It’s baffling, Jus thinks as the trees blur by near the state line between the two Carolinas. His first Yale year is over, and he made it through with very little personal turmoil to write home about.

   And write home, Justyce did. Not to his mama—there was a phone for all that—but to Quan Banks.

   Childhood playmate. (1…2…3…BLAST OFF!)

   Fellow smart guy. (Though Quan didn’t seem to want anybody to know it.)

   Cousin of Justyce’s slain best friend.

   Rich and restless Roosevelt’s polar opposite.

   On a hunch, Jus decided to check his PO box one last time before leaving campus, and he found a letter that must’ve gotten lost in the mail for a minute: it’d been postmarked more than two weeks prior.

   And what was in that letter?

   Still has Jus shook.

   There’s movement behind him in the back seat. Then a groan. And an overly loud yawn. “Are we there yet?”

   “Eww, why is it talking?” comes a groggy second voice from the passenger seat. This one makes Jus smile. And shake his head.

   “Aww, SJ! I’m super thrilled to be with you too!” Jared Christensen puts a hand on Sarah-Jane Friedman’s shoulder—then quickly snatches it back when she thumps the crap out of it. “Oww! Jesus!”

       “No touchy.”

   “Ahh, come on, pal! Can’t we bury the hatchet? It’s not like you can get away from me now. I’m sure J-Man told you we’re rooming together next year—”

   “A decision I’m still questioning.” She hits Justyce with the kind of side-eye that could slice glass.

   He’d never tell her, but he kinda loves it when she looks at him like that. “Ah, he’s not so bad, babe.” Jus winks and takes her hand.

   “Exactly!” from Jared. “I’m a changed man!”

   “Changed man, my ass,” SJ says, pulling away from Justyce. She crosses her arms and looks out the window. “I still can’t believe you agreed to let that douchenozzle ride home with us.”

   “I’m literally right here behind you—”

   “Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be. My boyfriend shouldn’t be bearing the burden of responsibility of getting you home safely.”

   “ ‘Burden of responsibility’ feels a tad strongly worded—”

   “Well, that’s exactly what it is. We all know who Daddy Christensen would go after if something happened to you on this ride.”

   “Babe, relax,” Justyce says, more an attempt to cut through the tension in the car than anything.

       Because…well, she’s right. It’s not like Justyce doesn’t KNOW that. Jared surely knows it too because he doesn’t try to deny it.

   And now something Jus has been trying to keep off his mind crawls right to the front of it: his newfound friendship with Jared Christensen.

   True to his word, after their chance encounter at the grave site of their mutual best friend Manny Rivers, Jus did reach out to Jared once they returned to school.

   And much to SJ’s chagrin, the two have been thick as thieves ever since. Honestly, having a little piece of home around has been helpful for Jus considering the two people he cares most about—Mama and SJ—are people he doesn’t get to see as often as he’d like. And while Jared definitely still has a ways to go, he is doing better. In fact, if Jus had a dollar for every time dude said “Bro, lemme know if I need a privilege check on this, but…” Jus could probably cover next semester’s tuition.

   Jus peeps at Jared in the rearview—he’s staring out the window with his jaw clenched—and then down at his own arm, where the face of an heirloom watch meant to go to that friend he and Jared both lost stares up at him. Jus can’t help but think Manny would be happy to see the Justyce/Jared beef squashed, grilled in one of those Big Green Egg things white people seem to be partial to, and served medium-well.

   “You’re enabling him, Justyce,” SJ continues, snatching him back.

       “Enabling me?” from Jared.

   SJ whips around, so pissed, Jus is tempted to roll all the windows down so her fury can fly free. “Yes, asshole,” she snaps. “Let’s unpack things, shall we? Why are you here?”

   “Huh?”

   “Here. In THIS car instead of your own?”

   Jared doesn’t respond.

   “Correct. Your license is suspended. Why?”

   “Come on, S—”

   “Can it, Jus. I get that you two are cool now, but him being here with us is very much not.”

   “Look, it’s J-Man’s car. He can drive whoever he wants—”

   “Stop calling him that!” SJ rages. “His name is Justyce, and the fact that he’s carting your ass home after YOU screwed up is a tragic miscarriage of the concept he’s named for!”

   “SJ, I offered him a ride,” Justyce says. “You make it sound like I was coerced or this is some kinda assignment.”

   Now she locks Jus in the laser beams of her wrath. “Clearly we all need a refresher: Jared Peter Christensen is here because he got a DUI. Which is bad enough on its own, but there’s more to it, isn’t there? Not only did he try to run from the cops.” Now she looks back at Jared. “Didn’t get very far, did ya, party boy? You were too drunk to effing stand.” Eyes back on Justyce for the grand finale: “He had a bag of pot in his pocket!”

   “Marijuana is decriminalized in Connecticut,” Jared says.

   “SO WHAT? IT’S STILL ILLEGAL!” (She’s on a roll now.) “Especially in tandem with underage drunk driving! If Justyce—or any other African American!—had done what you did, they’d be in jail. Hell, he might even be dead! But you? Did they even put you in cuffs?”

       Silence from the back seat.

   From the driver’s seat too. Jus would be lying if he said he hasn’t thought every single word coming out of SJ’s mouth right now.

   “Of course they didn’t. You rode to the police station with your hands free, didn’t you? I know you did.”

   Another glance in the rearview lets Jus know SJ’s words are hitting Jared hard. What she doesn’t know is Jared has thought about all the stuff she’s saying. He broke down (sobbing like a big, pink-cheeked baby) to Justyce about it a few weeks ago.

   “Papa Christensen shows up with your family attorney, and *poof*: what should’ve been a felony charge results in nothing more than a slap on the wrist. You don’t get to drive your little Beemer for a few months, big whoop.” She shakes her head again and crosses her arms. “Wanna never suffer any real consequences? Straight-white-cis-maleness and money, friends. Keys to the goddamn kingdom.”