“Well.” Runaway looked around at us. She was now standing and stretching out her legs.
The taillights of the two cars were clearly visible as they began to make their turns.
“Has he always been that bad a driver, and I just never noticed?” Grant asked, watching the taillights and looking utterly confused.
“Apparently,” Stephen said. “But it doesn’t surprise me.”
“Well, maybe,” she said. “But what do you guys think of him?”
“What?” I asked. “About his driving or his lack thereof?”
“Perhaps it is just not tapped into properly,” Stephen added.
“He could use some work, but for the most part he’s pretty solid,” I added.
“Who are we talking about?” Grant asked, bewildered, looking around at all of us. “At first it was Brandon, and then it was Brian. Are we talking about Brandon or Brian now? I’m totally lost.”
Grant looked at Stephen, who was already smiling and about to open his mouth and make a comment.
“Don’t you dare say a word.” He pointed a finger at him. “I can see it already… you forming some insult in your twisted head about me being a football player and being confused.” He now shook his finger at him. “Don’t—I’m bigger, meaner, stronger, and faster than you are.”
“Stephen is wiry,” I interjected.
“Hey!” Runaway yelled, she was waving her hand in front of our faces, “Hello… back to reality?”
“Sorry,” Grant said, turning his attention to her. “But can you clarify who you are referring to?” He looked at Stephen out of the corner of his eye.
“Brian!” She yelled impatiently. “I already know Brandon sucks at driving—what do we do about Brian?”
“Oh, him,” Grant smiled. “Heck, yeah—let him in. I like him—he’s cool.”
“Agreed,” Stephen assented. “I need someone else who can comprehend my verbal musings.”
“Oh, please—he might get straight A’s, but he’s not full of flowery verbiage,” I said.
“How do you know he gets straight A’s?” Grant looked at me.
“Dude, you can just tell.”
By this time, both Brandon and Brian had turned at the end of the street and were making their way back—headlights pointed in our direction as Grant again made the first motion.
“Well, the only one who hasn’t voted is you.” He looked at Runaway.
“I’m in,” she said flatly. “I was in the moment he asked us. He has a way about him, you know? He seems to be a straight shooter—what you get is what you see.”
“Yeah,” I agreed with her, but I knew I was lying to myself. “He fits.”
The truth was that I didn’t know if he did fit—I didn’t know anything about him at all. Who was he? What was he? Why did he want to join our club?
Maybe I was being my overly cautious, worrywart self, but he just seemed to be too smooth. Maybe Stephen or Grant hadn’t felt as I did, but I wanted more time and more proof.
“Oh, God—what are you thinking now?”
Runaway caught me—she always could read my thoughts before I even had a chance to think them.
I looked at all three of them, and then let my eyes fall on her.
“We don’t know him,” I started. “How do we know anything about him? I mean,” I looked at all of them again. “We all grew up together, and we are just going to accept this guy after five minutes?”
Runaway, I could tell, was mulling it over in her head.
“You’re right,” she said, “to a point. Just because all of us have grown up together doesn’t mean we always fit together. There are only two things I know about Brian and I like both of them. One, he doesn’t lie—he can drive. Two, he doesn’t have any affiliation with Bret, because he can drive. No one from the Rebels can drive—that’s how I know he’s the real deal, and I’m willing to let him in based on that.”
“Playing the devil’s advocate,” Stephen now broke in, “what would be the harm?”
I looked at Grant.
“Dude,” he said, honestly looking at me. “He may not be my best friend, but I will let him drive for this club any day—he is obviously way better than Brandon, at the very least.”
Okay
, I thought…
case closed
.
Brian drove into the parking lot smiling and staring at us.
“Well?” He literally bounded out of his car. “How about it? Am I up to snuff?”
“Absolutely,” Runaway said. “You have a great little car, and a flair for driving.”
“Yeah. By the way…” I was about to change the subject because I wanted to lighten things up after the conversation we’d just had. “How do you do in school?”
