At that moment, I really hated that my superpowers prevented me from shaking the crap out of him. I settled for balling my fist up in the front of his shirt and pulling him down to meet my eyes. “David, look around you. This? This is crazy-sauce. And if you know anything that could help me figure out why I’m suddenly Wonder Woman, I need to know it right. Effing. Now.”

I actually said the word that time, and David’s eyes went so wide I wondered if that had shocked him more than the disappearing Cadillac.

But he never got a chance to answer me.

“Yoo-hoo!” a voice called out from the other side of my fence, and David and I both went still.

“Is that?” I hissed.

“My Aunt Saylor.” He gulped.

The back gate swung open, and suddenly Saylor Stark was standing there, a pair of Chanel sunglasses pushed down her nose as she took in the sight of me, shaking and sweaty, clutching the front of her nephew’s T-shirt.

“Oh my,” she said, and two syllables had never contained so much dismay. “What exactly is going on here?”

David and I practically leapt apart as Saylor moved into the yard, her high heels sinking slightly. The late afternoon sunlight flashed on her silver hair as well as the silver and turquoise jewelry around her neck. Other than a slight grass stain on the hem of her beige trousers, she looked as immaculate as ever.

“I was over at Anne Beckwith’s, and I thought I saw your car tearing down the street, David James Stark,” she said, pushing her sunglasses back into place with one finger. “But I told myself, ‘Of course not, Saylor. David would never drive so irresponsibly. Besides, he’s meant to be in school right now.’”

She turned her head to me. “As are you, correct, Miss Price?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said feebly. “I . . . I felt sick, and David offered to drive me home.”

I couldn’t see her eyes behind her dark glasses, but I had a feeling they were very cold. “Really?” she said. “How odd. Because right after I had the thought that David would never, ever drive his car in such a manner, I noticed that he was not the one behind the wheel.”

Oh God. Of all the people to see me doing my Dale Earnhardt, Jr., impression, it had to be Saylor Stark.

“She asked to drive it,” David said, speaking up for the first time. He still seemed a little out of it, and his voice wasn’t as strong as normal, but he was still good at thinking on his feet. “She’d never driven one like it before, so she, uh, wanted to.”

As one, the three of us looked over at David’s pathetic Dodge. Even without its fender and back door mangled, it didn’t exactly scream, “DRIVE ME.”