She parked her car in front of Bret’s yellow ’55 Chevy so he would not have been able to leave even if he wanted to. As each of us parked—illegally, and in front of other cars, in most cases, we heard the bell ring for the end of school and began to see people walking out into the parking lot..
Within seconds, the parking lot was filled with people. Runaway was leaning up against the hood of Bret’s car. Some people noticed her and began to talk in hushed tones.
“What are you doing?” Grant started in right away, even though he wasn’t fully out of his car yet. “I don’t remember this being part of the plan.”
She didn’t smile, she didn’t move—she had her arms crossed and feet crossed as she continued to search the crowd for Bret.
“I’m waiting for Bret… to ‘throw down the gauntlet,’ so to speak.” She had a bit of a smirk on her face as she said it.
“Well done,” Stephen said softly from behind me.
“You’re what?” I yelled. I thought she was now taking things too far. It’s one thing to meet in a neutral territory, but it’s entirely different when you’re in enemy territory.
“Relax, all of you, especially you
,
” she demanded as she threw me a quick glance. “He may not be good enough to meet my demands,” she said with a satisfied expression as she turned her head and continued to search.
Changing my focus away from her, we saw them walking directly toward us—Bret and all the Rebels. I saw someone run over to him, speak to him quickly, and point in our direction.
“This is insane,” I murmured, under my breath.
None of us had seen or heard of Bret since Stephen’s accident. Word was all over the neighboring towns of what Brandon had supposedly done and that Bret was allegedly behind it. We didn’t know who was on our side and who wasn’t. Worse still, we were in their school parking lot.
Bret was about twenty feet away from us when he started right in
“Well, if it isn’t The Shakers.” He looked at Runaway first, then at Brian, Grant, me, and finally Stephen. When he looked at Stephen he let his eyes drift to his leg, and he let out a “humpf” and gave a nasty grin. I could feel Grant, who was directly next to me tense up.
Bret’s eyes finally darted back to Runaway.
“What in the hell are you doing on my car?” he said in a pissed-off tone.
“I’m here to make you an offer that you should not refuse,” she said, with her arms crossed, looking relaxed.
“What are you talking about, Runaway?” Bret always looked like he had just sucked sour lemons—his face would squint up so you couldn’t see his eyes. “Just get your butt off of my car, before you scratch the paint. Do you know much that cost?”
“Oh, dear, Bret—I didn’t realize that you have become so attached to an old car,” she mocked him.
“Cut the crap, Runaway—what do you want?” he demanded.
Her eyes focused and narrowed in on his face.
“What I want? What I want Bret—is you.” She spoke in a slow, loathing, whispered voice. “I figured that your hatred for me is so great that you would do anything to get back at me any way you can.”
She leaned back and chucked in an evil sort of way. “Hell, you even paid off Brandon to nearly kill one of my best friends, and I figure that must mean that you want at me pretty bad.”
She now stood up and took a few steps closer to him. The crowd that had now formed began to shift uncomfortably—I did, too.
“Well, here’s your chance, fat boy,” she snapped. “I’m challenging you to a race. But to get to me, you have to beat every driver in every club. It’ll be an end-all race to the last. Once and for all, we’ll see who the better driver is. It’s the Tri-City Championship—every club will enter. It’s the end of the year, so we’ll have it out. It’s a single elimination,” she paused for clarification. “For you, Bret, that means you can only lose once, then you’re finished. I know that I’m good enough to be at the top.” She backed up a bit. “The question is, are you?”
“That’s it? You just want a stupid race?” He seemed confused.
She looked at him hard like he was an idiot. “No, Bret, I don’t just want a race—I want your car.”
He looked at her like he didn’t understand yet.
Speaking slowly and clearly, she said, “We race for pink slips.”
Understanding came crashing down on his head and he realized the implications of what she said. He cast a glance to his car and she picked up on it.
“Yes Bret, your car. I told you once before—when I beat you, I might add—that I’m not afraid to put my car on the line. Now the only question remains… are you? Are you that confident in your driving?”
Bret didn’t say anything. I could tell he was mulling it over in his head. He knew she was a good driver, and she had beaten him once before, but that was a different car. Hell, she beat everyone she raced—that had to be weighing pretty heavily on his mind. He also knew that their cars were identical in most ways. She had only two possible advantages. Runaway’s car was blown—his was not—and Runaway was such a good driver.
His face suddenly changed expression. “I’ll be there—now get off my car.”
“Testy, aren’t we?” she taunted. Then she paused and looked over her shoulder at his car. She seemed to understand something that the rest of us overlooked. Looking back at him, she added, “… or is it scared? Which one is it, Bret? Because this time,” she looked at him directly and said it loud enough for everyone to hear, “I won’t give the pink slip back.”
