it with my ice water. One clumsy grasp, an accidental tip of my glass and I could render the thing completely nonfunctional. “Smile for me one more time, guys.” Tate pressed his cheek against mine and smiled. For him, I flashed my pearly whites and complied. Smirking, Carter pressed the shutter. The flash went off, temporarily blinding me. By the night’s end, I was going to have permanent floaters in my field of vision. “How many does that make now,” Tate asked, “three…four…sixty-six?” Lifting his glass, he took another swig of beer. We had stopped at some newfangled rock bar to stretch our legs and grab some dinner. After New York, we had hit New Hampshire and then headed back down toward Boston, where we spent the week before heading west to Buffalo and Pittsburg.
