SAGE
In a matter of seconds, I flipped from slightly uncomfortable, curled up in the backseat listening to the boys’ conversation, to unbearably cramped.
I needed to stretch my legs.
Now.
The sensation wasn’t a question. It was a need, and my body responded without me even knowing I was going to.
I heard the rip of the thick fabric. And then I saw my right leg—long, sickly green—sticking through the convertible hood.
The extra room felt awesome.
I shoved my other leg out.
Beckett spun around in his seat and blinked at the sight of me.
“Dude.” He smacked Jack’s arm. “She just busted through the hood.” A grin began wiping out the sadness on Beckett’s face. “Oh … Dad’s not gonna like that. He’s not gonna like that at all.”
“Well,” Jack said. “Good thing we don’t care.”
And, as if Jack wanted to add extra insult to the damage, he shoved his foot down hard on the accelerator. The Jaguar rocketed forward.
We sped down the highway, my two green legs sticking out through the roof.
I didn’t know what it would sound like, and I didn’t know if it’d freak the boys out, but either way, I didn’t care.
I started laughing.