Runaway “Their Moment in Time” (13 page)

I looked at Bret strangely. How on earth could he back down from this?

“Bret,” Runaway started. “Do you value your brand-new little foreign job over there?”

“What the hell kind of question is that? Of course I do.” He looked at all of us, and then added, “It’s better than what any of you slobs drive.”

Stephen coughed beside me and let out what sounded like, “Bull----.”

“Well, then,” she continued. “Let’s put my driving skills up against your sewing skills.” Laughter rippled through the crowd.

“What?” Bret did a double take.

“I’m talking about putting your car where your mouth is,” she said evenly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bret sneered and wrinkled his nose like he smelled something offensive.

“Ugh,” she said, clearly annoyed. “I’m talking about pink slips, Bret. You probably know what those are, don’t you? You know, the kind of thing that your daddy has on your car? You know—car ownership papers,” she said, with raised eyebrows. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll race you, and if my piece loses, you can have my car… pink slip and all. Since I own my own car, it won’t be that bad… I have my pink right here.” She pointed to the inside of her car.

“But if I win, I get your foreign piece of crap—the one your daddy owns. How’s that?” Runaway looked directly into his eyes. “Don’t wuss out on me, man—I’m not afraid of losing… are you?”

Bret stood there, looking at Runaway. I could tell he was mulling over what she had said, and calculating the risk. Bret possessed too much ego to be outdone by her or anyone else, and I knew that this was a challenge he couldn’t pass up.

He had to save face. By challenging him in front of a crowd, Runaway solidified what she already knew about him. He couldn’t and wouldn’t be outdone by a girl, especially her.

I looked around at the crowd. They seemed to be staring at him for the same reason I was. We all awaited his response.

I personally thought Runaway was out of her mind at this point—nobody raced for pink slips. It was a huge gamble, but I couldn’t knock her confidence when it came to driving.

I looked over at Stephen and Grant—they shrugged their shoulders. Either they were thinking the same thing I was—that she was crazy—or they were awaiting Bret’s response—I couldn’t tell which.

“Well? Let’s go, man.” Runaway looked at her watch. “I haven’t got all night—I’ve got things to do and places to go,” she said with a smile and a glance up at him.

Bret let his eyes flicker to the anxiously waiting crowd.

“Fine,” he said, after a while. “I’ll race you,” he said, after a several slow seconds passed. Then, with more courage than before, he finished his thought. “I’m not worried, and when I win, I’m going to take that hunk of tin and scrap it… I’ll invite you to watch,” he added with a sneer.

“Whatever,” she said, clearly not interested. “Meet me at the quarter-mile next to the diner in about forty-five minutes.” She turned and started to walk back toward the driver’s side door. As she pulled open her door, she looked over her shoulder and added, “with your pink slip.”

Each of us headed back to our own cars and we waited to leave behind Runaway. I saw her wave to Bret as we drove away.

Chapter Eight

“Are you nuts?” Brandon yelled at her. “A new 300ZX, Runaway? Jeez, why didn’t you just pick a turbo-charged Porsche while you were at it? Are you that dense, to think that you can win? Your car weighs like five-thousand pounds. That’s like putting an elephant and a mouse in a race. And for pink slips? You can’t possibly win.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Stephen glared at Brandon. “Why don’t you just keep your wonderful remarks to yourself, as no one else is interested in them?”

We were sitting at our booth in the diner. I could tell Stephen was losing his temper with Brandon. Of course, we were thinking the same thing as Brandon—that it was a stupid idea—but we didn’t feel the need to make matters worse.

“Brandon,” Runaway said slowly, “if you don’t put a sock in it, I’ll do it for you. Do you honestly think I’m willing to lose the car that I’ve worked for my whole life? You’ve got brains, I think—try and use them.” She looked at him as if he were nothing more than a parasite.

“Well, I just don’t think you can win—you’re just not as good a driver.”

