In the distance, several brightly lit booths span the dark highway. Red-and-white maple leaf flags fly above them. It’s a few minutes after eleven p.m.

Barry rouses from his slumber in the seat beside me and rubs his eyes. “The border? Shit. Shit!”

I feel a tight chill. There’s only one reason why he’d be so freaked. “You carrying?”

He bites a knuckle. “Zach asked me to bring a couple of lids.”

Were a tachometer measuring my pulse, it’d be redlining. If we can see the border crossing ahead, then the agents in those booths can see us — or see our headlights, anyway. And right now, that’s enough.

Barry has to know what a couple of ounces represents. Possession with intent to sell . . . serious jail time. “Pull over,” he urges. He wants to get rid of the grass.

Too late for that. “It’ll look suspicious. They’ll know why.”

“Shit! Shit!” Barry continues freaking. Tinsley squeezes into the space between the seats and gives me a wide-eyed look.

“Just be cool,” I tell them. Easy to say; I’m gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my fingernails are digging into my palms.

“Fuck,” Barry gripes anxiously. “Fuuuuuck!”

We can’t arouse suspicion. What comes from my lips next isn’t quite shouted but close. “I said cool it!”

Meanwhile, we’re getting closer to the crossing and Barry’s anything but cool. “I got busted last year for possession. My parents kept it quiet and made a deal with the district attorney. It’s why I had to go back to Silver Hill. But I get caught again, it’ll be the slammer for sure.”

We do not want Cousin Barry to go to jail. We don’t want Lucas or Tinsley to go there, either. At least not for drugs. I doubt you get sent to a minimum-security prison with tennis courts for possession with intent to sell.

We’re nearing the booths. Barry slides out of the front seat and into the back. An unzipping sound follows.

“Don’t throw it out the window!” I shout. “We’re too close. They’ll see.”

The border agents are visible through the booth windows. Each one is wearing a dark-blue short-sleeve uniform.

“I’m putting it in your knapsack,” Barry says from the back. “If they search us, you can say you didn’t tell us you were carrying. They’re not that hard on first offenders.”