Chapter 20: Spring Sale

At 5:40 on Friday morning, ninety students stood in the lot of VanDerpool Auto Group with their phones out.

I had posted three lines on the forum at midnight.

Brock VanDerpool is being driven past this showroom at six. He has something to say. Come and hear it.

Dane had shared it with the student senate list, and the Inquirer's reporter had come on her own.

It was cold, and the sky over the dealership was a flat gray.

A banner on the roof said SPRING SALE.

Elias stood next to me with his hands in his jacket.

"He might not look out of the window," he said.

"He will."

"How do you know?"

"Because he texted me that his father's route goes right past this lot," I said.

A black sedan turned into the road at 5:58.

It slowed, because the crowd had spilled over the curb.

Through the glass I saw Mr. VanDerpool in the front seat, and the shape of his son in the back.

"Don't stop," Mr. VanDerpool said, loud enough to hear through the cracked window.

The car stopped anyway, because Dane had walked into the road and put both hands on the hood.

Mr. VanDerpool got out first.

"This is a private matter," he said. "My son is going for medical treatment. Move your car."

"I'm not driving it," Dane said.

The rear door opened.

Brock climbed out slowly, in a gray sweatshirt, with no phone in his hand and a red rim around his eyes.

His father caught his arm.

"Get back in," he said, low and hard.

"No."

"Brock."

"I'm twenty-two years old, Dad."

Brock pulled his arm free and walked to the nearest car on the lot.

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