Runaway “Their Moment in Time” (12 page)

She literally looked either annoyed, pissed, or put out, but before going off on Brandon, she paused to give him a chance at rebuttal.

“Well, it looks like you’re going there just to be a pain,” he said, a bit too sheepishly.

“Yeah… and?” she questioned as she scrutinized him.

“I don’t know,” he answered as he looked down at the ground.

“What’s up with you, Brandon?” Grant now asked. “You suddenly don’t want to go because it looks bad? What’s with that?”

He avoided everyone’s gaze. “I don’t know—I just don’t want to go. Do we have to go?” he asked.

“Well, we can deduce that you don’t want to go,” Stephen jumped in, looking directly at Brandon. “What we are attempting to ascertain is the reason why.”

Brandon stared at him and suddenly yelled, “I don’t know why!”

“Yo, man, relax.” I stepped forward and held out my hand. I didn’t understand why Brandon would suddenly yell at Stephen, but I didn’t like the direction this conversation was going, and I knew that Stephen would not take it well.

“Everyone cruises Henry’s,” I added. “We’re just going to promote the club. No worries.”

Brandon looked at Runaway. “Do I have to go?”

“Dude, it’s a free country… do what you want,” she said, with an edge in her voice.

“I will let you in on a little secret, Brandon,” Stephen now spoke up. Clearly he was irate, and his words dripped with malice. “Simpering and explosive are not considered acceptable character traits—however, if you insist on retaining such traits and yelling at me, then I will be obliged to beat the ever-lovin’ crap out of you.” He took a moment to breathe and then added, “So make a choice—either zip it or be off with you.”

I knew Stephen well enough to know he was done with the conversation. I also knew him well enough to know that I did not want to be on the receiving end of his anger.

I stole a sideways glance at Grant and could tell that he was thinking the same thing as Stephen, because a hint of a smile appeared on his face—then, just as quickly, it disappeared behind a well-maneuvered hand.

Stephen had the air of solider going into battle. With his precise vocabulary, he made his point clearly. Runaway and I were not so quick to hide either our grins or irritation behind our hands.

“Still, do I have to go?”

“Shut up, Brandon! Don’t you ever know when to quit? Do whatever you want!” I yelled.

Brandon didn’t say anything to me or anyone—he just wiped his nose and scowled.

Turning my attention back to Runaway and completely away from Brandon, I asked, “Is there any particular reason you want to go to Henry’s?”

“Nope,” she turned and blinked at me. “I just thought we could cruise over there and see what there is to see. No sense hanging out here tonight, is there?”

Stephen had stopped glaring at Brandon and looked at Runaway. “I think you are embarking on a fabulous idea.”

He could not have agreed with anything more. He was so pissed at Brandon that anything would have made Brandon more uncomfortable would have suited him just fine. I think back now, and realize that perhaps what made us all so irate with Brandon was that he constantly whined. There were no good reasons for his resistance, and he seemed to be headed in a different direction than we were. I knew it drove Stephen batty.

“And I’m sure Grant will appreciate this next bit,” Stephen continued. “Before driving over this evening, shall we have a repast at the diner first?”

“Dude, can’t you just say dinner?” I said. “Grant doesn’t repast, he eats.”

“Inhales,” Runaway nodded, correcting me.

I looked over at her, then back at Stephen. “Right, inhales.”

“Thanks,” Grant said, looking at both of us a bit dejected.

But Stephen had already begun to walk to the parking lot. Grant yelled and followed him. “Hey Steve… hold up—I’ll repast with you!”

Chapter Seven

After school, we went our separate ways and headed home for a while, but at about 8:00 we met back up at the diner. We ate dinner quickly, but Brandon still hadn’t showed. However, Runaway believed he would, and out of loyalty she wouldn’t leave without him

I almost wished he wouldn’t show, because I didn’t want to have to listen to him question everything. He was a growing and constant nuisance—but Runaway was not about to simply shun him, no matter how we were all feeling. If Brandon had said he’d go, then Runaway would have us wait because that was what friends do—even if he was becoming less friendly every day. As we waited, we ate, and listened to music. “Love is Blue,” was playing, which seemed to the fit the mood.

Between songs, I broke the silence.

“Do you think Derrick reported back to Bret?” I asked, to anyone remotely paying attention.

