Deadly Drive

by Justine Fontes

  Vera and Adam scramble into the back. I jump into the passenger’s seat and buckle my seat belt.

  I can’t help thinking about the driver’s ed. lesson about drunk driving. It doesn’t take much alcohol to mess up your judgment or slow down your reflexes. But what choice do we have? If I call a cab, we’re bound to be late for class and get in trouble for leaving school. Gabi’s parents would ground her. They probably wouldn’t let her see me again either.

  Maybe Gabi can tell I’m worried.

  “I’ll take it slow,” she says. “It’s not like we’re on the highway full of cops.”

  Adam agrees. “It’s a quiet back road. Just be careful.”

  Gabi nods and starts the engine. She doesn’t signal to get back onto the road. But it’s not like she’s taking her driver’s test, and we’re the only ones in sight. It almost feels like we’re the only people in the world.

  The SUV weaves a little bit. But mostly Gabi manages to stay in the right lane and well under the speed limit. Vera and Adam start kissing. I turn on the radio to cover the smacking sounds.

  Vera breaks the kiss long enough to say, “Ooh! I love this song. Turn it up!”

  The windows are all the way down and it’s hard to hear over the wind, so I crank the radio to the max. Vera unclicks her belt to climb onto Adam’s lap. I glance back and see his hand move up her thigh.

  I turn back to look at the road. It won’t be much longer now. I tell Gabi, “We should probably go in through a back door. We don’t want anyone asking for a study hall pass and smelling our breath. ”

  She nods. “We can use the one near the girl’s gym. There’s never any teachers near there.”

  I wonder if she’s thinking what I’m thinking: that every week has a Wednesday, and we should do this again really soon!

  I’m about to say so when Gabi gasps. An armadillo’s crawling along at the edge of the road. Its armor is great against coyotes and other animals. But it doesn’t stand a chance against an SUV.

  Gabi stomps on the brakes and turns the wheel sharply. I want to say, “Don’t!” But it’s too late. I only get as far as opening my mouth before the car jolts onto the sandy shoulder.

  Gabi panics. She yanks the wheel back. But the shoulder is steep, and instead of regaining the road, the car flips.

  Seconds pass with strange slowness. My stomach heaves as the SUV rolls all the way over and then lands on its wheels. Vera’s shrill shriek ends abruptly.

  Adam screams, “No!”

  Something white punches me in the face. I realize it’s the airbag rocketing out of the glove compartment with a big poof. Through the corner of my eye, I see Gabi’s bag puff out too.

  I turn my head to see what’s happened to Vera and Adam. Pain grips my neck like a pit bull biting a rat. The sting only lets up a little when I turn my head back to face front. In that brief glance, I’ve seen something I will never forget.

  “O

  h my God!” Adam screams.

  Gabi says nothing—just stares out her side window. She’s seeing what I glimpsed: Vera’s bloody body sprawled on the ground. Vera’s head is cracked open, bloody lumps of brain spilled out on the ground beside it. They look like something you’d see in a big jar on CSI.

  No one has to take a pulse to know Vera is dead. No surgery, no stitches, not even a medical miracle can fix that.

  Adam opens his door and pukes. As soon as the smell reaches me, I want to puke too. I fight back the rising bile—I know if I bend over, my neck will hurt even more, and I don’t want to pass out.

  While I try to focus on not puking, something else grabs my attention. My nausea and my neck suddenly don’t seem so bad once I see the bloody mess that used to be my knee. Banging into the gearshift must have screwed it up bad. I shout, “Call 9-1-1!”

  Gabi stares straight ahead like she’s made of stone. She doesn’t seem injured. She’s just gone from shock.

  In spite of the pain gripping my neck, I look back at Adam. I don’t see any blood on him. But like Gabi, he stares blankly forward.

  I realize neither one of them is in any condition to get help. It hurts to reach in my back pocket, but I do it anyway.

  My phone’s screen is cracked! The impact pushed me so hard against the seat that I must’ve crushed it. So I grab Gabi’s purse. I fumble around, finding a hairbrush, a tampon, breath mints, and finally her cell phone.