The look that Runaway gave Brandon could have burned a hole in the wall behind him.

“Go to hell,” she breathed, and walked out of the diner.

We all just sat quiet for a while. Finally, Stephen broke the silence. “You are such an inconsequential member of society—why are you even here?” he looked at Brandon.

“I cannot believe you just said that. You are such an idiot,” Grant said slowly and calmly.

“You’re not an idiot,” I looked at Brandon from across the table, “You’re a total jerk.” I got up and followed Runaway out the door and into the parking lot.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Fine,” she said.

She was sitting on the curb just outside the diner, staring at her car. I sat down next to her, but didn’t look at her.

“He didn’t mean it,” I tried.

“The hell he didn’t. People don’t say things they don’t really mean, Topher.” She was kicking small pebbles on the asphalt and then watching the direction they would roll.

“You know, Brandon… he’s just that way.” What I didn’t know was why I was defending him.

“Yeah,” she said with half a laugh.

“I think one of these days, either Stephen or Grant will beat the crap out of him.”

“That’ll be a good day,” she remarked.

“He’s just worried about you,” I said, wondering if I believed my own words.

“Whatever.”

I heard the door open behind me and I looked up and saw it was Brandon.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked.

“What do you want?” I snapped.

“Alone,” he pleaded again to Runaway. His face showed signs of both worry and fear.

Runaway looked at me, then at him. “There’s nothing you can say to me that you can’t say in front of him.” She turned away and stared at her car again.

“If I don’t apologize, Grant is going to kick my butt,” Brandon whimpered.

“If that’s the only reason you’re apologizing, then you can get the hell away from me.” She was ticked off and had had enough of him.

Brandon just stood there. “It’s not,” he said, after he thought for a moment. “Look, I’m really am sorry. I know I can be a pain sometimes…”

“Sometimes?” I glared at him.

“Okay, a lot,” he conceded. “But I just don’t want to see you lose your car.”

“I’m not as stupid as you think, Brandon.” She looked up at him. “It was my whole intention to go to Henry’s tonight to force Bret to race me.”

“It was?” Brandon looked as shocked as I did.

“Yeah. Why else do you think I would go? Just to hang out at Henry’s?” Her tone was completely condescending toward Brandon. “Look, the only way this club is going to happen is if people see it firsthand.” She stopped to look back at her car for a minute, and then turned back to him.

“Furthermore, do you really think I’d race a car that I know I can’t beat? Please—this will be cake walk.” She rolled her eyes. “Now, if you two don’t mind, I have a race to win, whether you’re coming or not.” She stood up, straightened her Levis, and brushed them off.

“I halfway accept your apology,” she stopped to look at him. “But before you let your mouth run off, stop and think first, huh?”

She turned suddenly and went in the diner to get Grant and Stephen, leaving Brandon and me to ourselves.

Oh joy.

***

I looked over my shoulder and saw Stephen sitting in our booth. He was playing with a bottle of ketchup and talking to Grant. I didn’t have to be within earshot to have heard their conversation, because I knew they had to be talking about what I was thinking—Brandon. I was beginning to question everything about him, and I couldn’t for the life of me wonder why he was not as excited about this as we were. This was what we wanted, literally, for years. If Brandon didn’t want to do any of this, then he should have spoken up and said so. I wanted him to apologize—and I knew Stephen and Grant did too, we just didn’t want to have to say it in front of Runaway. I could tell by the two of them, that’s probably what they were saying. The conversation ended as Runaway approached the table. I could see that she had her pink slip in her hand.

From where I was sitting, I could see that they covered their conversation well. Stephen gave her that “I am completely confident about everything,” grin, and Grant immediately got up out of the booth and took the pink slip.

Brandon and I didn’t wait too long until I saw Runaway, Grant, and Stephen push open the front doors of the diner and exit, just as Brett and his buddies drove up. Behind them was a long, steady stream of cars. It looked as if just about everyone who had been at Henry’s had followed him here. I hadn’t realized there had been so many people, as well as cars, at Henry’s. Apparently, everyone wanted to watch the race.

