“It’s useful! I’ve been taking it so my parents don’t realize how late I’m staying awake.”

Lex side-eyes me. “Are you using it to do homework?”

“. . . Maybe.”

The sound of her cackling fills the car. “I feel like other people would use it to, like, sneak out or something,” she manages to say.

“Well, I’m a huge dork, so . . .” I throw my hands in the air helplessly. “Do you want the potion or not?”

“I’ll take it,” she says, still shaking with laughter.

I transfer the vials of Night Vision from one of my wooden transport boxes into her spare leather pouch. I made a new batch of the tanning potion Lex likes last weekend, so I put a few vials of that in too.

We spend the rest of the drive bopping to her earth-shakingly loud EDM. When she drops me off at home, I hop out and lean against the open car door. “You really should come over this week to study. We can make it low stress! We can even practice drills.” I flash her a grin. “I know you love drills.”

She snickers, shaking her head. “Girl, you know I love a good drill.”

Lex is way better at the practical section of the MATs than the written one. She’s in the top percentile for all the drills—temperature changes, change of state, texture adjustment, scentwork, electricity generation, weight and density changes. She doesn’t need drill practice, but that might be the confidence boost she needs.

“And I’m sure you don’t want to miss my mom’s cooking.” I dance away from the car, pointing at Lex with my free hand. “Or her weird comments implying that we’re dating.”

She pumps her shoulders, pointing back at me. “Mm, I can never skip Mama Johnson comments.”

“Slightly insensitive, but meant with love.” I shrug. “Okay, byeeeeee!”

“Byeeeeee!”

I close the door and head up to my apartment. Dad immediately shushes me from the kitchen as I run in the door.

“Mom’s sleeping,” he says when I enter the kitchen.

This early? Weird.

“MarTech was really tough today. They had her checking scentwork patches for eight hours straight,” Dad says. He takes the open package of cookies in front of him and holds it out to me. I take two. “I’ll drive you to the old folks later,” he says, turning to fuss over one of his midair plants that has floated past the side of his head. “I need to pick up groceries at Publix, so I’ll drop you off on my way.”