The idea of having to start another sixteen weeks felt more like wearing concrete shoes in a dark lake rather than water wings in a shallow pool like my mother seemed to think it was. I thought when I finished basic training and told her that this wasn’t the place for me, she’d let it go. Instead, she threatened to cut me off completely and not help me pay for another program. I wouldn’t even ask her to pay for another program if I had any options. However, since I’d never been allowed to work because she wanted me to focus on school, I had no extra money saved. Now I was wondering if she’d done that by design.

“Shit,” Peter said in the middle of his fiftieth time going through the same story.

How many times could one person repeat how they got to meet the owner of some corporation while golfing? We were supposed to be on a camping trip. Who goes golfing at a private golf course in the middle of a camping vacation with their girlfriend? Of course, Peter insisted he quickly go to the country club that happened to be a short drive away since his dad was a member. He said it would look good to drop in and rub elbows with all the people his dad was trying to kiss ass with and elevate his status. Pretty convenient coincidence considering he booked and planned the trip. I, of course, ended up sitting alone in a tent, waiting for him to return. Angry didn’t even begin to describe what I felt while he was high on pure jubilation.

Peter stopped rambling.

“What is it,” I asked and turned my head to look at Peter.

It was rare to see anything about him out of place, but his hair was a mess, and his shirt had wrinkles and a stain on it—god forbid. I thought he was going to combust when he realized that all the other clothes we’d brought with us were dirty, and he’d have to continue wearing a shirt with a spot of ketchup on it.

Peter held out his hand toward the dark road. “Don’t you see? One of my headlights just went out.”

“Okay, we still have one,” I said and placed my elbow on the window edge and my head on my hand.

“Kirby, this is a Mercedes Benz,” he said.

Like that was supposed to enlighten me as to why he was acting like this was a life-and-death scenario.

“I swear you never listen to me, Kirby. I’ve told you like a hundred times that a headlight can cost a fortune. It probably cracked when that stone hit us from that dump truck.”

He smacked his hand off the top of the steering wheel, making me jump in my seat.