Imogen started off before either of us could protest. But not before giving me the most obvious wink in the universe. It was the sort of excessive wink that was usually accompanied by a pair of thumbs-up. But for the sake of being clandestine, she instead hooked her thumbs in her pockets and sauntered off like some hard-boiled private investigator. Very noir.

Flash.

Suddenly, I was lying on my side in the back seat of a car. I recognized the upholstery immediately. It was my car—the Subaru. The way my knees were curled to the side in a near-fetal position, it was obvious I was attempting to stay below the window level. I was hiding.

Wynonna was hiding. What the hell?

That was when I noticed the background music. And I say “background” generously, because it was blasting from my phone, which was lying directly beside my left ear on the back seat, the volume cranked up to Who Needs Eardrums, Anyway?

The song was “We Belong” by Pat Benatar. Wynonna had pulled up the music video on YouTube.

She was having a real Pat Benatar sort of day, wasn’t she?

What happened next was pure ninja. I hopped over the center console, slid masterfully into the driver’s seat, shoved the key into the ignition—it had been clutched tightly in my left hand the whole time, leaving a key-shaped imprint—and turned it. The Subaru engine gave a less-than-mighty roar.

As I peeled out of my spot, left hand gripping the twelve o’clock on my steering wheel, my right hand fumbled with the auxiliary cord. I started the song over and cranked the car stereo volume to I Want to Feel the Song in My Teeth.

If Wynonna needed Pat Benatar, then I would give her Pat fucking Benatar.

“Many times I tried to tell you… many times I cried alone,” Pat sang softly. “Always I’m surprised how well you cut my feelings to the bone.”

I squealed around the corner of the B-Lot, cutting off Imogen’s path to the school. Lucky for me, Wynonna had already started chasing desperately after her. Even Holden was trailing behind at a slow and confused pace.

I rolled down the window, just as Pat reached the chorus.

“WE BELONG TO THE LIGHT, WE BELONG TO THE THUNNNNDER,” Pat wailed, with an untamed heartache that only the ’80s knew. “WE BELONG TO THE SOUND OF THE WORDS WE’VE BOTH FALLEN UNNNNNNDER.”

Imogen seemed irked that her matchmaking moment had been foiled. Wynonna, meanwhile, shuffled to a halt in her punk-heel tracks—completely and utterly mortified that I was blasting the anthem of her bleeding heart.

“Dude!” Holden shouted. He was several yards away but rapidly closing the gap. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Where have I been?” I said. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”