Footloose (8 page)

“No brakes!” Ren yelled.

He barely heard Woody's “Uh-oh” as he passed.

The fire spread to the seats in back. The heat of the flames got closer, turning the metal bus into a pressure cooker. Ren slammed his foot down on the floor over and over again in a pointless attempt to engage brakes that weren't there.

Rich held up a sign that read
FINAL LAP
as the fiery bus passed. “Get the checkered flag ready, Ariel,” he yelled. “Chuck's gonna win this one.”

As if Ren gave a damn about the race anymore. He was more concerned with getting out of this alive. At this speed, with the fire behind him, even if he tried to crash into something to stop the bus, he could end up killing someone—most likely himself.

The intersection was coming up again. Ren and Chuck barreled toward it from opposite sides of the track. They were going to get there at the same time. Ren knew Chuck wasn't going to stop. Winning was on the line.

He could see Chuck through the big front window. The guy was screaming something at him. Probably telling Ren to get out of the way.

Ren's mind raced. With the brakes gone, he couldn't stop. If he tried to turn at this speed, he could flip the bus. That only left one option.

“Aw, what the hell.” Ren held onto his seatbelt and stepped on the gas.

Chuck never wavered.

Ren's bus plowed into Chuck's with a crash of twisted metal that sent shockwaves reverberating through the track. Chuck's bus flipped over as it was knocked clear by Ren's speeding missile of a vehicle. Ren continued to the finish line after one more hairpin turn.

Ariel waved the checkered flag among the cheers from Ren's friends. She had a look of disappointment on her face as he blew past, but maybe a bit of a sly smile for him as well. It was hard to tell as the bus went barreling around the track, continuing on a path of destruction.

Woody and Willard ran alongside the bus. The impact from the crash had slowed it enough that they could jump in through the open door, but it wasn't enough. “It won't stop!” Ren yelled.

“Downshift! Downshift!” Willard hollered.

Ren
was
downshifting. It didn't do any good.

Woody was in the back with the fire extinguisher, fighting a losing battle.

They were heading back toward Chuck's flipped bus again. This time, Ren didn't think they'd be so lucky.

“Okay!” Willard screamed. “Off the bus! Abandon bus!”

Ren unclipped his seatbelt and they leaped from the bus as Chuck ran out of its path.

Ren rolled as he hit the ground, coming up in time to see the fiery bus plow into the dead one. The sound of the impact was deafening. An explosion blew as the gas tank caught fire. Debris rained down on the track.

And then silence as the flames devoured the vehicles.

Everyone froze, taking in the devastation.

Willard was the first to regain his senses, breaking the silence with laughter and singing, “The wipers on the bus go
Boom! Boom! Boom!
”

But Ren wasn't focused on the flames. All he saw was Ariel watching him.

For once, she didn't look away.

Chapter 13

Ren's body still ached from the race. Days later, the muscles he strained while fighting with the steering wheel and the bruises he got from tumbling out of the bus were not-so-subtle reminders of his own stupidity. For a while he worried he'd broken something important, but he seemed to be healing okay. Wes didn't even ask him where the bruises came from, but Lulu was making extra big breakfasts, as if trying to make up for the fact that he was having such a hard time fitting in around Bomont.

But Ren wasn't having as many problems as before. He had friends now. Several, in fact. Word spread quickly around school about his victory and spectacular dismount from an exploding bus. Even Ariel caught his eye more often in the halls, and not just when Rusty was around, taking pains to point him out.

He sat in the school library doing some research on a history paper when Chuck's loser friend, Rich, grabbed a seat beside him like they were friends.

“Chuck's pretty sore about losing that race,” Rich said, in a voice slightly above a whisper. The librarian, Mr. Parker, lifted his head to watch them. “You really pulled that win outta nowhere, bro. Up top.” He raised a hand, but Ren ignored him. The librarian squinted his eyes their way, but then went back to reading his own book.

Rich continued, undaunted. “Yeah, Bomont blows. I don't have to tell you. I been to Chicago. St. Louis. Been to some of the clubs in New York. I got people. Connections.”

Ren tried very hard not to laugh. “Connections, huh?”

Rich nodded slowly and meaningfully. “Mm-hm …”

Ren wasn't sure what the meaning was, but he knew he didn't want any part of it. He closed his book and moved deeper into the library.

Rich didn't take the hint. He followed, digging around for something in his pocket. “Hey, man. Let me ask you something. You get high?” Rich pulled a joint out and waved it in front of Ren's face.

What was this idiot doing with a joint in the middle of the day at school? Ren already had trouble with the law. He didn't need any more. He tried to ignore Rich, but the guy had him cornered in the stacks.

“I do,” Rich said. “Every day. We could burn one after school. You and me. You know, city mouse and country mouse, getting blazed.”

Ren didn't think for a second that this guy had any interest in friendship. Something else was going on. “What makes you think I'm anything like you?”

Rich slipped the joint into Ren's shirt pocket. “Look, this here is a take-homer. You need more, just holler. I'm your man.”

