Fallout (Crank 3)

there. We’d better buy some chains.

ALL GASSED UP

Horribly overpriced chains

purchased and “how to install ’em”

tutorial complete, we hit the highway.

Normally, the yeasty scent

of the Schat’s Bakkerÿ bread

on my sandwich would strike me

as pretty much heavenly.

Today it’s making me slightly

nauseous, a fact that Trey, who

is inhaling his own sandwich,

can’t help but notice. Have you

decided what to do about that?

I want to sound defiant, but

the best I can accomplish

is a miserable, “Do about what?”

Trey shrugs. I can’t pretend to

be your friend, let alone your

dad. We barely know each other.

But I am a pretty good judge

of character, and I can see

you’re a special kind of girl.

Special kind of girl? “What

does that mean?” And am

I as pea soup green as I feel?

Don’t get all huffy now. All

I meant was, you’ve got a look.

In prison, we’d call you a fish—

someone new to the scene.