  The dispatcher answers quickly. “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

  “Car wreck. We need an ambulance and…” It’s hard to even say the words. “… someone’s dead.”

  “Where are you?”

  I feel like an idiot. Where are we? I don’t know the name of the road. I do my best to describe the location. “We were on our way to Southside High School. It’s an old road…”

  “Would that be the access road near…”

  Her voice sounds calm and experienced. She mentions a street name I don’t recognize. Then she tells me they are tracking the signal from Gabi’s phone and that help will arrive soon. I feel the hot blood running down my leg. I’m so scared it’s hard to breathe.

  The dispatcher asks me my name and about any injuries. As soon as I tell her my last name, I think, “Oh God! Dad’s going to kill me!”

  I describe what happened, though I leave out that we were drinking. Mom’s gonna completely freak out, I realize. She fusses when I get a bruise playing soccer. What will she do when she sees my knee?

  The dispatcher wonders about the other passengers in the vehicle. I don’t want to say that Vera is dead again, so I ask Gabi and Adam, “Are you guys okay?”

  Gabi blinks but doesn’t say anything.

  Adam groans. “My shoulder and chest hurt from the belt, but I’m … okay.”

  He doesn’t sound okay. He sounds even more scared than I am.

  With the pit bull gnawing on my neck, I don’t want to turn my head. But I need to know if Gabi is hurt. I repeat her name. “Gabi! Gabrielle!”

  She turns to me. Her eyes are two empty pits of fear.

  “Are you okay?” I ask slowly and loudly, hoping to break through her shock.

  “My arms hurt,” she mutters.

  “But you’re okay?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  I tell the dispatcher that they seem all right. She says that help in on the way.

  Then Adam leans forward and suddenly notices my knee. “Dude. Your leg is messed up…”

  I wince. “Tell me about it.”

  Through the mass of blood, I can see bits of white bone. Will I ever play soccer again? What will happen to my college scholarship?

  Gabi sees the blood and bone, and her pale face turns even paler.

  A

  siren wails toward us, then another. They wake Gabi from her trance. “Change seats with me!” she whispers.

  I hear her words, but they make no sense to me. “What?”

  Gabi’s voice is full of cold authority. “I can’t be driving. Change seats and tell the cops you were at the wheel.”

  This is another side of Gabi I’ve never seen. I hesitate. She is not asking me to change seats so she can have a better view at the movies. She’s asking me to lie.

  “It’s your fault!” Gabi says. “You brought the booze! You made me drink it.”

  That’s not what I remember. But I don’t have the strength to argue. Gabi must sense this, because she jumps out of the car and runs around to open my door. “Slide over!”

  My knee hurts so much that I don’t want to budge. But the sirens are getting louder and Gabi shouts like a drill sergeant, “Move!”

  I have to lift my leg over the gearshift. The pain gets so bad I almost throw up. But I manage to slump into the driver’s seat before two patrol cars arrive.

  One car blocks the road. Another officer puts traffic cones at the other end of the street.

  The cop from the second car walks toward us. His head swivels, taking in the whole scene, including Vera’s body.

  He pulls the r
adio off his belt and talks into it briefly. I hear a bunch of initials that make no sense: VCU, DWI, HCIFS.

  Then I hear the static of the dispatcher’s reply. I’m not sure what will happen next. I only know that we’re in trouble that’s as deep as it gets.

  “Thanks,” Gabi murmurs.

  I don’t know what to say. Everything happened too fast. How did I wind up taking the blame? My knee hurts more than anything I’ve ever felt. My neck isn’t much better. I can’t think straight.

  More sirens wail toward us. I’m glad to see the ambulance. I hope they give me some painkillers soon!

  EMTs immediately start treating my knee. They shine lights in my eyes and ask questions like “What’s your name? What year is this?”

  One gives me a shot that makes the pain fade almost instantly. He’s so fast with the needle I don’t even notice the prick. Or maybe everything else just hurts so much more.

  The cop introduces himself as Officer Sanchez. He looks a little like my soccer coach, Mr. Wunderman. I find myself wanting to like him.