He looked confused and surprised at the same time, as if he was thinking,
Why would this be important?
“I’m on track to be valedictorian.” He looked around at all of us. “Why? Is that a bad thing?”
“Not at all,” Stephen grinned.
“Hey, look—I know that all of you have been friends since you were young, and I don’t want to ruin that,” Brian began to explain. “So if you don’t want to let an outsider in, I’ll understand. I wouldn’t want to break up a good thing—loyalty is important.”
Runaway, Stephen, Grant, and I all looked at each other and smiled.
Add decency to the list. I was now beginning to feel better.
“No worries—you’re not breaking anything up,” she smiled. Then without another thought, she held out her hand and said, “Welcome to The Shakers, Brian. Food is on you!”
“Deal,” he beamed.
When we all turned and started to walk toward the diner, we heard Brandon.
“Hey, wait a minute,” he whined from behind. “Don’t I get a say in this?”
Brandon seemed to be taking his time joining us, but he caught the tail end of the conversation. However, Runaway and Brian had already entered the diner and were by this time out of earshot.
“What’s your say?” Grant paused and looked at him. It was true—we hadn’t asked him, but I didn’t think he’d care either way.
“Well,” he looked around at us. “What if he’s, like, a double-crosser from The Rebels?”
“Oh, please,” Stephen lamented. “He is certainly not an undercover spy, carrying out a covert mission.” He paused. “And what if he is? What is he going to report to Bret—our automotive care? What we ingest for food? I do not believe any such information would be riveting, even to an obtuse Neanderthal such as Bret.”
“No,” Brandon said. “I was just thinking we should talk about it.”
We had left Brandon out of the conversation, and initially I had agreed with him—not that I thought Brian was a spy—I had sort of gotten over that moment. Yet I was still surprised that Grant and Stephen bought into it so quickly. Normally, we were skeptical of anything new, but with this, they seemed too quick to properly judge.
“We did, and we decided ‘yes’,” Grant said. “Now leave it alone.”
“Look, Brandon,” I said, understanding his position. “We like him… all of us. He drives well, and seems to be pretty cool, so what’s the big deal?”
I felt bad for him, and a bit annoyed—I had been skeptical as well, but in my mind I was agreeing to Brian’s trial run in our club.
“Fine, but I still think he is spying for…”
“For heaven’s sake, Brandon, get off it,” I now said. I was of the wait-and-see mindset, and it was easier to not say anything at the moment rather than fight it.
“Okay, but…”
“Brandon, drop it!” Grant finally yelled because we all knew Brandon would continue to protest if we didn’t stop him. He turned and left Brandon standing out in the parking lot.
Chapter Thirteen
It was an unspoken rule that Friday nights were the official race night. Only after football games would racing commence, since many racers themselves played football. Other car club members wouldn’t dream of beginning a race until everyone was present.
Racing usually stretched into the late hours, but adrenaline still surged through everyone’s veins, so hanging out at the diner until after midnight was expected.
Saturdays, however were completely different.
We never raced on Saturdays. It could have been that everyone was too exhausted, or more than likely, the owners spent the day making changes to cars when they thought they hadn’t performed well the night before. Whatever the case, Saturday nights were reserved for the other social gathering of the week—the drive-in movie theater.
We didn’t really cruise or do things that would land us in hot water with our parents or the cops—we hung out at our one and only drive-in. It was more of a social scene, really, than going to see a movie, even though it was equipped with four screens, a snack bar and plenty of parking.
The drive-in theater was located at the corner of Foothill and Garey Avenue, directly across from Henry’s. It was more than likely packed any day of the week.
Screen Two was packed with teens from all the local high schools—it was the closest to the intersection and the snack bar. It was functional, rather than elaborate. Weeds penetrated the asphalt and most of the paint was faded from years of use. Even as far back as ten years earlier, in the ’70s, I remembered going to the drive-in. When I was little, my family had gone to see
The Swiss Family Robinson
, but I kept watching the other screen that was playing
Saturday Night Fever.