Ren pulled the joint out, pushing it back at Rich. “Hey. I don't want this. Take it back.”

Rich moved off. “Hey, it's cool. It's cool.”

“No. It's not cool. Take it back.”

“Hey!” Mr. Parker stood at the end of the stacks, not ten feet away.

This was not good. Not good at all. Ren froze with the joint in his hand while Rich took off down another aisle, leaving him with the contraband.

Mr. Parker moved toward Ren. “What is that?”

Ren palmed the joint. “What's what?”

“In your hand. Let me see.”

If Ren opened his hand he was dead. In school. In Bomont.

Possession wasn't something Judge Joey could just gloss over, no matter how many ball games Uncle Wes invited him to.

Uncle Wes
. He wasn't going to like this at all. He'd never believe Ren now. There was no way he could let the librarian see the joint. Ren saw an escape route and took it, heading for the bathroom across the way.

The librarian followed. “Stop, I said.”

But Ren didn't stop. Not until he was in a stall and the joint was swirling down the toilet, the evidence securely flushed. By the time Mr. Parker stumbled in after him, the water was clear.

Ren tried to push past the librarian, but Mr. Parker wasn't having it. He marched Ren straight down the hall and into the principal's office. Before he even knew it, calls were made, and his good buddy Officer Herb was on the case.

“I don't know if you appreciate the seriousness of this offense, Mr. McCormack,” Officer Herb said. “Drug possession on campus can not only get you expelled, you could serve time. Real time. You got me?”

Ren did get it. He got it better than the adults in the room probably did. They just saw him as trouble. Like it or hate it, Bomont was the only home he had right now. Ren couldn't risk bringing his uncle to another court date.

“We don't tolerate it, Ren,” Principal Dunbar said. “Not in this school. What do you have to say for yourself?”

When he saw Russell and Travis outside the window enjoying his situation, his fear turned to anger. He used that emotion to mount his defense. “For three years I competed in gymnastics. We had random drug screening. If I ever smoked weed, I'd be kicked off the team.”

“I saw the joint in his hand,” Mr. Parker sputtered. “I saw it.”

Ren bit back. “So, you know what one looks like, huh?”

The librarian was flustered. “Well … I …”

“Were you going to smoke it or were you gonna sell it?” Officer Herb pressed on with the interrogation. “Which is it?”

They didn't even
want
to listen. He was guilty until proven innocent. And even then they'd still be out for him. Ren shook his head. “Oh my God.”

“Mr. Parker here said you were hanging with Rich Sawyer when this went down,” the principal said.

“I barely know that prick.”

“Hey,” Officer Herb said. “Language.”

Principal Dunbar—
Roger
—leaned forward with concern in his eyes. Obviously, he was playing the good cop, since there clearly wasn't one in the room. “Ren, level with me. Was it Rich's joint? You can tell me.”

Three faces stared at Ren while he decided how to respond. He didn't care about protecting Rich; that was a no-brainer. Getting a reputation as a snitch wasn't a concern, either. Most people he knew would've told him to hang the jerk out to dry without a second thought. No, this was about choosing sides. The people in this town lived in fear of the stupid laws, the authority that put the rules ahead of living. If he gave in here, it would be the first of many defeats to come.

Ren met each of their eyes, one by one, as he spoke calmly and firmly. “I don't do drugs. Test me if you want.” He pointed at Mr. Parker. “But if it comes out clean, I want this guy investigated for barging into the bathroom stall with me.”

It felt as if a chilled breeze had blown through the room. The librarian was horrified; Officer Herb was angry. But the principal took it all in, wheels turning in his mind. He was the one who worried Ren the most. He'd used every weapon in his arsenal; if he still got in trouble, it wasn't for lack of trying. “That's got to be a violation on a few levels,” he added, to push the point. “You know what I'm saying?”

“All right, Ren,” Roger said. “Since we don't have the evidence, I'm going to let you off with a warning.”

Officer Herb shook his head. This was the second time Ren had gotten one over on him.

“But you need to understand that life is not some big party,” the principal continued. “I don't care what rap music says—marijuana is wrong. You want to go looking for cheap thrills, do it outside of my school. Do it outside Bomont. Understand?”

Ren sighed. Even if he had turned Rich in, they would still have believed he was just as much of a problem. There was no winning with these people.

“You know,” Roger said. “I knew your mother. I knew Sandy. And she had a wild streak in her, too. Running off up north to live the high life might have been fun, but it also led to her getting into some unexpected trouble.”

Anger brewed under the surface. Ren did all that he could to hold it in. The principal was trying to rile him. He couldn't let the man see that it was working. “Unexpected trouble? I'm thinking when you say ‘unexpected trouble,' you mean me. Right?” He clutched the arm of the chair. They'd made their decision about him before he ever arrived in town. “Believe me. Don't believe me. Suspend me. Put me in jail. Whatever.” Ren stood suddenly. The move came so quickly that Officer Herb's hand reflexively dropped to his sidearm. “But do me a favor, would you?” Ren continued. “Keep my mother's name outta your mouth.”

