Page 30 of Crash Course

“How many times have I told you to stay away from the Ashfords?”

Dad’s clearly overreacting. I’m an adult and this was entirely my decision. “This has nothing to do with them. I’m getting credit for the semester I need to stay in town. It’s not a big deal.”

He exhales hard. “Did I push you into this? Make you think you couldn’t talk to me?”

“No. If anything, you try too hard to protect me.” I think of how I’m covering his shifts at the garage. “When were you going to tell me that you went to the academy?”

His face freezes in confusion. “I didn’t.”

“Then why do you have a file there?”

His eyes flash. “You’re grounded.”

The whiplash is getting to me more than the disagreement.

“We’re not going to have a conversation like normal people?” I say it as if we aren’t both better at communicating with cars.

“Not about this.”

My mouth falls open. “You’ve never grounded me in my life!”

“Well, I’m starting now.”

“I’m twenty. You missed your window.”

He bellows in frustration. “Then I’m taking your car until you come to your senses.”

There’s a good reason I don’t walk anywhere from my house. Living on the outskirts of town, the closest destination is the gas station, which is still a twenty-minute walk. Ashford Academy is an hour-plus, and I missed the only bus that would deliver me anywhere in the vicinity.

I’m taking your car until you come to your senses.

My dad’s barking voice yesterday echoes in my head as I start up the street.

The roiling in my gut isn’t only anger. It’s regret. A week and a half is all it took him to find out. I’m not sure how long I figured I’d keep it up, but at least until he could go back to work.

I can’t remember the last time he was this upset with me. What if the idea was doomed from the start? I don’t belong at Ashford. Thinking I could fit into that world was misguided.

The storm clouds overhead threaten to erupt as a text comes in from Megan.

MEGAN: Are we meeting up before class?

I consider calling Theo, but I’m too ashamed to explain. My problems are mundane compared to his—living in a mansion, racing for an F1 seat and multimillion-dollar contract.

It takes me a few minutes on the Ashford student web portal to find what I’m looking for: the drop form. A few clicks and I could be pulled out of school entirely. It’d be like I never went there.

Raindrops plop on my phone screen. I tip my face up and catch another on my nose. Then three. Then five.

There’s no way for today to get worse, I think.

Then the last car I would want to see pulls up beside me, shining in the corner of my eye.

Porsche 911 Turbo.

I was wrong. What’s worse is hitting rock bottom and Jameson Ashford witnessing your fall.

I force my feet to keep moving along the gravel. The window rolls down with a smooth hum.

“Where’s your Fastback, Townie?”