by Julian Greenwood Dooley Kyle Johnson Luke, fifteen years old, handsome and stupid, yanked on the steering wheel of his daddy’s old Chevy Nova race car as it fishtailed us through the midnight parking lot of the abandoned Murder A&P. We called it the Murder A&P because before it was abandoned two summers ago, Jenny’s older half-brother got got there along with a couple of his buddies because they sold fake weed to some eleventh-grade lunatic with a revenge fetish. Jenny had