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Jem squeezed his hand. The AC hissed in the vents, and Tean’s drying sweat left him feeling sticky. He plucked at his shirt. In the passenger window, his reflection chased him.
“First thing,” Jem said, “and I know this isn’t the time or place, but your swearing has really improved. Like, next level.”
Tean tried to twist his hand free.
Laughing softly, Jem held on. “And second thing, you’re right. I know you’re right—and you know I know you’re right. People are stupid. People are greedy. They do the dumbest shit, not thinking about who it’ll hurt—not even if it’ll hurt them—because they want something. So, preach it. I’m all ears. But I think maybe you’re not mad at the dumb rednecks who fall off their boats and get their dicks sliced off by propellers.”
“That wasn’t in any of the scenarios I described.”
“It was implied. I think—”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“I think,” Jem said again, a little more firmly this time, “you’re upset because of Una, and because of Missy, and because there’s some systemic-level shittiness happening in this part of the world.”
Tean rubbed his eyes and let his head rock back against the seat.
“I learned systemic last week,” Jem added quietly, “and I’ve been waiting for a chance to use it.”
“It was perfect,” Tean said and wiped his eyes again.
“Hey.”
“No,” Tean said, his voice thick. “You’re right. I’m not mad at those stupid, selfish people—I mean, I am, but for different reasons, and not right now. I’m mad at this stupid police chief. And I’m mad that nobody else seems to care. And I’m mad because I’m scared, and it’s easier to be mad than scared. And I’m mad because I feel so helpless.”
Jem stretched across the seat to kiss Tean’s cheek.
Tean accepted the kiss and then pushed him away. “Do you know how many people die each year from distracted driving?”
“Hm?”
“Last year, over three thousand people—Jem!”
Jem released the wheel, turned, and propped his chin in his hand as he listened to Tean with a suspiciously interested expression. The Jetta began to drift. “Don’t leave me hanging. How many people exactly?”
“We’re going to crash!”
“You were saying something about distracted driving.”
“You have to hold the steering wheel, you can’t—” Tean reached for the steering wheel, but Jem got in his way. They were halfway across the double yellow line now, and headlights appeared in the distance. “Jem, there’s a car coming!”
“I just want to hear one truly horrifying statistic about distracted driving so I’ll learn my lesson.”
“We’re going to crash. And we’re going to die. And the girls are going to grow up without parents, and whoever adopts Scipio won’t let him lick nacho cheese from his whiskers like you do, and you and I will probably be burned beyond recognition in the inferno.”
“I’ve always kind of wanted to be cremated.” They were three-quarters of the way across the line, and the headlights swelled as they rushed toward them. “Hey, maybe we can be in the same urn? They’ll have to mash up some of the bones that don’t burn, I guess, but I bet they can make us both fit.”
“Jem!”
“One distressingly soul-crushing fact.”
“The cost of distracted driving every year is more than the National Institutes of Health’s annual budget!”
Jem hooked the wheel, and they glided back into their lane, and a moment later, a Mack truck blew past in the opposite direction. A horn blared, and then everything was darkness and silence again.
Tean pushed his hands through his hair. He did it again. He realized he was bent halfway over like he was trying to catch his breath, and he sat up, readying himself for a really good shout.
And Jem was grinning at him, slouched in the seat, one hand lazy on the wheel. “Feel better?”
