It’s crowded in the back seat. The helicopter shark thing is still there — so are Corbin’s school backpack and his sweatshirt and a load of other crap. Now we add Corbin and his bag full of drinks and snacks. The fat dog goes in the back seat too. The dog is coming along because Hey! Why not?

I perch forward on my seat in the front. The vest is starting to rub the skin off the side of my neck, and it is hot. I tug the zipper on my hoodie, just a little, just enough to be a little cooler. Once the car starts moving, the air will circulate and I’ll be able to forget about my body and where it hurts and where it stings.

Eric turns the key in the ignition and says, “Where are we going?”

“Does this car have a computer that tells you which way to turn?”

“This car doesn’t have a radio that works,” says Corbin. “Mom says a radio is a distraction, and Eric should pay attention to the road.”

“Your mom is totally right,” I say. It would be handy to know what the cops are thinking, but Those People probably wouldn’t say the truth on the radio. Radio reports would be a distraction, lies and distraction. I need to trust what I know, not what they want me to know. “That’s OK about the car computer thingee, too. I’ll be the car computer thingee. I’ll say where to turn, how fast to go. I’ll say everything. That’ll be fun, huh, Eric? ‘Turn right when leaving the driveway.’”

My pawn Eric does what he is told. Perfect.