Eyes on my lap, I fiddle with the closure on the glove compartment, opening and closing it, over and over. “He’s the same Lucky he always was, you know.” The kind of boy who would lie to protect me, even when I didn’t deserve it.

“He’s a vandal, Josie. That window was huge and will be expensive to replace. Could be a felony charge. He’s likely going to have a criminal record for this.”

He is?

A record that should be mine.

I think I’m going to pass out.

“Josie? Are you okay?” She reaches over my lap and quickly rolls down the window, letting in a burst of cool air. “Breathe. Slowly. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” she says, lightly stroking the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist with her thumb. “There you go. It’s okay. You weren’t drinking tonight, were you?”

I shake my head once. “I’m just … tired.”

“It was a stressful night.” She takes my temperature with the back of her hand on my forehead, my neck. Brushes hair away from my temples. “I’m sorry that moving back here has been … more difficult than our usual relocation. And I’m sorry I didn’t answer the phone when you needed me.”

Sorry I committed a felony and am letting someone else take the fall for me, I think. But I don’t say it out loud, because I’m a coward and an awful person.

“We’ll talk about it later. Let’s just go home right now, okay? Evie will be worried.” She squeezes my shoulder before starting up the Pink Panther. The engine roars to life, shaking the seats and the windows.

How can I hold a grudge against my mom for lying when I’m doing exactly the same thing? That makes me just as bad as her. Worse, because I’m not just hurting myself. I’m hurting Lucky, too.

What’s going to happen to him?

Chapter 5

BEAUTY COURTHOUSE 1857: Chiseled into locally quarried marble, this sign graces the entrance of a historic municipal building on the town common. A disgruntled farmer once dragged the body of a dead sheep inside the lobby and a ship captain shot up the ceiling in protest of taxes. (Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)

Chapter 5

It’s after one in the morning when we get back to the Nook and park in a designated spot tucked into a narrow side alley between us and the Revolutionary War–themed Freedom Art Gallery next door. As soon as we climb the rickety stairs to the above-shop apartment, Evie slides up to me in socks and attacks me with questions and apologies. Why did I leave the party? What was I thinking? Am I okay?

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“She wasn’t arrested,” Mom reports. “They just took her in with Lucky. He’s the one who broke the window, not Josie.”