Page 122 of Something in Between

“You can go faster,” Royce says. “You’re not even going ten miles an hour.”

“That’s scary,” I say. “What if I lose control?”

“Oh my God. You’re not the drunk one,” he says. “You really don’t want us to drive.”

Still, I make the car crawl along. Ido notwant to crash a car that can be associated with Congressman Blakely. Knowing my luck, the whole awful thing would end up on the morning news.

“This could take hours,” Royce growls. “You can’t go this slow, Jas.”

“I’m not going to go any faster,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting this to be driver’s education with a drunk instructor.”

“You should have your license already,” Royce complains.

“Well, I can’t fix that at two in the morning. So help me out!”

Royce leans back in his seat. “I’ll teach you some more this summer,” he says, forgetting or in denial that I have to leave after graduation, which is two months away.

“Why don’t you just navigate,” I say.

Right then I look at the rearview mirror and see a police car flashing its lights at us. I slam on the brakes, terrified, my heart in my throat.

“What the hell?” Royce says. “He must be checking on Lo’s party.”

I knew this was going to happen. Just like the last time.

Bye-bye, America. Bye-bye, life.

“Goddamn it! I told you I was going to screw up!” I’m terrified.

“Chill out, calm down. Pull over,” Royce says as the police cruiser makes a loudbw-w-wip. “You weren’t drinking. You’re fine.”

“I’mfine?” I say, pulling over. “I don’t have a driver’s license! My family could end up in a detention center. Who knows if I’ll ever seeyouagain?! Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“Maybe I should do th’ talking,” Kayla slurs.

“Shut up, Kayla,” Royce and I both say. Royce looks like he’s sobering up, especially when he realizes what’s at stake.

It feels like an eternity as the officer gets out of his car and walks up to the window. He knocks on it and I roll it down.

“Good evening,” he says, eyeing all of us.

I swallow my nerves. This can’t be harder than performing in front of thousands at Nationals. “How are you, Officer? Busy night?”

“I’m fine,” he says cheerfully. “But your friends there don’t look so hot.”

“They’re not,” I say.

“How come? You all been drinking at that party down the street?”

Did the officer bust Lo’s house? Is everyone at the party in trouble too?

“That’s what they were doing,” I say. “I just stopped by to get them.”

“So you weren’t drinking? Just your underage pals?” He looks at me closely. “Why, pray tell, were you driving so slow, then? You were twenty miles under the speed limit. You could have caused an accident.”

Just then Royce opens the door and throws up in the gutter. He hacks so hard I think it’s going to wake up the entire neighborhood. This couldn’t get any worse.

The police officer gets a whiff. He wrinkles up his nose.

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