  He writes down our names, including Vera’s. Gabi bursts into tears. Sanchez listens as we describe the accident.

  The EMTs treat the raw spots on Gabi’s forearms. One reports to Sanchez, “Just the usual airbag burns, and some bruising on her left collarbone.”

  Sanchez looks her in the eyes and asks, “Were you driving this vehicle?”

  Gabi shakes her head, hiding her face in a dark veil of silky hair.

  Sanchez persists, “How did you get those scrapes on your arms?”

  Gabi cries a bunch of pretty tears. Even knowing that she’s in the middle of a good girl act, my heart melts a little. She looks like a fairy-tale princess in distress.

  I guess the cop has seen plenty of tears in his time. He just hands Gabi a tissue and says, “I see from the registration that it’s your family’s car. Why was Roberto driving?”

  Gabi shrugs. Her voice is small and muffled by sobs. “He … wanted to … drive.”

  The officer speaks a little louder, as if trying to encourage Gabi to speak up too.

  Gabi dabs at her tears.

  The cop turns to me and asks, “Were you holding the steering wheel when the airbag deployed?”

  Through the curtain of her hair, Gabi’s eyes find mine. I manage to lie, “Of course.”

  Sanchez sighs. “Why don’t you have marks on your arms from the bag?”

  Gabi looks at me and says, “We don’t have to say anything without a lawyer.”

  The officer replies, “There’ll be plenty of time to talk after your injuries have been treated.” He asks the EMTs, “Will she need additional medical attention?”

  After a few tests and questions, the EMTs say Gabi and Adam are fine.

  Sanchez asks Gabi if she is willing to submit to a blood alcohol test. The black pits of her eyes seek mine. I shrug. What can we do? Won’t they be suspicious if she refuses? Is she even allowed to refuse?

  The cop sighs. “If we have to get a warrant…”

  Gabi shakes her head. I guess she realizes that making them get a warrant would mean practically admitting that she’s drunk.

  The EMTs load us both into the ambulance. The DWI Task Force officers tell us to track their moving fingers with our eyes. They ask us a few questions. So does the guy in a suit. He says he’s an assistant district attorney.

  There’s so much to take in, so many names, all very official. They seem so cool and controlled. I wonder if they hate us for being three more stupid teenagers whose good time turned into disaster. But they don’t seem angry, just detached and maybe a little sad.

  Gabi just keeps crying and staring at me with those big, black eyes.

  Through the closing ambulance doors I see guys taking pictures of Vera. I close my eyes but still see the same bloody view. I know I’m never going to forget it.

  O

  n the way to the hospital, the EMTs fix me up with an IV of pain medication. It works even better than the shot. The clear liquid in the bag floats me a little further away from this whole mess. I almost feel like I could leave my body completely, like I could drift out the back of the ambulance up into the blue sky.

  Gabi’s sobs bring me back to reality. We’re in trouble, big trouble. My leg might be totally trashed. Vera’s dead!

  Gabi cries like she’s never going to stop. Her moans mix with the siren’s wail. The sound starts to grate on me. And her face looks almost hideous, all red and soggy and contorted. I know it’s terrible, but I just want to shake her until she stops. I look away so she won’t see the disgust in my eyes.

  We hear other sirens, and I realize we must be getting close to the hospital. Since I was born, I haven’t spent much time in hospitals. I had my tonsils out when I was young, but I don’t even remember it. We visited Grandpa when he was dying of lung cancer. And I came with Dad to pick up Luis the time he broke his arm. But that’s been it until now.

  The ambulance doors open, and one of the cops leads Gabi away by the elbow. She looks over her shoulder at me.

  I sort of hate her, although I feel sorry for her too. She’s so afraid! But it’s the kind of fear that’s dangerous. I worry that she’d do anything to protect herself—even if it means making me suffer in her place.

  As they wheel my stretcher into the building, I see a big clock on the wall. I can’t believe that less than an hour ago, Gabi and I were kissing on the grass together, and I was hoping she would be the one.

