Page 4 of Wrecked

I brace myself against the passenger door. “Whoa, you’ve got a heavy foot there.”

Victoria ignores me and floors it out of the parking lot. I look out the rear window to make sure no cars are coming down the road.

“We’re on Main Street. Are you crazy?” My voice breaks.

She opens the window, letting her hand out to feel the wind. Her hair is blowing in her face and doesn’t seem to be bothering her in the slightest. I must be sobering up because Victoria is no longer looking as innocent as she did ten minutes ago. Something about her is…off.

I still at the thought and then cautiously ask her, “Victoria, are you on something?”

She smiles a wide-mouthed smile that is atypical for her sourpuss face and slightly shakes her head. “No, Leah. I told you, I’m sober.”

My racing heart slows down a beat. She’s still driving like a maniac, but maybe this is just the way she drives.

She swerves and almost hits a parked car. “I just took a little hit off this guy at the bar.”

My stomach drops. A hit? “A hit of what?”

“Just a little afghan brown.”

“What the hell is afghan brown?” My voice is a screech.

She shakes her head like I’m an idiot and turns down another street, too hard because the tires on the right side of the car just lifted up in the air.

“Slow down!” I scream.

But she isn’t listening. I brace one hand on the door handle and place the other on the dashboard, praying we make it to my house in one piece.

Victoria is in a trance. She starts to sing a song that’s not on the radio. It’s like she’s in a euphoric daze and unaware of reality. Whatever she smoked has really started to kick in.

My heart is now pounding in my throat. My palms are sweaty, and my breathing is erratic. I’m prepared to take the wheel in case she passes out. The streets are empty, and we’re flying down Sycamore Avenue—the wrong way from our homes and toward the park.

“Stop the car!” I shout.

She hears me, but she’s not listening.

“Victoria, stop the fucking car!”

With a sudden reflex, she slams her foot on the brake. The car’s still moving, despite her attempt to stop, racing toward a tree at the edge of the park.

Throwing myself over Victoria’s body, I grab the wheel and crank it hard in a last-ditch effort to avoid the looming oak. With wide eyes, I stare out the passenger window at the guardrail that is our new target.

The car crashes into the aluminum. My body hurls into Victoria and is brought back by the restraint of my seat belt. When we finally stop, there is a hissing sound from the car, and everything else goes quiet.

Staring out the window, I see the guardrail just inches from my nose. I can practically taste the metal.

That was close, too close for comfort.

The glaring red and blue lights swirling from afar are fast approaching with the loud sound of a siren.

I close my eyes and will myself not to cry.

My life is wrecked.

chapter TWO

Unbuckling my seat belt, I climb over the center console and out the driver’s side. The door is already open, but Victoria is nowhere to be seen. With panting heavy breaths, I walk around to the other side of the car. The sight makes a sheen of sweat slick up the back of my neck.

The Blue Whore is totaled.