The camper van hums along the sun-scorched highway, a cramped cocoon of family chaos and summer heat. I’m nineteen, wedged in the back with my sister, Kylie, our parents lost in chatter up front. Last summer’s stolen moments in the guest room linger like a secret pulse between us, her every glance and accidental touch igniting something reckless. In this swaying, vinyl-scented box, with the road stretching endless before us, the air crackles with the promise of crossing lines we shouldn’t.