I drive ten klicks under the speed limit, tense as a taut rope. My lips are pressed in a flat line and I might not blink at all despite the sun's orange incandescence. The roads are quiet and I seem to hit every green light. Jeremy has told his parents everything—I don't know what his version of everything is but I can only assume it's all that he knows. This is the only time I have wished my mom lived more than ten minutes away.
I turn into my neighborhood, tires barely creeping as my home comes into view. I spot Jeremy's parents vehicle in the driveway: a silver BMW Z4, barely a year old. It's a gorgeous car and honestly one of the nicer brands to grace the roads of Wolphville. The way sunset glints off of it makes it look like a blade. Reluctantly, as I admire it, I pull up behind Jer
