As I began my long walk home across town, the residents of Willow began waking up and emerging from their homes. Despite the chilly temperature the day before, the earthy scent of spring hung heavily in the air, and I suspected the temperature was going to be pleasantly warm later on. The normal routine of a Saturday morning had commenced, and this was the first time in my whole life that I was experiencing it as an observer, taking notice of every chirping bird and lazily rolling cloud, because I might not ever witness all of this again. It was upsetting to think that I was already several hours into what might have been the last Saturday of my life.

The honk of a car horn behind me tore me out of my reverie, and I turned to see a green Mini Cooper slowing down along the shoulder of the road. I cursed under my breath as my stomach soured; the last thing I wanted to do that morning was be around Violet, even just in passing. But there was nowhere to hide; she already had an advantage over me in that there wasn’t any plausible reason for me to be walking along the side of the road so far from home at that hour. It would have been pretty easy for her to have guessed the reason why I was up so early, and on the other side of town.

Violet lowered her passenger-side window and called out to me, “Hey. Do you need a ride?” A Top 40 song trickled out the window after her voice. Inwardly, I recoiled at the sound of it; I didn’t feel like hearing an upbeat melody.

My first instinct was to decline, but it was almost nine in the morning, and Mom and Glenn were definitely awake by then, probably wondering where I was. If I could endure Violet for just five minutes, I’d be home, and wouldn’t have to conjure up lies in an hour about where I’d been all morning. So I opened the passenger-side door and climbed in.

“You’re up early,” Violet said. To her credit, she sounded like she was making lighthearted conversation instead of accusing me of something.

I fastened my seat belt and replied stoically, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Understandable,” she said, with what sounded like genuine sympathy. “Were you able to find out if you’re…”

“Next in line? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I am.”

My answer dangled in the space between us for a few uncomfortable seconds before Violet attempted to rekindle our conversation. “I was just on my way home from yoga in Ortonville. I keep hoping a studio will open here in town, but…”

I clocked her bright blue yoga top and pants, and the rolled-up mat in the back seat. To deflect her obvious attempt to get me to share my reason for being out, I replied, “The park district has yoga classes every single morning—for senior citizens, new moms, and advanced students.” Certainly, smug Violet thought of herself as too sophisticated to get her flow on at the park district.