  I

  hear the cop with Gabi tell someone, “She needs the mandatory blood test for alcohol and other intoxicants.”

  She’s gone before I can even say good-bye or good luck. Of course, no amount of luck will hide the Southern Comfort in her veins. And it certainly can’t bring Vera back to life.

  I’m not sure who’s a nurse and who’s a doctor. But someone says, “We need X-rays on this young man’s knee and neck.”

  A nurse cuts off my jeans. Firm but gentle hands position me for the two sets of X-rays. The doctor and technician exchange a bunch of medical words that I don’t understand.

  A nurse adjusts a brace around my neck. “How does that feel?”

  Suddenly I realize she’s talking to me, not about me to another doctor.

  I part my lips and manage to say, “It’s okay.”

  Maybe the nurse can see the fear in my eyes, because she says, “The X-rays confirm that it’s only whiplash. Very painful, but that will go away in time. You’ll be fine after it’s had a chance to heal.”

  I’m embarrassed because I suddenly realize I’m crying. I’m scared to death of being paralyzed.

  The nurse hands me a tissue and whispers, “It’s okay. Everyone gets scared. You’ll be okay.”

  I exhale a long, uneven breath. How long had I been holding it?

  The nurse says, “The doctor will tell you more about your knee soon. But you won’t lose the leg or end up in a wheelchair.”

  More hot tears roll out of my eyes. The nurse pats my shoulder and repeats, “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

  I wonder how many times a day she says that. And does she always mean it? Still, I cling to her words. “It’s okay. I will be okay.”

  Mom gets to the hospital just before Dad. They’re both frantic. I can tell Dad is angry, but he’s also very tender. “Hijo! We could’ve lost you!” He hugs me so hard I wince.

  The doctor tells us I’m going to need a knee replacement. Mom and Dad exchange worried looks. The doctor adds, “The recovery will be very painful. But this surgery will give Roberto the best chance of regaining full use of his leg.”

  Full use. That’s a scary phrase. It implies that partial use is possible.

  I try not to cry again, but it isn’t easy. Am I going to be limping around on a cane for the rest of my life?

  I swallow hard around the lump in my throat. Finally, I manage to ask the doctor, “Will I be able to play soccer?”

  He replies, “It’s too soon to tell.”

  I<
br />
  want to know what’s going on with Gabi. But my parents tell me to rest.

  “Just get well,” Dad says. His jaw clenches. “We’ll talk about this more when you’re feeling better.”

  Mom adds, “You have a big day tomorrow.”

  I haven’t had surgery since my tonsils and I’m scared. I’m not even sure what a knee replacement is, and I’m feeling too embarrassed to ask questions. Will they be putting in some piece of metal where my knee used to be?

  If it’s like an organ transplant, can my body reject it? Or will it be sort of cool? I saw a TV show one time where a soldier who got his legs blown off by a bomb got these new metal legs that made it possible for him to run even faster than someone with real legs. Still, I bet he wishes he still had his own legs. Maybe I’ll have tough-looking scars.

  “This might be a good time to pray,” Mom says. She folds her hands and looks at me.

  Dad shrugs. “It couldn’t hurt to check in with the man upstairs.” I see another flash of anger in his eyes before he looks down at his hands.

  I think of Gabi’s plaid skirt and the rest of her phony good girl act. Is she praying in front of the cops? Is she asking for forgiveness? Or is she still trying to blame me for everything?

  I want to pray and feel at peace, the way I did when I was really little and Mom would take us to confession. But I can’t seem to turn off my brain enough to focus.

  The cop saw the marks on Gabi’s arms and the bruise from the driver’s side safety belt. They must know she was driving. Are they grilling her in jail? Will she clam up until her parents get her a lawyer?

  All that corny stuff I was feeling when we were rolling around on the grass seems so stupid now. I’d actually pictured Gabi in a wedding dress. She would look so beautiful! It’d be that whole princess thing, only real.

  I figured we’d be smart and wait until after she graduated from med school. And I’d be a soccer star, or at least a college graduate, maybe coaching soccer somewhere like Mr. Wunderman.

  I even pictured us having kids.