He was tempted to be late, just to prove to himself that he didn’t care about the stupid program or its dumbass rules. But five hundred dollars was a huge chunk out of his mother’s pocket—Stacy himself had never even seen that much money, not all at once—and he wasn’t going to waste it, not if he couldn’t get it all back. So he’d at least show up on time, and maybe even pass the damn test and get his diploma. There were other ways to make it known that he’s rather be anywhere else than stuck back in the hell that had been high school.
The city bus picked him up outside the apartment at quarter after seven. Stacy carried one notebook, that was it, and in his back pocket was a pen with the auto shop’s logo on it. His ever-present baseball cap was pulled down low to hide his eyes, the brim c
