Now
They told me not to do this.
They:
My mother, my father, my older sister, my guidance counselor, and, I think, my English teacher.
I, of course, didn’t listen. I didn’t regret listening. But sometimes, when I was like this, with the knob for the strap on Ian’s guitar jabbing me in the side, and an endless stream of nothing rolling past my window, and me in the second-to-last seat of the van—sometimes, when I was like this, I had a tiny nagging thought at the back of my mind: maybe they had had a point.
We were heading for someplace in Virginia. I was the girl who was supposed to know all the details about, so maybe I should have known with a little more precision where I was headed first, but I wasn’t taking turns driving, because I tend to mutter under my breath when I’m driving, and that annoys Pete. It annoys Pete so much that he offered to take all my turns driving. I didn’t object.