We talked it all out ahead of time. With the double shifts and no bus service, I have to be the one to pick her up. It’s no big deal, only a few miles down the road. I’ve been driving since I was ten. I just have to be careful not to get spotted. Though I’ve never driven in snow. My insides curl up like dead leaves on a tree, but we leave for LA in six hours. Mom’s counting on me.

Once the windshield’s mostly clear, I get back in, adjust the seat, and check my mirrors, just like Mom taught me. It’s a pretty straightforward drive to the diner. Just head out of the campsite and make a right on Grove Street and follow it all the way there. But the snow’s so new and it’s so late that when I pull out onto the road, I can’t even see the double yellow lines.

My hands are shaking. I’m going maybe ten miles an hour. I’m afraid to go faster. I turn on the radio to help me concentrate. It’s an Ed Sheeran song, “Castle on the Hill,” an old favorite, and it’s about driving, so it feels appropriate. Come on, Ed, sing me there safely.

It feels like I’ve been driving forever. My knuckles are white on the wheel, and my whole body’s starting to ache from the tension. This isn’t like driving on back roads on a summer day. There’s a delay between when I move the wheel and when the truck follows, like I’m steering a boat. But I’m so close I can see the halo of the streetlight above the diner. It’s the finish line. I let out the breath I’ve been holding and hit the gas just a little harder. I don’t see it until it’s too late. It’s a shadow in the dark, and then it’s antlers and hooves, a deer ambling across the road—

I slam on the brakes and pull hard on the steering wheel.

The world goes spinning.

My head bangs against the window.

I cry out and cover my face from whatever comes next.

I can hear the engine ticking like a bomb. I look up, but everything’s fuzzy and backward. I’m facing the wrong direction. I’ve spun off the street into the opposite ditch. I try the engine. It whirs but won’t start. In the glare of the headlights, I can see the wobbly S my tires traced across the road. I can’t find the deer. Maybe it made it? I hope so. Man, my head hurts. The radio’s still playing.