41

AFTER SEVEN HOURS ON THE road, my ass feels as flat as a pancake. Maybe not even a full pancake. More like a crepe. Alissa and I stand at the front of the car, discussing our game plan while I shake it out and fluff it back up to its badda-boom glory. The guys are inside the car, because Alissa said they look too suspicious. She also claims that there’s nothing more non-threatening than a pregnant girl, but I beg to differ. She’s somehow managed to work everything to her advantage and get exactly what she wants from three fully grown adults who used to think they were in charge of their lives, and she hasn’t even broken a sweat getting it done, either. She’s a monster in pregnant lady clothing.

Alissa was allegedly too tired most of the way here to discuss our plans, but since we arrived in San Jose, she hasn’t shut up. Turns out, it was better to wait like she suggested and get to know the lay of the land first. Now we can follow someone from a distance without looking like maniacs s