Except I can’t get out of the handcuffs. I don’t think I’d get very far running with my arms secured behind my back. I’m pretty sure Canada wouldn’t let me in that way.

“So,” Kori says. “Today has certainly been fun.” She doesn’t sound like she means it. At all.

“Goddamn beach hippies,” I mutter. “I’m not going to get to Canada because the goddamn beach hippies are rock-throwers.”

“Probably,” Kori agrees, as if she can hear the crazy in my head. For all I know, she can. “I’m pretty sure they’ll see this when it’s broadcast on the Internet for all the world to gawk at and immediately close the borders. Your future is pretty much over. Want me to go see if BJ’s is hiring?”

“You’re not helping.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I’m handcuffed while being forced to sit on a curb in a dirty parking lot while wearing a two-hundred-dollar summer dress.”

“You spent two hundred dollars on a dress?” I think the most expensive piece of clothing I own is a pair of jeans that cost thirty bucks at the mall.

She rolled her eyes. “Just because you dress without any thought doesn’t mean others have to do the same.”

“I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

“Before or after we go to jail?”

I groan and hang my head. “I can’t go to jail! I’m five foot seven. That’s like snack-sized to the miscreants and ruffians!”

“It probably doesn’t help that you’re adorable,” she tells me. “There’s going to be no end to what they do to you. If prison TV shows have taught me anything, it’s that you need to find the biggest, baddest, most hard-core motherfucker in there and become his bitch. His name will be Large Tom, and you’ll have to hold his outturned pocket wherever you go. And since Large Tom is the most hard-core, no one else can touch you or they’ll get shanked.”

“They probably don’t even have vegetarian meal options in jail,” I say, my voice full of disdain. “I’ll probably be force to eat some kind of mystery meat.”

“And then be forced to eat Large Tom’s meat,” Kori says. “I am so sad for you.”

“You don’t sound like it.”

“That’s because I’m really not.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Making you march and chant with beach hippies.”

“Yes, there is that. And?”

“And the getting arrested part.”

“Hmm. Yes. That.”

“If it makes you feel better,” I say hopefully, “I’m sure you’re going to look amazing on the news.”

The barest of smiles cracks her lips. “I do look good today, don’t I?”

“Gorgeous.”

“Flatterer. I suppose now we should discuss the elephant in the room.”

“We don’t have to,” I say hastily, knowing where this is going. I give serious consideration to making a run for Canada, handcuffed or not.

She arches an eyebrow at me. “I believe we do.”

“If I don’t end up in jail, I’ll find a way to smuggle cigarettes as currency so you have anything you ever want.”