Genre: YA contemporary
I suck. I. Suck. But what am I supposed to do? The bomb isn’t heavy. It should be heavy, or smell, or something. Everyone should be able to tell I’ve got it, right here in my backpack, covered over by an ugly old sweater. But no one’s stopped me, no one’s searched me, no one’s noticed my damp jeans, my palms slick with sweat.