As it’s suspension, taxed from years of road trips and the perpetual assault of New York City streets, bounced and wavered. Brandon was feeling slightly ill. He knew it wasn’t carsickness; he had been feeling that way since turning the corner and seeing his forced decampment from his grandmother’s house. It was a feeling he knew well: a party jittery, on-the-edge of nauseous sensation that heralded a crisis. Specifically, a crisis of which he was a focal point. And today was precisely that.

Llewllelyn and his mother were silent in the front seat. His mother briefly met his stare in the rear-view mirror, but looked away quickly. Llewelyn stares ahead, clicking his teeth rhythmically as he often did when worried. He was convinced that no one noticed this, despite having been told weekly.