Now that this whole thing is so close to being done with, I’m starting to get paranoid that maybe something is going to go wrong. No, I tell myself. It’s going to be fine. Just relax. “So are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Adrianna asks. Her hands are tight on the wheel, her posture stiff as she looks out the front windshield. Almost like she’s so freaked out she’s having to force herself to pay attention to her driving. “Yes,” I say. “Of course I am.” It’s a lie. There’s obviously no way I’m going to tell Adrianna what’s been going on. It’s not that I don’t trust her. (Although, if I’m being completely honest, I’m not sure I do trust her, either. She’s never given me a reason not to, but I haven’t known her for that long.) It’s that I don’t want to get her involved in any of this. It wouldn’t be fair. She’s just an innocent bystander. “When?”