“Oh, absolutely,” Stephen said. “There would be little reason for him to remain mute regarding today’s dealings.”

“Personally,” Grant said, “if you ask me, it was the entire reason for Derrick and Pete wanting to pick a fight.” He paused long enough to chew the rest of his food. “Bret hasn’t had any opportunity to annoy us lately, so he hears about this, and of course he has to be interested. Bret not
be jealous of something we did?” He looked at us. “Please.”

“Well, then, I guess he won’t be too surprised when we show up tonight,” Runaway said reflectively.

We suddenly heard a car pull up in the parking lot. Looking up, we saw it was Brandon. I glanced at my watch—it was 9:30.
Better late than never
…
I guess,
I thought.

“See?” she said. “Told you he’d show.”

“Excellent,” Stephen said under his breath.

As it turned out, Brandon wanted to fill up the anxious minutes with incessant questions and apprehensions, which I’d expected. I should have bet money on it. From the moment he’d walked through the front doors, that was all we heard.

I was glad when Runaway finally said, “Time to go.”

On the drive over, each of us followed Runaway, radios blaring with windows down. If Runaway wasn’t listening to her song by Del Shannon, then she usually had ZZ Top blaring out her speakers. Tonight it was no different. She left our diner with, “Sharp Dressed Man” wafting through the air. I however, was more prone to listing to Asia. Tonight it was, “Heat of the Moment.”

It didn’t take long to get to Henry’s, as it was a straight shot east, and most traffic was gone by now. We drove Route 66 (or Foothill), and headed for the intersection of Foothill and Garey Avenue. We made good time, for it was only about fifteen minutes away.

When we at Henry’s, I was amazed as I took in the sights. Previously, I had never visited this place, and this was my first introduction. Sure, we drove by at times, but I guess I never really paid much attention.

Literally hundreds of teenagers were hanging out in the parking lot, doing nothing. Guys with the latest foreign imports were all standing around talking about how fast their “new drives” were. Others were desperately looking for a date and scoping out girls they would never have a chance with.

The girls were dressed up and anxiously waiting to be asked out by the cute guy they had been staring at all week. Couples were walking around, holding hands—jocks were standing around talking about sports, and not really paying much attention to anything. Henry’s seemed to be a big draw for all of the local high schools… more than our Oasis, anyway.

Henry’s was huge, and cool as hell. It had been built in the 1950s. Some people called it an architectural monument of the lost era. It was a large, round building, with windows covering the entire circumference, so there was not an obstructed view anywhere in the restaurant.

The fact that the building was round made it easier for cars and people to cruise and walk in a continuous circle.

We entered the parking lot on the Foothill side entrance and were attempting to drive around the building with everyone else, but with so many people, it was a problem.

After about ten minutes, something happened that I probably should have predicted. We had reached one part of the parking lot that was inhabited by Bret and his friends. I looked over and saw Bret walking straight toward Runaway’s car. He had noticed us before, I was sure, but he just stared at us to see what we’d do. Now, however, he and about five of his friends walked directly in front of her path, so she couldn’t move forward and had to stop.

As I was behind her, I could see her head turn toward Bret with one hand resting on her steering wheel—I was sure her face was as stoic as ever.

“Well, if it isn’t the leader of the pack,” I could hear Bret yell as he approached her car. I groaned, thinking,
Like we haven’t already heard that one today.  Do these people never think of anything original?
I was sure Runaway was thinking the same thing.

“I was beginning to wonder if the brat pack was ever going to show their faces around here.” Bret continued to yell, as there were so many people. Since we had stopped, traffic stopped behind us as well. I saw that some people were starting to take notice.

“Bret,” I heard Runaway say calmly, “do you want to get your cronies out of my way?” By now, at least five of his friends were standing in front of her car.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Runaway—am I blocking your way?” he asked, rather sarcastically. “Now we can’t have that, can we? I’m sure you have to get home to put your precious thirty-year old car to bed.”

There was laughter from among the crowd that was now getting larger and beginning to gather around the five of us.

I knew we weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, so I put my car in “park” and stepped out. It seemed Grant, Brandon, and Stephen had the same inclination, for they emerged from their cars at the same time. Runaway, however still sat patiently in her car, watching Bret.

