Mr. Pang’s hands left the steering wheel for the fourth time in two minutes. Apollo had never seen him this frustrated.
“I told you we should have taken MARTA, Dad,” Zed taunted.
“But the GPS said traffic was light, and why drive somewhere, park, take a train, then walk, when I can skip one step?” Mr. Pang argued.
“You’re only skipping one step, Dad, and you’re not even skipping it. You’re replacing it with rush hour traffic.”
“Well it’s still not my fault. Who schedules an orientation at 11 a.m. on a Monday?”
Apollo nodded, agreeing with them both but not intervening. He’d never seen Zed’s family speak above an excited whisper. It was refreshing to see that they too weren’t above yelling. Plus, he hated MARTA in the morning: legions of aspiring rappers, stressed young moms, condescen