Unfortunately, most drive-ins today have been demolished or have been taken over by swap meet vendors, but there was a time when drive-ins were just as popular as traditional theaters.
The Garey Drive-in had a double feature on each screen almost every night, and the price was $5 a carload. The first showing was around 8:45 and the second movie started at 10:45, so it was definitely an all-night affair. People would typically pile all the friends they could fit into one car, and still only pay $5 to get in. Back then, there wasn’t the one-seat-belt-per-person rule that we have now. People sat on each other’s laps or were crammed between two others—whatever it took to get everyone in, all at the same time.
People from every neighboring town would show up and hang out. Sometimes we would see families with their small children at Screen Two, but after a while they stopped coming because of all the annoying teenagers. In fact, some people complained that we were taking over the drive-in on Saturdays, and they wanted the owners to stop us from coming in. But from the owner’s perspective, the parking lot was packed—there was not an opening for a car anywhere to be seen—and we loved the snack bar filled with junk food. They saw it as a money-maker, so no one ever did anything to stop us from taking the place over.
It was a tradition for everyone to come and put their rivalries aside for a while. Even after football season was over, the drive-in remained popular all year long. It was nice to have a hangout where the animosity that usually existed was subdued, at least for one evening. It was always obvious where each car club parked, as they always stayed together, grouped by schools—but everyone else was simply scattered about.
It was really cool, like an outdoor party for six high schools. Normally, I don’t think anyone ever really paid attention to the movie that was being shown, as every club would arrive and line their cars up all in a row, and then they’d get out and start walking around, seeing who was there. Everyone walked around, either talking about the game the night before, or about the races that followed. Some, I know, used this opportunity to pick up a date for the following game or an upcoming dance. Even The Rebels were there, but because they were always jerks, they stayed clear of where we were parked. This was always just fine with us.
Tonight was a bit out of our norm. This was Brian’s first outing with us. For the entire last week at school, people had noticed that there was an extra car parked next to ours in the parking lot, but no one had said anything yet.
Everyone had known us a tight-knit group. For us to have a new member caused a stir. Clubs usually allowed new members in, but The Shakers were different—we had grown up together. We knew there were bound to be questions.
Brandon was already angry about adding Brian—especially since he had not been with us when we spoke to Brian about joining our club. Brandon never said so in so many words, but we could tell that he didn’t like Brian, and he didn’t like us letting him join.
But what Brandon didn’t know was that we all were looking at him as the odd man out these days. He seemed quieter, more reserved, bitter, and somehow aloof. We figured it was just a phase, and that later he would come around, as he was moody anyway. Besides, he had always been at odds with Stephen, so what was another member to be resentful toward? That was Brandon’s style.
We drove in at the usual time of 8:00. All clubs and cars parked pretty much in the same spot in the parking lot, so it wasn’t as if we wouldn’t have had a place to park.
Tonight, I looked around and noticed that the parking lot was particularly full, I figured it was because the double feature was something everyone wanted to see—
Top Gun
and
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Top Gun
I’d heard of, and just about everyone was talking it up, but I hadn’t heard of
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
It sounded kind of weird.
We pulled into the parking lot, got out of our cars, and looked around. At first, no one even noticed Brian, or that he was even with us. Then Vincent from The Imperials saw us and scrutinized us. Vincent, who was the lead for Upland, was brilliant, impeccably dressed, and had perfect manners.
After racing everyone for several months, it was safe to say that we actually knew all the drivers from all the clubs. Of course, there were The Rebels—no one’s favorite—but then there were The Imperials from Upland. To say that this club radiated class was putting it mildly. Their cars were absolute perfection, as were their manners and personalities.
The first time we raced them, it was Vincent who properly introduced himself, as well as his members, in an incredibly formal way. We were to learn their names, cars, school, and future aspirations, all upon our first meeting. At the time, I had turned my head and looked at Stephen. “Relative of yours?” I had asked.
“They should be so lucky—why do you ask? Is it because they are so polite and have incredibly good taste?” was his response.
