In that moment, I was actively contemplating the best way to throw myself from the vehicle so that it would kill me instantly. We weren’t going fast enough, but perhaps if I just slid out, I would roll under the tires. But that was only sufficient if it crushed my head or maybe several vital organs. If it only ran over an arm or a leg, that would mostly just suck.

Wynezra laughed. “Relax, man! I liked it. It was really good.”

Headfirst. I had to go headfirst. Basically, grab the bottom lip and swing myself beneath the car. It was the only way if I was going for maximum chance of fatality—

Wait, what?

I looked at Wynezra. Her expression was one of deep amusement, but there was also something else. Sympathy, maybe? Was Wynonna even capable of sympathy?

“Look, I’m sorry,” said Wynezra. “You left a window open on your computer, and I was bored, and obviously I couldn’t sleep, and… Okay, I’ll just say it: I watched your entire channel.”

This seemed like an appropriate moment to die. And yet…

“You liked it?” I said.

“I’ll be honest,” said Wynezra. “I think Johnny Depp has lost his fucking mind. I think we’re watching his midlife crisis on the big screen. But with that said… you nailed him, man. I mean, your Sweeney Todd? Jesus, it gave me chills! Where did you learn to sing like that?”

Okay, so if you’re a cultured human being, or perhaps just a disturbed one, you know that Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street is a musical. A gory, horrifying musical about a serial killer barber who murders his victims with a straight razor and then processes their corpses into meat pies that he sells to the public. But a musical nonetheless. So naturally, I had to sing for his video.

I didn’t “learn to sing” so much as I just watched Sweeney Todd on an endless repeat until his voice was an echo, a rhythm in my head. From there, it was pure mimicry.

I shrugged. It was all I could do. I was still stuck at: “You liked it?”

“Man, I can’t wait to show this to Imogen,” said Wynezra. “She’s gonna freak.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “You can’t show this to Imogen.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because you can’t!”

“Dude. You already have, like, a million subscribers.”

“Ten thousand,” I corrected nervously.

“Exactly! Ten thousand subscribers! What does it matter if one more person sees it?”

“It matters because I know that person.”

“You know me, and I saw it.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. Besides, I listened on your Holden tapes, so…” I glanced at the word “karma” tattooed on my inner forearm. Raised it for Wynezra to see. That made her chuckle.

“Damn straight,” she said, shoving me playfully. “Karma, bitch.”