Cassandra
"Crayvin, turn left!" I yell.
"They went this way," he argues back.
"Ugh, whatever, Mr. Know It All."
He rolls his eyes and grunts, continuing in the same path. A small silver vehicle zoomed past us at a whopping ninety-five miles per hour in a sixty-five limit zone. Crayvin lights up the patrol car, the sirens booming as he presses on the gas and trails them. But they manage to lose him when they make a turn.
A left turn.
"You're a terrible navigator, Cassandra. If we turned left we would end up going towards the mall."
"That's two blocks that way, Crayvin," I gripe, pointing my index finger to the right. "Ugh, why are you being a d**k today? Patricia ain't giving you any or what?"
He pauses, the only thing breaking the silence is the mere wailing of the sirens above
