Mom wishes them a good day at school, as they get ready for Megan to drive them to school

Jessica leaned against the marble countertop in her tight white yoga pants and silk camisole, her French manicure tapping against her coffee mug. "You kids got everything?" she asked, her voice still morning-hoarse. Megan rolled her eyes so hard her fake lashes brushed her eyebrows.

"Jesus, Mom, we’re not in fucking kindergarten," Megan snapped, shoving her phone into her cleavage before grabbing her car keys off the hook. The keychain—a glittery dick-shaped one from some bachelorette party—jangled against her long acrylics.

Sarah snorted into her orange juice, nearly spilling it down her sports bra. "Yeah, because you driving us is so much safer than the bus," she muttered, hip-checking John toward the door. His backpack strap caught on the chair, yanking him backward.

"Oops." Sarah didn’t sound sorry at all, her smirk widening when John’s elbow knocked over the salt shaker.

Jessica sighed, rubbing her temples. "Just—try not to kill each other. Or get arrested. Again." Her gaze lingered on Megan’s barely-there skirt.

Megan flipped her off with a grin, her hoop earrings swinging. "No promises."

John hunched his shoulders, his too-big polo shirt swallowing his neck as he shuffled toward the garage.

The garage smelled like gasoline and Megan’s vanilla-scented vape smoke. John tripped over a stray rollerblade—probably Sarah’s—catching himself on the hood of Megan’s shitty Honda Civic. The bumper sticker (“I ❤ BBC”) was peeling at the edges.

“Fucking move, loser,” Megan snapped, shoving past him in her microscopic skirt. Her thigh brushed his arm—warm and sticky with whatever glittery lotion she’d slathered on. The car door creaked like it was dying when she yanked it open.

Sarah slid into the backseat without looking, her toned legs taking up all the space. John’s knee jammed against the center console as he crammed himself in. Megan’s rearview mirror was angled down, showing off her cleavage where her phone was tucked.

Jessica appeared in the doorway, her silk robe gaping just enough to show the lace of her bra. “Text me when you get there,” she said, rubbing her temple. Megan revved the engine in response.