Page 55 of Crash Course

“Yeah, and it’s the roommate tax.”

We head to the parking lot and drop our bags inside the Mustang.

“Theo and I kissed in the quad at lunch.” I blurt it as I start the car and shift into gear. “There might have been some groping.”

“Oh, I know. I was waiting for you to tell me.” She grins from the passenger seat.

“He brought me a picnic.”

“And you had to eat it out of his mouth?”

I cruise out of the parking lot and toward the front of campus. “I like him. He’s fun.”

“Right. New shifter?” Megan takes in the silver knob.

The hairs on my neck lift. “It was time.”

I’m not mentioning I had to replace it yesterday because the old one had ASHFORD carved into it, or that looking at it made me a strange combination of murderous and horny.

But our feud is over.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

There’ll be no more studying with Jameson either.

Vogel wanted to make sure I was caught up. I’ll tell her I am. And Jameson won’t argue.

Not judging from how fast he backed out.

Fine. I don’t need to spend any more time with him. Theo’s the one who wants to hang out with me. The one who makes me smile.

Forget the car feud that was edging me way too hard. Surprise tea sandwiches and a sexy make-out in the grass are objectively superior to threats and felonies.

When I hit the gas, the Mustang accelerates hard.

There’s a little fishtail when we launch, and I grab the wheel, forcing myself not to overcorrect.

My pulse starts to hammer as we tear up the asphalt. What is happening?

I press harder and it sails.

“Whoa! Don’t try to tell me the shifter’s all you swapped out,” Megan says, impressed.

This can’t be my dad’s Fastback. It’s responsive, alive in a way it never has been.

I throw it in park, then jump out and round to the engine, popping the hood.

Gleaming metal stares back at me.

What the fuck?

I hit a contact on my phone without second-guessing if I should. The line picks up on the third ring.

“What did you do to my car?” I demand.

“You tell me.” Jameson’s voice is cool.

My gaze is on the huge, shining intake housing where my carburetor used to be. There’s a belt snaking around new pulleys. Wires and hoses have been rerouted, and the overall effect is tidy but dangerous.