Overdrive (3 page)

We slowly cruised along the strip. This would be our last pass of the night as we drove home.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the night?” Mickey asked.

“I don't know. Maybe watch a movie. See who's around and what they're doing,” I suggested.

“Whatever it is, it's going to be boring compared to this. Do you think your brother would take us along with him tonight?”

“No way, he's going on a date.”

“Oh…I thought he was coming back out here to cruise.”

“He doesn't come here all the time.”

Up ahead the light turned red and I came to a stop at the line. A black BMW stopped beside us. I looked over. The passenger-side window glided down.

“How's it going, Jakey?”

“It was going just fine,” I muttered. Of all the people to run into, he was the last I wanted to meet. I'd known Luke since grade three. He was sort of a jerk back then, and he'd become a bigger jerk every year since. I think he actually got a charge out of me failing the year before.

“I don't get to see you much these days, what with you still being in grade nine.” I felt myself tense up.

“Well, it's nice to see you out here with all your friends,” I said.

“My friends? There's nobody in the car but me.” He scowled as he realized that I'd just insulted him.

“And I see you're with one of your little friends,” he said. “Too bad you won't be together next year when he goes on to grade ten and you stay behind in grade nine again. Maybe you can make some more little friends. Who would have thought that grade nine was going to be the longest three years of your life, huh?”

“Why don't you shut up!” I snapped.

Before he could answer, the light changed and I drove away. He quickly caught up and sped by. The light up ahead turned red. He stopped at the line. I pulled in beside him. He looked over and glared at me. “It's easy to see who has the better car.”

“It's easy to see that your daddy has a better car!” I snapped.

“So, is your car as slow as you?” he asked.

I had to fight the urge to jump out of the car and pound the snot out of him.

“Did you get that joke or do you want me to explain it to you?” he asked.

“The only joke here is you and that hunk of shiny steel you think is a car!” I snapped. Maybe there was only one way to shut him up. “Let's see if either you or your car has any guts!”

“All right,” Mickey said. “All right.”

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. I pushed down on the accelerator and the engine revved.

The road up ahead was clear and open.

“Turn up the music,” I said.

“What?” Mickey asked.

“Turn up the music!”

He leaned over and turned up the volume. “Louder!”

He turned it up again. I kept my eye on the other light. It was still green—no, it changed to yellow! It would only be a couple more seconds. I heard him revving his car. I didn't look over. Now I stared straight at the red light, waiting for it to turn green. I let up slightly on the clutch,
revved the engine and double-checked I was in first gear.

“Come on, come on.” The light changed to green. I popped the clutch and stomped down on the accelerator. The car jumped forward and I felt myself being pressed back into the seat. The sound of squealing tires, engines roaring, the CD blaring and Mickey yelling deafened me. The car rocketed across the intersection. I glanced at the side-view mirror…he'd hardly gotten off the line and I was pulling farther and farther away! I pushed down on the brakes. This race was over and done.

“You blew his doors off!” Mickey screamed. “No contest, man! No contest!”

As I looked at Mickey, the BMW shot past in a black blur.

“What an idiot!” I yelled. “The race is over and he lost! Look at him keep going.”

“Look out!” Mickey screamed.

At the next intersection the BMW plowed into the side of a silver car turning left onto the strip. There was an explosion of smoke and metal parts.

“You're going to hit it!” Mickey yelled. I cranked the wheel hard to the right, almost jumping the sidewalk, and just squeezed by the two tangled cars. The car bucked and rocked. I took my foot off the gas and brake and struggled to bring it back under control.

“Oh, wow, wow, wow,” Mickey muttered. He turned around in his seat. I looked in my rearview mirror, but couldn't make things out clearly.

“What happened?” I screamed.

“He hit that car…it was turning left…he hit it!”

“Can you see how bad it is?” I demanded.

“Bad, bad, really bad.”

I slowed the car and we came to a stop at the side of the road. The accident was at least a full block behind us now.

“What are you doing?” Mickey demanded.

“We have to go back,” I said.

“We have to get out of here!” Mickey yelled.

“But we have to go back and see if everybody's okay.”

“Do you know how much trouble we can get into…how much trouble
you
can get into?”

I hadn't thought about anything.

“We have to get out of here. There's nothing we can do. Besides, there are already people there to help and to call the police. There's nothing we can do but get in trouble.”

I hesitated.

“Go! Get out of here!”

I got the car moving. I had one eye on the road in front and the other on my rearview mirror, trying to see the accident. I saw flashing red lights behind me in the distance. For a split second I took my foot off the accelerator. Then I pressed down harder, picked up speed and took a quick left turn.

We drove along without saying a word. I leaned over and turned off the CD.

“That was close,” Mickey said.

“Close? They hit.”

“Close for us, I mean, and close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”

“What?” I demanded.

“A joke. A bad joke.”

“I don't want to hear an—” I stopped as I
heard the sound of a siren. Were they coming after us? Up ahead I saw the lights coming down the road toward us. I eased my foot off the gas even though I hadn't been speeding. The lights got bigger and the siren louder and louder and then the police car shot past us. It was probably going to the accident.

I sighed in relief.

“I don't know what you're worried about,” Mickey said. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

“I was street racing with him!”

“Before the accident happened.”

“Like five seconds before the accident happened!”

“Five seconds, five minutes, five months… you weren't racing him when the accident happened, right?”

“No,” I admitted.

“And if he hadn't been such an idiot and kept racing, then it wouldn't have happened. The accident is his fault…or maybe the fault of the guy who cut in front of him…but it's not your fault.”