“Neither will I,” he seethed. Then looking at Stephen first, then back at her, he added, “Tell Stephen I said ‘hey.’”
“Whatever.” She blew off the comment and then looked at him again. “Then we are agreed. I’ll see you at the finals.”
She pushed off his car with her foot and walked to her car.
Bret didn’t move. He just stood, staring at her car. His friends crowded around him, but he brushed them away and quickly got into his car, starting it up to leave. Runaway took her time pulling away. She looked over at him and just stared awhile before she drove out of the parking lot. We all knew where she was headed.
The Oasis
.
By the time we arrived at The Oasis, she was already out of the car and sitting in our booth, sipping on a Coke. We approached the table, with poor Stephen again lagging behind, only this time I didn’t stop to wait for him. I was so conflicted in my feelings, I didn’t know whether to chew her out or be in awe, so instead I just looked at her, sitting there, with a satisfied look on her face.
“You could have told us,” I started.
I wanted to lecture her, yell at her, for doing something so stupid. If she just wanted a race to get back at Bret, that just seemed lame. If she wanted revenge, then fine—but I’d felt like an idiot, standing in that parking lot, not knowing what she was going to do. During the entire time, all I wanted to do was deck Bret for his nasty comments regarding Stephen and his treatment of her. But I think I was more mad at her for devising a plan and not telling us… not telling me. She used to tell us everything—now I was hurt because I just felt left out.
She gave me a hard look—I couldn’t read her face, but I could see something behind her eyes.
“Tell you what, Topher? That I was going to go challenge Bret to the Tri City Championship?” Her eyebrows were raised. “You already knew I was going to do that—you heard everything.”
“No I didn’t. I heard what was said about the only way to get to Bret. I didn’t hear anything about driving into Bonita’s parking lot and making a scene!” I breathed hard.
“So?” She peered at me.
“Because I…” I stammered.
“Because you would have tried to talk me out of it?” She finished my sentence.
I was caught. I looked down at the ground and then looked at Stephen, Grant, and Brian to help me.
Brian sat down at the booth and said, “Wouldn’t have made a difference, would it?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
“Well, then would you mind telling us how you intend to win?” I asked. I sat down next to Brian—Stephen slid in next to Runaway. Grant went and got a chair to prop up his leg, then sat down next to him.
I wanted answers. Trying to control my anger toward her for challenging Bret, I gripped the sides of the table in front of me.
“Can’t tell you that,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Why?” I demanded. Now I was really ticked off. How could she have done this and not have a plan about how she was going to win? Their cars were virtually the same.
“Because I don’t know yet, Topher!” she yelled back at me. “Okay? Don’t you think I realize what’s at stake? I know you heard Grant and I in the hospital, and I’m sure it all sounds fine and dandy when he says ‘just win,’ but I have been thinking about nothing other than winning and my car for weeks!
“Don’t you get it? That’s my car,” she pointed hard at her chest. “The one thing that I have always dreamed of and wanted, the one I built with my dad, the one that I built with all of you. There is more of me in that car than perhaps you realize, it’s not just a bunch of metal held together with screws—it’s my life, held together with my soul. If you can’t see that, then don’t even bother sitting near me.”
She pushed Grant and Stephen. “Get out of my way.”
Stephen had to scramble to move his leg awkwardly off the chair in order to stand.
She muttered, “Sorry, Stephen,” and stood up. Before leaving, she rounded on all of us.
“You guys think I’m such a great driver—that’s all well, fine, and great, but until you all can figure out a way for me to
not lose my car and to gain some modicum of retribution, zip it!” Her face was furious.
I tried to call her name, but I was dumfounded. She stormed out of the door and left in her car, squealing the tires. I tried to get up to go after her but I was held back by a hand and a calm voice.
“Let her go, man,” Brian said. “She has to figure this out for herself—you have to stop protecting her and just let her go.”
“Protecting her?” I sputtered. “I’m not protecting her I’m… I’m… ” but the words wouldn’t come—I couldn’t find an excuse.
“Yeah, you are,” answered Grant. “We all do, on some level.” He looked up at me and said, “She knows what she’s doing, and you know she can do it. Right now, she’s just letting her emotions get in the way. She wants to hurt both Brandon and Bret because of you, Stephen.”
He turned his head and addressed him. “You have no idea what she was like—it was all we could do to restrain her, and I’m a pretty big guy.”
Grant then looked at all of us. “When I caught her in the hall way of the hospital, I tried to remind her of what she was good at, and told her to use it to her advantage. She just needs to figure out the best way to make it happen. We,” he looked every one of us in the eye—“I,” he pointed to himself—“you,” he pointed to me—“can’t stop her or protect her. All we can do is support her, and that’s what we should do. Period.”