CINDY'S POV
For the first twenty minutes, we just cruised through the city, windows down, music low, the mid-morning sun pouring in despite the tinted windows.
Ric started telling childhood stories like he’d been waiting years to embarrass me.
“So this one time,” he said, side glancing at Vicky, “Cin was thirteen, I was ten. Nancy the Karen always bullied me every recess. One day Cin marches up, grabs Nancy by her ponytail, and says, ‘Touch my brother again and I’ll turn you into a human pretzel.’ Then she actually twisted her arm behind her back until she cried.”
Vicky spun in her seat, eyes wide. “No way! Cindy, you never told me you were a proper little gangster!”
I shrugged, pretending to be modest. “I have layers.”
“She was my hero,” Ric said softly, and the way he said it made