“Oh, please,” I rolled my eyes.
Vincent, however, seemed to be everyone’s favorite. Perhaps it was the way he walked—with a swagger that said, “Yes, I’m confident,” or maybe it was because he was so brilliant and read Kurt Vonnegut at every opportunity, or maybe it was because he was going to Italy after graduation to live for a year “to experience culture at its finest
,
” as he put it. Either way, Vincent displayed good breeding. He drove a 1959 Corvette that was both elegant and impeccable—I couldn’t have even dreamed of owning that car, yet it seemed to fit him to a T.
After racing The Imperials on a Friday night, they would come in the diner and just hang with us. Stephen was always trying to one-up Vincent at every opportunity, but Vincent would just grin at Stephen and laugh. We got the feeling that Vincent could have beaten Stephen at his own game, but that was not Vincent’s style.
Now, at the drive-in theater, he cocked his head, put his hands in his pockets, and walked toward us.
“Hey!” he yelled, with a grin on his face. “Do my eyes deceive me, or are you one person too many?”
Runaway approached him first, walking toward him and smiling.
“You are a perceptive bugger, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been called worse,” he nodded.
“Well, I hope what I have said hasn’t gotten out, you Corvette-loving member of the aristocracy,” Stephen chimed in.
“Stephen,” Vincent turned, held his hand out and said, “I so don’t miss you and your verbiage.”
“Any time you require a refresher course, I would be more than happy to oblige.” Stephen nodded in his direction.
“So,” Vincent turned his attention back to Brian, who was standing next to Runaway by this time. “Am I deceived? Or do you truly have a new member of The Shakers?”
“No, you’re right on the money. Brian,” she said, turning to him, “this is Vincent. He drives that gorgeous Corvette over there.”
“Yeah, he can afford it, because he goes to Upland!” Grant piped up, leaning next to Brian’s ear.
“Hey, now, let’s not get into that,” Vincent said, his smile widening.
“It is my pleasure,” Vincent said, as he reached out his hand to Brian. “I am confident that if The Shakers chose to have you as a member, you must be a worthy individual.”
“Thanks,” Brian said. “I don’t know how worthy I am… but I definitely know that I am lucky.”
True, very true.
I thought.
“That you are, my friend. Well,” Vincent looked around at all of us, “have you heard the news?”
Runaway looked bewildered.
“No,” she said. “What news?”
“The Tri-City Cup.”
“The what?” I exclaimed.
“Do you mean the football championship?” Grant asked.
“No,” Vincent answered. His face looked serious. “Although from what I hear, it is something similar. I really don’t know too many details. Rumor has it that all city officials are looking into holding a final quarter-mile championship at the end of this year. It seems,” he looked at Runaway, “that your little notion of racing has caught the attention of our fine city leaders, and they are impressed. Now they are considering a glorified ending to this year, in the form of a championship, but again it’s just a rumor.”
“Holy crap!” Grant breathed out.
“Wait,” Brian said, looking confused. “How is this like the football one? What is the Football Tri-City Championship, anyway?”
Grant looked at everyone “It’s where all high school football teams vie to be the champions of all the surrounding cities. It has nothing to do with conference play—this is just local.
“There are six teams,” he continued, “but only one champion. You play down to the sole winner, and your school receives the championship trophy, which is huge. It’s like the Super Bowl, in that you just keep passing the same trophy around.”
His words and eyes finished in Runaway’s direction.
“Holy crap,” I said.
“Too right.” Stephen agreed.
“Well,” Vincent responded, “I don’t know if this is true or not—it’s just the latest rumor that has made its way to my ears.” He looked around. “And now it is time for me to leave, Brian,” he said, turning to him and extending his hand once more. “It was a pleasure, and I am sure I will be seeing you soon.”
“Yeah, it was nice to meet you,” Brian said.
“Runaway,” Vincent said to her, “as always, it’s been a pleasure… I just wish my pleasure would have extended to beating you on a quarter-mile,” he said.