“Tyra, that’s enough.” I turned to Sara for help, but she was looking away, her head shaking in small movements. In the bus, men began to stand, seven or eight crossing from the other side, their fingers, too, in the mesh.

Tyra said, “Watch this.”

She touched herself below the waist, grinding her hips, her breasts still exposed. A prisoner beat on the mesh; another did the same. Behind them, a guard was moving down the aisle, pushing, shouting. Men began to yell, most of them on their feet. The guard pulled a prisoner from the window, then another. A third prisoner pushed back, and the bus swerved across the dotted line, forcing Jason onto the road’s edge, tires in the gravel as the car shimmied, straightened. I said, “Jesus, Tyra!” But she was excited, oblivious. Another guard appeared, his baton rising and falling. It was a riot, a beatdown. Blood flecked the glass. “Jason, let’s go!”

My voice seemed to penetrate at last. Jason made no sudden move, but took his foot from the gas and let the car coast. The bus pulled away, and I saw movement in the back—a convict, the smiling one. He stared at Tyra, then licked the glass. She didn’t see it happen. She dropped into the seat, adjusting her top. “That was hilarious.” The car slowed further, wind noise dropping. No one responded to the comment, and she looked around, surprised. “What? Come on. Did you see those guys?”

Jason steered the car onto the verge and stopped. “That was stupid, Tyra.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Stupid and fucked up and cruel.”

“Jesus. Why are you being such a baby?”

“I need a minute.”

Getting out, Jason walked along the road for thirty feet or so, then stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at the horizon and the last far, faint twinkle of sunlight on glass.

“You guys wait here.”

I said it with rare authority, and followed the dusty road to where it met my brother’s boots. He turned at the sound of my steps, then closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the sun. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“You okay?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

It was not the answer I expected—too honest and, again, too human. “That was bullshit, man. Tyra knows you did time.”

“Maybe she forgot,” he said.

“Maybe she doesn’t care.”

Jason lifted his shoulders, noncommittal. Far away, the bus glinted once more, then disappeared. It was quiet on the road. He was still paler than usual.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s like a slow bleed, is all.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant. Prison, I supposed. The memories. He put a hand on my shoulder; faked a smile. “Did you have fun today?”

“Until Tyra. You know.”