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I’m surprised I finished before Jase. He’s usually one of the first ones done, explaining to me that he just circles a random letter if he doesn’t know the answer, which is often a good majority. Now, though, he’s scrutinizing the question. I smile at this. He’s trying.

The sun spills one-hundred-degree light over me, and I realize, in California, it’s much more difficult to not have a car. As part of my punishment, my mom dropped me off this morning. She can’t drive me to Blossoms without raising suspicions.

By now, Nora’s usually done with work, so I shoot her a text. I grip my phone as if I could squeeze out a text from Nora.

“Pick up pick up pick up,” I mutter to my phone.

A few minutes later, I hear a ping. A sigh of relief gusts out of me, the knots in my stomach loosening, until I read her text.

Nora: Still working

This isn’t good. I’ve worked so hard to reach this point, and I don’t want my dreams to get crushed just because I’m late.

Nora: Done in 10 min.

The time is tight, but I think we can make it, albeit with one minute at most to spare.

Me: You’re the best!

Nora: I got you! ;)

Cars race through the streets as I wait for Nora. The sun coats the parking lot in light, and though I’m in the shade, I can feel sweat drenching across my back. I watch a few red cars veer into the parking lot. My heart jumps hoping they’re Mazdas. They’re not. A red Mazda swings into the parking lot and steers its way to the SMARTake building.

Thank goodness.

The passenger door opens, and a woman in a tank top heads into the building beside SMARTake.

I scrub my hand against my face. I can’t hurry Nora, she’s doing me a big favor taking me there. But as the clock on my phone ticks to 2:35, the sweat on my back moistens, and the knots in my stomach tighten so hard I think they’ll break.

Suddenly, a red Mazda races into the parking lot and swings its way to SMARTake.

Please let that be Nora.

The Mazda skids in front of the curve, the passenger window sliding down to reveal a friendly face I’m always happy to see.

“Get in, loser, we’re helping you with a contest.” Of course Nora would make a Mean Girls reference in her best Regina George impression.

I run into the passenger seat and slam the door shut. “Thanks, loser, let’s get going!”

TXT is playing on Nora’s stereo. At every red light, stopping feels like an eternity, especially as the minutes tick to 2:40. I can’t decide if I want this ride to hurry up or for time to slow down.

It’s 2:45 when we reach Golden Marketplace. We’re still a block away from Blossoms.

“Drop me off here?” I ask Nora as we pass by a building with a clothing store and bookstore.

“You sure?” she asks.

“Positive.”

Nora lurches to a stop. I push the door open and thank her right before I close it. My Converse pound the ground as I sprint towards Blossoms. It sounds like someone’s calling my name, but maybe I’m so stressed I’m hearing things.

Everyone swivels my way when I run into Blossoms. Don checks his phone and shakes his head. My throat squeezes and tautens.

“She’s only off by one minute, dear,” Michelle says.

I glance at Don’s phone. It’s 2:46 P.M. A sharp pang strikes my chest, my stomach plunging to the ground.

“Check-in is check-in,” Don says. “I’m sorry, but you have officially been disqualified.”