The car smells like vanilla body spray and victory.
Our exams are finally over. My brain feels like it's been run through a blender, but in the best possible way, like I earned every ounce of this exhaustion.
The windows are cracked open, the city lights painting streaks of gold across the dash as I drive. Karla's riding shotgun, reapplying lip gloss with surgical precision. Jennifer's in the backseat, hair curled, cheeks glittering, already halfway through her third energy drink of the day.
And blasting through the speakers?
Meghan Thee Stallion.
"Let me see you walk, walk, walk, walk—"
All three of us scream the lyrics like a war chant, off-key and wild.
Jennifer's leaning forward between the seats, shaking her hair like she's in a music video. "THIS is what liberation sounds like!"
Karla points dramatically out the window. "Someone call the United Nations. Girlhood has peaked."
I laugh, turning the wheel as we hit a red light. "Reminder that y'all owe me gas money."
