“But you understand about the community service?” he asks, switching hands on the wheel with a groan, a wet cartilaginous pop coming from the depths of his lower back. “Twelve hours,” Jade recites for the third time this trip. Twelve hours picking trash for— Get this, she would say to her best friend, if she had one: the community service is for “Unauthorized Use of the Town Canoe.” “Is that really what it’s called?” her imaginary best friend would hiss back with just the right amount of thrilled outrage. “Exactly,” Jade would say, this interchange nearly making those twelve hours of picking
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