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Right now, though, the lightness isn’t coming to me.
“Goddammit,” I growl as I speed down the highway toward school.
As I near the rear end of a car moving at the pace of a freakin’ old person in the grocery store, I slam my foot on the gas, downshift, and make a quick pass around. Once I’m back in the correct lane, I crank up the stereo and crack the window, letting the warm morning breeze gust into the cab.
“Come on; just relax,” I mutter to myself. “You’ll fix this mess just like you always do.”
I sound less convincing than I want to. While I want to believe everything is fixable, this time around, I feel like I have no control over the situation. Like all these unseen forces are flying at me from all angles and there’s no way to avoid one without letting another smack me in the face.
Tears start to burn in my eyes, so I increase my speed, zooming well past the speed limit as I near the school. The houses and buildings lining the street blur by. But my heart only thunders in my chest instead of relaxing. And my pulse only increasing when flashing blue and red lights flash from behind me.
“Shit.” I grasp the shifter. “I should’ve taken the back roads.”
For a split-second, I deliberate trying to outrun them, but then I remember how I need to behave so I can get guardianship over my sisters. So, I pull over and park beside the curb.
The school is only a few blocks down so basically every car that drives by probably belongs to someone I’m going to see at school today.
Great. I’m sure this little incident will only add to the whole flyer episode.
Sighing, I get my proof of registration and insurance from the glovebox and dig my driver’s license from out of my bag. Then I glance in the rearview mirror, trying to get a vibe on the cop approaching my car.
He looks young, maybe in his early twenties, and is decked out in a uniform. He’s got that douchebag walk, his legs a bit spread apart too far and his shoulders exaggeratedly swaying. He looks like he thinks he’s the shit, which means a big old fat ticket is going to be written for me.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to sweet talk my way out of this.
Opening and flexing my hands, I plaster on a fake innocent smile as the officer stops beside my door and lowers his head to look into the cab.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asks.
He has a nice face, smooth angles, a straight nose. If Bailey or Payton were here, they’d nickname him Officer Yummy or something like that. Me, I’ll just refer to him as Officer Please Let Me Off the Fucking Hook.
“Because I was slightly speeding?” I say more like a question.
“Slightly?” He frowns. “I clocked you going thirty-seven miles over the speed limit. That’s pushing toward reckless endangerment.”
“Oh.” My fake smile fades. “I’m sorry. I was just …” I rack my brain for some dumb excuse to give him, like I’m on my period or something, but he holds up his hand.
“I don’t want to hear excuses,” he says. “I just need to see your license, registration, and insurance.”
I hand them over, noticing a raised scar on his palm like someone slashed his hand open. Maybe that’s exactly what happened. Cops’ jobs can get dangerous, right? Especially for the cops in Honeyton, who are being bought off by Axel and Blaise’s father.
Crap, crap, crap. Double crap. What if this officer is being paid off and recognizes my name on my driver’s license? Will he know about Mel? Will he hand me over to Axel? Does Axel even want me? Blaise said he’d try to use us to get to my father but never gave me the specifics on how.
I stab my fingernails into my palms, struggling to surrender to the urge to just rev up the engine and take off as Officer—I glance at his nametag—Mklinney scans over my license.
He presses his lips together, lifting his gaze to mine. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
I dig my fingernails deeper into my palms, my gaze traveling to the rearview mirror as he walks away and climbs into his car. Then he takes out his phone and makes a call.
I tap my foot against the floor, twitchy and irritated with myself.
I should’ve just driven to school with the Porterson brothers. Then maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess.
Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, I bottle down my pride and reach for my phone that’s in my bag so I can text Blaise. But Officer Mklinney returns before I can pick it up.
“I’m going to need you to step out of your car.” He hands me back my license, registration, and insurance card.
I toss them onto the passenger seat. “Why?”
