Sissy rolled her compact to the highway on-ramp, her younger siblings bickering in the back. The dreaded ride home from school and the same big decision. West to adventure. East to the drudgery of home.

With a sigh, Sissy urged the tired car East. No point dragging the kids on an adventure. Besides, she told herself, West didn’t really hold adventure, just Louisiana. And sure the drinking age was 18, but beyond that it was no different, just another state full of adults who think they know what’s right.

But Sissy liked something Mr. Wong, her history teacher, said: Youth have no monopoly on immaturity. She’d created her own corollary: The old have no monopoly on maturity. This was some comfort to her and inspired her at times.

This was one of those times. The plans were laid. The lies had been told. The accomplices upon accomplices had been sworn to secrecy and fidelity. The facts had been checked.

This was the night, the time for immaturity to claim maturity, for Sissy to get what she wanted.