I immediately jumped up and began directing traffic. I told people to park along the sides of the quarter-mile with their front ends facing one another. That way, we could use their headlights to watch the race.

As I lined the cars up, my attention was diverted, so I didn’t see Bret get out of his car and make his appearance. I lost of track of Runaway, but with so many cars coming into the diner, it was hard to notice much of anything at all. I knew Grant was with her, so I wasn’t too concerned.

When I finished with the cars, I saw Stephen flagging me down. I quickly ran to him.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Where did you go?” he said.

I held out my arms and said, “Dude, look around you! How do you think all these cars got parked?”

He followed my lead and looked around. “Well done, my friend.” Then, looking back at me, he inquired, “Have you ever given any thought to a future career in auto organization?”

“Funny,” I said.

“Well, I’m not really here to scrutinize your accomplishments. I’m here to inform you that we are ready to begin this festive event. Are you coming, or did you feel that you needed to organize the crowd, as well?”

“Yes… I’m… coming,” I said, drawing the words out slowly.

Runaway, Grant, and Brandon were standing by the front doors. As Stephen and I were walking toward them, we passed Bret and his group of friends. They leered and laughed at us as we walked past, yelling some lame remarks.

“Idiots,” Stephen said, rolling his eyes. “Like they cannot think of anything worse than ‘wuss.’ Really, I have an arsenal of insults.”

I cut him off, saying, “I bet you do.”

“Hey,” Runaway said as we walked up. “Where have you two been?’

“Exploring Topher’s techniques in the finer points of automotive distribution,” Stephen said, smiling.

She looked at me quizzically.

“Forget it,” I said. “We ready?”

“Absolutely,” she replied.

Runaway shoved her hands in her pockets and started walking toward Bret. Bret, in turn, began walking toward her. The crowd suddenly became hushed and began following them with their eyes.

The two stopped within feet of each other. Eyeing her surroundings, Runaway took a few steps closer to Bret, with Grant right beside her.

“Do you have the pink slip?” she asked.

“Yeah, but I’m not giving it to you,” he quipped.

“Give it to Grant,” she told him. “Nobody will mess with him, and he’s the most honest person I can think of.”

“Did you already give him yours?” Bret spoke like he had acid in his mouth.

“Yeah, she did,” Grant said defensively. “Now hand over yours.”

Bret reluctantly handed over his pink slip—his eyes followed the slip all the way into Grant’s hands.

“Now then, Bretsky,” Runaway’s smile was evil. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Let’s just get this over with,” he growled.

I looked out at the crowd that had formed and recognized many of the same people I had seen before at Henry’s. All the desperate guys were now with girls who would consent to being with them. The couples stood around holding hands, and the jocks had hitched a ride with friends who had cars. Everyone stood around and watched and waited for something to happen. The majority of people had figured out that everyone was parking along the sides of the quarter-mile, and had turned their lights on to shed light on the race.

“Well, let’s go, Runaway—I want to see that barge go faster than thirty-five miles per hour,” Bret said as he got into his car.

“Yeah.” She faked a laugh and then looked at him with a straight face. “Funny. Trust me—I’ll meet you there.”

Bret drove out of the parking lot and toward the starting line while his friends followed, laughing the entire time. My attention was drawn back to Runaway. She turned to look at Stephen, Grant, and me. Brandon was nowhere to be found—he had taken off somewhere a while ago and at this point, none of us were really cared where.

“Okay guys… I’ll be back in a few,” Runaway said.

“You know, you don’t have to do this,” Grant reminded her.

“Yeah, I know.” She flashed him a smile. “But at least it will be worth a couple of laughs,” she added. We stood quietly waiting for her to speak again. “Come on, can’t keep the man in my life waiting.”