This is what happened.

We stood on the side of the road.

In Georgia.

Just past the Florida-Georgia state line. Which is not at all — in any way — a line. Yet people insist that it exists. Think about that.

Granny turned to me and said, “All will be well.”

I said, “I do not believe you.”

I refused to look at her.

We were both quiet for a very long time.

Three semis drove past us. One was painted with a picture of a cow standing in a field of green grass. I was jealous of that cow because she was at home and I was not.

It seemed like a very sad thing to be jealous of a fake cow on the side of a truck.

I must warn you that a great deal of this story is extremely sad.

When the third semi blew past us without even slowing down, Granny said, “I am only attending to your best interests.”

Well, what was in my best interests was being with Raymie Clarke and Beverly Tapinski. Raymie and Beverly were the friends of my heart, and they had been my best friends for two solid years. I could not survive without them. I couldn’t. It was just not possible.

So what I said to Granny was, “I want to go home. Being with Archie is in my best interests. Raymie and Beverly and Buddy the one-eyed dog are in my best interests. You don’t understand anything about my best interests.”

“Now is not the time,” said Granny. “This conversation is inopportune. I feel extremely unwell. But nonetheless, I am persevering. As should you.”

Well, I did not care that Granny felt extremely unwell.

And I was tired of persevering.

I crossed my arms over my chest. I stared down at the ground. There were a lot of ants running around on the side of the highway looking very busy and pleased with themselves. Why would ants choose to live on the side of a highway where they were just going to get run over by cars and semis on a regular basis?

Since I was not talking to Granny, there was no one in the world for me to ask this question of.

It was a very lonely feeling.

And then an old man in a pickup truck stopped.

The old man in the pickup truck was named George LaTrell.

He rolled down his window and raised his cap off his head and said, “Howdy, I am George LaTrell.”

I smiled at him.

It is best to smile. That is what Granny has told me my whole life. If you have to choose between smiling and not smiling, choose smiling. It fools people for a short time. It gives you an advantage.

According to Granny.

“Now, what are you two lovely ladies doing on the side of the road?” said George LaTrell.

“Good morning, George LaTrell,” said Granny. “It seems we have miscalculated and run entirely out of gasoline.” She smiled a very large smile. She used all of her teeth.

“Miscalculated,” said George LaTrell. “Run entirely out of gasoline. My gracious.”

“Could we impose upon you for a ride to the nearest gas station and back again?” said Granny.

“You could impose upon me,” said George LaTrell.

I considered not imposing upon George LaTrell, because the truth is that in addition to being tired of persevering, I was also tired of imposing. Granny and I were always imposing on people. That is how we got by. We imposed. Also, we borrowed.

Sometimes we stole.

I considered not getting into the truck. I considered running down the highway, back to Florida.

But I did not think I would be able to run fast enough.

I have never been able to run fast enough.

And by that I mean that no matter where I go, Granny seems to find me.

Is that fate? Destiny? The power of Granny?

I do not know.

I got in the truck.

The inside of George LaTrell’s truck smelled like tobacco and vinyl. The seat was ripped up, and stuffing was coming out of it in places.

“We certainly do appreciate this, George LaTrell,” said Granny.

Once somebody told Granny what their name was, she never lost a chance to use it. She said that people liked to hear the sound of their own names above and beyond any other sound in the world. She said it was a scientifically proven fact.

I doubted it very sincerely.

I sat in George LaTrell’s truck and picked at the stuffing coming out of the seat, and then I threw the little pieces of stuffing fluff out the window.

“Stop that, Louisiana,” said Granny.

But I didn’t stop.

I threw pieces of truck stuffing out the window, and I thought about the people (and animals) I had left behind.

Raymie Clarke, who loved to read and who listened to all of my stories.

Beverly Tapinski, who was afraid of nothing and who was very good at picking locks.

And then there was Archie, who was King of the Cats.

And Buddy the one-eyed dog, who was also known to us as the Dog of Our Hearts.

What if I never got the chance to use those names again?

What if I was destined to never again stand in front of those people (and that cat and that dog) and say their names out loud to them?

It was a tragic thought.

I threw more stuffing from George LaTrell’s truck window. The stuffing looked like snow flying through the air. If you squinted, it did. If you squinted really hard.

I am good at squinting.

George LaTrell took us to a gas station called Vic’s Value. Granny started the work of talking Mr. LaTrell into pumping some gas into a can for her and also making him pay for what he pumped.

And since I had no desire to witness her efforts to get the gas that would only take me farther from my home and friends, I walked away from the two of them and went inside Vic’s Value, where it smelled like motor oil and dirt. There was a tall counter with a cash register on it.

Next to the cash register, there was a rack that was full of bags of salted peanuts, and even though my heart was broken and I was filled with the most terrible despair, my goodness, I was hungry.

I stared very hard at those little bags of peanuts.

The man behind the counter was sitting on a chair that had wheels, and when he saw me, he came out from behind the counter like a spider, moving his feet back and forth and back and forth. The chair made a squeaky exasperated noise as it rolled toward me.

“How do you do?” I said. I smiled, using all of my teeth. “My granny is outside getting some gas.”

The man turned his head and looked at Granny and George LaTrell, and then he looked back at me.

“Yep,” he said.

I considered him.

He had a lot of hair in his nose.

“How much are your peanuts?” I said.

I said this even though I did not have any money at all. Granny always said, “Ask the price exactly as if you intend to pay.”

The man didn’t answer me.

“Are you Vic?” I said.

“Could be.”

“I am Louisiana Elefante.”

“Yep,” he said.

He took a yellow spotted handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it across his forehead. His hands were almost entirely black with grease.

I said, “I have been made to leave home against my will.”

“That right there is the story of the world,” said Vic.

“It is?” I said.

“Yep.”

“I hate it,” I said. “I have friends at home.”

Vic nodded. He folded his spotted handkerchief up into a neat square and put it back in his pocket.

“You can take as many of them little bags of peanuts as you want to,” he said. He nodded in the direction of the peanut rack.

“Free of charge,” he said. And then he rolled himself back around the counter.

Well, this was the only good thing that had happened to me since Granny woke me up at three a.m. and told me that the day of reckoning had arrived.

In some ways, this is a story of woe and confusion, but it is also a story of joy and kindness and free peanuts.

“Thank you,” I said.

I helped myself to fourteen bags.

Vic smiled at me the whole time I was taking the peanuts from the rack.

There is goodness in many hearts.

In most hearts.

In some hearts.

I love peanuts.