Bret moved a little closer to Runaway’s car. He put his hand on the hood and leaned against it.

Although I was still behind Runaway, I could feel her hatred for Bret flooding through her car.

“Well, he’s brave, isn’t he?” Stephen mused.

“Yeah, no kidding,” I replied.

When you work as hard as we had on our cars, you just didn’t let anyone touch them. It was then that Runaway got out of her car and stared at Bret.

“Get your filthy hand off of my car,” she said, as she walked toward him.

By now all of us had reached the front of her car and we were standing next to her driver’s-side fender.

“Come now,” Bret sneered. “We can get awful testy when it comes to our car, don’t we?”

“I’m not going to repeat myself.” Her voice was emotionless.

Everyone had stopped doing whatever it was that they were doing, and surrounded us. I stopped to look around and saw that literally everyone was listening—people got out of their cars, and others came out of the restaurant. It seemed as though everyone knew this was a major showdown.

“Goodness, Runaway,” he stared her down. “The way you’re talking, you would almost make me think you’re mad.” He turned and leaned on the car.

That was it.

“I will tell you once more to get your fat ass off my car.” Runaway held his gaze, daggers flying out her eyes.

“Or what?” he retorted.

She reached out toward him, grabbed his shirt with both hands, and threw him off her car.

“Well done,” I heard Grant say behind me.

“Hey, Bret, what’s it like getting pushed around by a girl?” someone yelled from the crowd. There were a few laughs that echoed the sentiment.

“Stupid wench! Nobody pushes me around!” he screamed. Bret was fuming, and he looked like he was going to hit her, but Runaway held his gaze and never faltered.

Bret immediately started toward her, but Grant simply stepped forward, slowly shaking his head and said, “You don’t want to do that.”

Grant, who stood 6’3” and weighed a good 230 pounds, was physically intimidating for a seventeen-year-old.

In Bret’s confusion, he stared back at Grant and then at Runaway. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway?” he screamed again. “You’re way out of your league—this isn’t your turf. Don’t you hang out at that piddly little excuse for a restaurant?”

“Yeah, you know the place pretty well,” she spat, “since you sent your friends, here,” she motioned with her head toward four guys standing behind Bret, “over to ask us questions about our club.”

“That’s a lot of presumption on your part, don’t you think?” Bret sneered back. “I mean, really… why would I care what you and your idiot friends do?”

“I don’t know, and that’s what struck me as so odd,” she said, changing her tone to mocking. “I have wondered why you took such pains to send your friends over to The Oasis, and then have them ask questions about our club.”

She took a step toward him, glaring more intently at him.

“But what really strikes me as odd is that you would have Derrick, here,” she pointed toward him, “confront me at school, asking inane questions. Seems to me you are very interested in what we are doing.”

And in the silence that followed we heard Stephen. “Psst, Runaway,” he said, not exactly quietly, “does he know what inane means?”

Grant hit Stephen in the arm—it was definitely a “shut up” moment.

“So,” she didn’t skip a beat. “Whatever ‘turf’ you are referring to, you’ve already crossed it.”

Bret stood and stared at her, searching for a good response.

“He didn’t send me,” Derrick piped up “I just wanted to know for myself.”

“Uh-huh,” Runaway murmured, obviously not believing a word he said.

She gave Bret time to consider his response, but apparently after what she thought was too much time, she dug in.

“Look, Bret, I’ll cut to the chase and tell you what you want to know so badly. We have a club—it’s called ‘The Shakers,’ and we race our cars on the quarter-mile behind The Oasis. Purely sport, of course,” she finished with a hint of a smile.

“Hey, Bret!” Derrick yelled from behind him. “Why don’t you race her?”

“Hell, you twit,” he snapped back over his shoulder, “my car would blow the doors off her piece of crap. It wouldn’t be a race.” He turned his sneering look back to Runaway.

Now, I will be honest, I had to wonder about this potential race. Bret’s parents had just bought him a new Toyota 300ZX. I looked over at Runaway, who seemed to brighten up. She looked directly at Bret and said, “Well, Bret, I think that sounds like a great idea. Why don’t you race me?”

“Look, little girl—you can’t drive any better than I can sew, and I’m too nice of a person to embarrass you that bad.”