Wynezra jumped out of the car. Stormed toward the Malibu in a great and terrible Oz-like fury.

The man exited the vehicle, too. He even went so far as to remove his sunglasses. He was big. Real big. Also, he had a Chinese-style dragon snaking across his forearm, disappearing beneath his rolled-up flannel sleeve. The guy could easily kick Wynezra’s ass.

He also looked scared. But maybe not so scared of Wynezra.

He looked scared of me.

Several times, I caught him glancing my way, then to Wynezra, then back to me. All the while, his face was flushing with shame.

He looked so familiar, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.

“Who are you?” said the man.

“You got a lotta fucking nerve,” said Wynezra.

“I asked, ‘Who are you?’”

“Who am I? I’m the guy your daughter told to come out here and tell you to get fucking lost! That’s who! You don’t get to know who I am!”

Holy shit. Daughter? This was Wynonna’s dad?

Already, Wynonna’s dad seemed to know he had lost this fight before it even started. He looked lost, flustered, wholly ashamed of himself.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be here. Let me just… let me apologize to her.”

Wynezra was shaking her head before he even finished. “Five. That’s how many seconds you have before I call nine-one-one.”

“Hey. There’s nothing to stop me from seeing my own daughter. I have a legal right—”

“Explain that to the police when we tell them you’ve been following her to school. I’m sure that’ll look real great next to your criminal record, douchebag.”

The man opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was defeated.

“Four,” said Wynezra. “Three. Two—”

“I’m going, I’m going,” said the man, hands in the air.

He climbed into his Malibu.

Started the engine.

Drove off.

When Wynezra returned to the car, she was cold, flat, emotionless. She was the Great Wall of China of pent-up feelings. Her barriers were probably visible from outer space.

“Daughter?” I said.

“I don’t talk to Imogen about your videos,” said Wynezra. “You don’t talk to me about my dad. That’s the new deal. Deal?”

“But… I should know this, shouldn’t I? For appearances’ sake?”

Wynezra slammed both fists on the steering wheel, causing it to wail. “THIS IS NOT A FUCKING REQUEST.”

I bit my lip. Nodded.

I must have looked scared out of my tits because Wynezra immediately looked apologetic.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m just… I’m not ready to talk about him. Not yet.”

We drove the rest of the way to school in silence.

“Hey, Wynonna.”

I just closed my locker, and there was Imogen—coming straight toward me, like a careening vehicle, with no sign of stopping.

She wasn’t smiling.

Likewise, my reception was very deer-in-the-headlights.