He slammed on the brakes and blasted the car’s horn, but the rider on the back, dressed in black leather and a streamlined helmet, flashed him an obscene gesture as the cycle’s driver sped off with a roar. Nathan took deep breaths. Another car snaked past him and a voice yelled, “Hey, buddy, park it someplace else! You’re jamming traffic.” Startled, Nathan put his foot on the gas and shot forward, almost running over three girls crossing the lot. They shouted at him. He stomped the brake and clamped the wheel, his palms clammy, and inched forward, searching for the parking space assigned to him in his Crestwater welcome packet. His friend Skeet had warned him that the first day was gridlock. Maybe Skeet was used to the bedlam, but Nathan wasn’t. Years of homeschooling hadn’t prepared him to spend his senior year in one of Atlanta’s biggest public high schools, but here he was—ready or not. He shouldn’t let the two idiots on the cycle determine his mood. He found the space, marked by a bright yellow painted number, and pulled in, careful to park between the lines.