I didn't know what to say. Maybe Mickey was right. But I still thought I should have stopped.

“I think it's against the law to leave the scene of an accident,” I said.

“But you weren't in the accident. You were just driving by it. I bet you there were dozens and dozens of cars driving by in the other direction before the police arrived. Do you think all of them stopped?”

“Of course not, but they weren't almost involved in the accident,” I argued.

“Almost is the important word. You weren't involved because you drove so well to get around it. They should give you some sort of driving award for not hitting those cars.”

Again I didn't know what to say. Everything he said made sense. He was right. Or at least, I wanted him to be right.

I turned onto my street. I felt safe. I slowed down and went to pull into the driveway when I saw my brother standing there. He looked annoyed.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“A couple of minutes after ten.”

“Great, just great,” I muttered. I pulled into the driveway and turned to Mickey. “Not a word about what happened. Not to him. Not to anybody. Understand?”

“I guess so.”

“No guessing!” I snapped. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah. Sure. Nothing.”

We climbed out of the car.

“Tick tock,” Andy said, tapping his watch as he walked up to the car.

“I'm really sorry,” I apologized.

“Not as sorry as you're going to be if I'm late to pick up Natalie. She can turn ugly really fast if I'm not on time.”

“Sorry,” I repeated.

Andy looked like he was studying me.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“That's what I'd like to know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn't say anything about how easy it would be for Natalie to turn ugly or something like that.”

“Why would I say—”

“You always take shots at Natalie. Why not now? What happened?”

“Nothing happened!” I protested.

“Did you do something to the car?” he questioned. “Did you break something or hit something or—”

“I didn't hit anything, honest!”

“Then what's that?” he demanded, pointing at the hood.

“What?”

“Right there on the hood. Is that a dent?”

Andy reached over and touched the hood. That was the place where the Coke can had hit.

“And it's sticky? Why is it sticky?”

I looked over at Mickey. He was studying his shoes.

“Somebody spilled a pop on it,” I said.

“And you didn't wash it off?”

“I was going to.”

“You
are
going to! Right now! Do you know what Coke can do to a car's paint?”

“I know, but I didn't think it mattered because it's getting painted next—”

“It eats into the primer coat, and if you don't wash it off, then the next coat won't stick right. Get a bucket right now.”

“I'll help you,” Mickey said. “It was my fault.”

“You spilled the pop?” Andy demanded.

“No, not me!” Mickey said, holding his hands in front of him like he was afraid my brother was going to pop him or was surrendering before he had a chance to get hit.

“And how did a pop spilling cause a dent in the hood?” my brother demanded.

My mind scrambled, looking for an answer that wasn't coming.

“Forget it!” he said. “I probably don't even want to know.”

“I'll fix it,” I said. “I promise.”

“That's right, you will fix it. First thing tomorrow morning. The car is scheduled at the paint shop on Monday. The filler has to have enough time to dry before then.”

“I'll even do it tonight if you want.”

“Tonight I need the car for my date with …oh, great,” he muttered.

For an instant I wondered what was wrong. Then I saw the answer as Natalie's car pulled into the driveway.

“This isn't good,” he said. “I'm going to tell her the car wouldn't start and that's why I'm late. When I get back, that car better be washed down and the dent fixed or there's going to be a few more dents. And I'm not talking about the car, if you get my drift.”

I understood him perfectly.

Natalie got out of the car and loudly slammed the door.

“Natalie!” Andy said as he walked down the driveway. “You look beautiful tonight. I'm so sorry I'm late! I had a little bit of trouble with the car.”

“I don't want to hear about that car!” she shrieked.

She had a high-pitched whiny voice that sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard.

“Sometimes I think you care more about that car than you do about me!” she continued.

“Of course I don't!” Andy protested. “Did I mention how fantastic you look tonight?”

“As opposed to how I usually look? Is that what you're saying?” she demanded.

“No, of course not! You always look fantastic. Tonight you just look more fantastic than usual.”

I was thinking that I didn't know what my brother saw in her, and then I remembered. She stood there in her skintight pants, high heels and low-cut top. What I didn't understand was how he could think anybody was good-looking enough to be worth all the grief he took from her.

Andy continued to alternate between apologizing and flattering Natalie as they climbed into her car and drove away.

As soon as I was sure that they'd driven out of view, I started up the car and pulled it into the garage. It felt good to get it into the garage and out of sight. I grabbed a bucket and squirted in some soap. Next I filled the bucket with water from the hose. I took a sponge, dipped it in the soapy water, wrung it out and then rubbed down the hood.

“You planning on washing the whole car, or what?” Mickey asked.

“Just the whole hood.”

“This certainly isn't how I figured on spending the rest of the night, washing a car and doing bodywork.”

“It won't be the whole night. Actually I can't even do the bodywork until this is completely dry.”

“You going to use a blow-dryer?” Mickey joked.

“Sort of.”

I walked over to the workbench and grabbed a heat lamp. I set it up on the hood.

“So now we're going to stand here and watch it dry?” Mickey asked.

“No. Now we're going to get a couple of bikes and go for a ride,” I explained.

“A ride? Where to?” Mickey asked.

“Back to the strip,” I said.

“What? I don't think we should do that.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“I don't know why not, I just don't think we should.”

“I need to know what happened. You don't have to come if you don't want to.”

“I don't want to,” he said. “But that doesn't mean I'm not coming.”

I grabbed my bike. “You can take my sister's bike.”

“I'm not going to ride your little sister's bike!” he protested. “What if somebody sees me?”