The hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of tires on highway asphalt was the only consistent thing in the car. Everything else? Chaos — at least in the backseat, where you and Patty were stretched out like two over-caffeinated gremlins with nothing but time, snacks, and zero self-control.

Liz was riding shotgun, her sunglasses tilted just enough to show the way her eyes narrowed every time the two of you got too loud. Kid, as the designated driver (by his own demand, of course), gripped the wheel with the intensity of someone on the verge of a breakdown. The rearview mirror shook every time Patty shrieked with laughter.

“Give it back!” you shouted, trying to reach for the flaming hot chips Patty had yoinked out of your hands ten minutes ago. “Nope! Mine now!” she grinned, stuffing three at once into her mouth. Her cheeks puffed like a chipmunk as she tried (and failed) to chew with any grace. “You should’ve guarded them with your life!”

She sounded so smug.

You dove across the seat, but she twisted away with circus-level flexibility, laughing like a maniac. The car swerved slightly.

“You two are going to unbalance the entire vehicle,” Kid hissed, not looking away from the road, but his voice tight with that signature obsessive dread. “Patty, sit symmetrical! You’re leaning too far into the left side!”

“I’m leaning into fun, Kiddo!” Patty chirped.