CHAPTER TWO
Augustus Waters drove horrifically. Whether stopping or starting, everything happened with a tremendous JOLT.
I flew against the seat belt of his Toyota SUV each time he braked, and my neck snapped backward each time he hit the gas.
I might have been nervous—what with sitting in the car of a strange boy on the way to his house,
keenly aware that my crap lungs complicate efforts to fend off unwanted advances—
but his driving was so astonishingly poor that I could think of nothing else.
We’d gone perhaps a mile in jagged silence before Augustus said, “I failed the driving test three times.”
“You don’t say.” He laughed, nodding. “Well, I can’t feel pressure in old Prosty, and I can’t get the hang of driving left-footed.
My doctors say most amputees can drive with no problem, but... yeah. Not me.
Anyway, I go in for my fourth driving test, and it goes about like this is going.”
A half mile in front of us, a light turned red. Augustus slammed on the brakes, tossing me into the triangular embrace of the seat belt.
“Sorry. I swear to God I am trying to be gentle. Right, so anyway, at the end of the test, I totally thought I’d failed again,
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