"You have got to be kidding me," My stepdad, Sawyer, said as the car sputtered and died as he steered it to the side of the highway.
My gut tightened. Was he going to blame me for this, since it was my car?
We were somewhere in Arizona, making our way back to San Diego from Colorado. Sawyer opened the door, looked around, and shut the door.
"It's got to be ninety out there," he said.
"Do you have any cell reception?"
I pulled my phone out. "I have one bar."
"Let's both try to call triple-A and see who gets through first."
"Do you have their number?" I asked.
With a sigh, Sawyer held his hand out for my phone. He dialed the number that he must have saved as a contact in his phone and handed my cell back to me.
We both dialed and waited. My phone was completely silent—no ringing,
