Fear of Frying

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“Horse blinders," Jane Jeffry said. "That's what I need when you're driving. Horse blinders. With a flap that comes down in front, too. So all I can see is my lap.”

Jane's best friend, Shelley Nowack, eased her foot off the gas pedal. The van slowed slightly. "I've never had an accident," Shelley said. "Not even one that wasn't my fault."

“I don't find that encouraging. It only means all your bad luck is being saved for a really big one. And as dear as you are to me, I don't want to be with you when you have it."

“Just play with your computer and don't look outside," Shelley said, swinging out around an eighteen-wheeler as if it were no more of an obstacle than a Honda.

Jane patted the top of the screen of her laptop. It was a recent gift from her parents. Her father was with the State Department, and they moved from country to country as frequently and easily as Jane went to the grocery store — and a lot more cheerfully.

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