I gave an awkward smile and continued passing out drinks to the other students.
The rest of the ride was calm—until we neared the exam site.
Suddenly, the driver’s face turned pale. He slammed on the brakes.
In the front seat, Maria Quinn leaned forward.
“Sir, what’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.
The driver gritted his teeth, hesitated a moment, then said,
“Nothing.”
He restarted the engine, but less than two minutes later, he pulled over again and unbuckled his seatbelt in frustration.
“Stay in the bus. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He jumped out of the vehicle and disappeared into the woods.
I looked away, letting my gaze fall to the digital clock on the dashboard.
2:20 p.m.
When the driver returned and climbed back into the bus, the timing was—perfect.
We entered the city, the streets growing denser, the traffic heavier.
As we turned onto Maple Road, red lights blinked from all directions.
Without hesitation, the driver stepped hard on the accelerator.
I gripped the front seat tight, my eyes fixed on the countdown clock flashing on the screen.
Here it comes!
A red sports car came out of nowhere—screeching past from the side.
The sound of metal grinding.
A sudden jolt.