“Maybe that’s because I’m the only one keeping track of my things.”

“We’re searching your bag,” Brecken says.

Kayla reaches for it, snarling. “You’re not touching my bag.”

“What do you think you’re going to do about it?” Brecken asks. Goose bumps rise on my flesh at the confidence in his tone. He knows she can’t stop him. He knows none of us can. He tilts his head. “We’re not going to have a thief sitting in the car with us.”

Kayla’s eyes brighten. “Newsflash, Brecken. We already have a thief in the car.”

“That’s different,” Harper says, but her voice wavers.

“I don’t know that it is,” I say.

“Thank you,” Kayla says.

“Don’t thank me.” I put my hand up in the universal sign to stop. “It looks shady as hell. We don’t know you, and you haven’t lost anything.”

“None of us know each other, asshole,” Kayla says.

“Watch your mouth with her,” Harper says. “She’s right.”

“It’s a fair point,” Josh says. “But I don’t know if it’s right to search her bag.”

Brecken whirls on Josh. “Why the hell are you defending her?”

“I’m not. I just think we should be fair. We all dump our bags or none of us do. If we have nothing to hide, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“Fine by me,” I say, shivering. “Let’s get this over with. I’m freezing.”

I open my bag from the good latch. The busted one is getting so rickety it might break completely if I use it anymore. I pull two sketchpads, my laptop, and a large tin of Prismacolors out first, followed by a zippered pouch of toiletries and another zippered pouch with a single change of clothes. I always have a few outfits at Mom’s house, so I don’t need much.

“You have colored pencils?” Kayla laughs, momentarily forgetting her anger as she points at the Prismacolors. “What are you, six years old?”

Harper lights up and reaches for them, but I can’t afford a new set of these right now, so I open them briefly before she can touch. I reveal the worn pencils in their metal nest, shocked by their vibrancy. It’s been a long time since I’ve touched these. It’s been nothing but charcoal for sketching for me this year.

“Is that it?” Brecken asks.

“Check for yourself,” I say, nudging my bag forward.

He does, but not with much enthusiasm. My bag is small, and, besides, it’s pretty obvious I didn’t do this. I wouldn’t have stolen my own phone.

“I’ll go,” Josh offers, opening his canvas messenger bag.