He burst out of the office without waiting to be dismissed. Officer Herb called after him, but the principal said to let him go.

Ren
wanted
to go. Out of the school. Out of this backwoods town. Out of everything. But he could only do one of those things, so he headed for the parking lot.

How dare they? How
dare
they?
To say his mom led the high life. Yeah, he'd show them the high life. Nothing higher than the meds she was on to control the pain. So fancy the life they led, with both of them working two jobs to scrape by and him still managing to go to school and get decent grades. It was a wild time.

Wild.

He was so mad that for the first time since he got there, he completely failed to notice Ariel in the empty hall. He blew right past her. But she certainly noticed him, and hurried to follow, trying to get
his
attention for once.

“Hey, McCormack. What's your rush?”

Ren didn't answer. He was too angry to speak, and tired of the games. And he was too afraid of what he might say. Vi said she knew his mom, too. What would she have told her daughter about Sandy? What was everyone around this town saying about her? Saying about him?

“What?” Ariel asked as they reached his car. Her tone was light. She had no idea what kind of mood he was in. “You trying to ignore me?”

He jumped into the car, slamming the door shut between them. “I'm doing the best I can.”

Ariel froze in her tracks. She wasn't used to getting that kind of reaction from guys. Ren was taking his anger out on the wrong person, but he didn't care. If everyone in this town stopped giving him a hard time, maybe they'd all see that he wasn't the person they thought he was.

He fired up the engine and blared his rap music, daring Officer Herb to come out and write him up again. He didn't stick around for it to happen. Ren peeled out of the parking lot, leaving Ariel and the whole damn school in his rearview mirror.

Times like this, Ren wished the VW Bug could really bring up some speed. He needed to put some distance between himself and Bomont. But where would he go? He didn't even know which road to take to get to Atlanta. And then what? Spend the night wandering aimlessly around the city?

Ren didn't need to wander. He needed to focus. To work out his aggression.

He needed to move.

Ren swung a hard right at the next intersection. He knew just the place to go: the old abandoned scrap yard. It was far enough outside of town that nobody would be there to bother him.

His iPod shuffled from the rap song to an old punk tune. Just the music he needed for the drive. He screamed along with the singer, venting his frustration.

The scrap yard was as deserted as he remembered it.
Good
. He didn't have to slow the car as he weaved between the mounds of scrap, leaving plumes of dust in his wake. He headed straight for the open loading dock.

The tires screeched on the concrete floor as he tore through the warehouse, dodging rusty car parts. He finally came to a stop deep inside the building, where he was truly alone.

He pulled the iPod along with him as he got out of the car. As frantic as he felt, he was careful not to cut the wire that kept it attached to the speakers. He wanted the music, and he needed it to be loud.

It had to be something he could move to. Something that matched the mood he was in. Shaking the iPod, he switched songs. A generic hip-hop tune blared from the speakers.

“No.”

Another shake brought up a rock song. Better, but not enough.

“Uh-uh.”

He shook the iPod again.
Nothing.
And again.
Nothing.
He shook it so hard that only random beeps came out of the speakers.

“Shit!” Ren threw the iPod against the hood of the car. It finally settled on the perfect song. A blend of alternative rock with a heavy beat and wild guitar riffs. Perfect for the mood he was in. He kicked the garbage and rusted cabinets around him along with the beat.

“Talk about my mother!” he yelled to no one. “You better keep my mother's name out of your mouth, you righteous bitch. You don't know! You don't know shit!”

Emotion overwhelmed Ren, the emotions he'd been holding in since the funeral, since he got to this damn town. Tears welled in his eyes. He covered his face with his arms, trying to hold it all back. His hands balled into fists as the sadness turned to rage.

A huge barrel got in his way and he knocked it over, sending the rats inside scurrying. “Get out of here!” he yelled at them. “Go on, you rat freakin' piece of—”

He picked up the barrel and threw it at the rats. It landed with a bang, followed by another bang as he flung a metal pipe that smashed through a window. It felt good. It felt even better with the next pipe. And the next.

Out of pipes, Ren paused to catch his breath. The song shifted into a guitar solo and Ren lost himself in the music. His body began to move.

Fueled by his anger, Ren took off like a rocket, moving to the music, leaping and twirling. Part dance, part gymnastics, his movements were violent, sweaty, raw.

He climbed up to the rafters among the metal beams and chains that went in all directions. Leaping up onto a pipe, he spun around on it like a horizontal bar. Over and around he swung, rubbing his hands raw, until he let go, flipping in the air.

He stuck his landing on a dusty old crate that smashed into pieces beneath him. Lost in the rage, he kicked away the debris.

The wild dance took him all around the warehouse. Cutting a hand on some glass didn't stop him. The heat from his movements didn't slow him down. He flung off his sweaty shirt and kept moving. Blood dripped from the cut on his hand and sweat dripped from his body, drenching his undershirt.