We were invincible. Packed into Jon’s pale yellow Olds Cutlass, the car I’d always wanted, careening down the road between our high school and its “sister” all-girls school, we’d sing along with whatever was playing on the oversized speakers garishly mounted in the back. More exactly, we’d usually be screaming along with the music, which was loud enough to rouse more than a few nearby drivers from their afternoon daydreams.
We were on our way to……take a typing class.
It goes sideways after that.