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I spun around and he froze. We stared at each other.

“Graceful, darling,” I whispered.

“Shut up.”

“Gazelle-like even.”

“Keep walking, asshole.”

The camp bus sat beside the administrative building, and I freaked out until I remembered: Duh, I’m the adult. I have the keys.

The ancient yellow monstrosity with CAMP DIX painted along the side looked perfect for this heist. I stopped in front of it, and Trevor slammed into me, getting his bearings before shaking his head.

“No. No. No. Alvin, this is nuts.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“You can’t steal the camp bus.”

“I’m not stealing it, silly.”

“What do you call taking a vehicle that isn’t yours?” he huffed.

“Borrowing.”

“That’s just a creative way of saying theft.”

“Borrowing becomes stealing if you don’t bring it back,” I reminded him. “You’re welcome.”

“I don’t think this is right... This is grand-theft auto.”

“You’re fourteen. Stop knowing laws.”

He folded his arms. “How are you even getting the keys?”

I reached into my pocket and jingled them.

His jaw dropped. “You already had them? Holy shit!”

“Language.”

“You literally swear constantly.”

“Yes, but I’m an adult. Hypocrisy is one of our core privileges.” I unlocked the bus while Trevor stood frozen. “Get in the car, Elizabeth.”

“This is how kids disappear in documentaries, you know.”

“Trevor.”

“What?”

“If I kidnapped you in a thirty-year-old school bus with CAMP DIX written in six-foot letters on the side, I would deserve to be caught.”

He thought about that. “Fair.”

Twenty minutes later, I was driving a camp bus through dark country roads with a teenager beside me, wondering how exactly I’d explain any of this to a judge. Again.

Darius was going to murder me. That thought made me smile.