Speed of Life

by J. M. Kelly

  He hands me my three-cheese-and-sautéed-peppers special, and he and Jimmy sit down across the tiny table. I can’t tell what David’s eating, but at least it has some lettuce poking out. Jimmy’s sandwich is a meatball sub oozing tomato sauce. It smells a lot like Bonehead’s dog food, and I try not to gag.

  “So this school you’re gonna go to,” I say. “Is it the one in Kansas?”

  David nods, his mouth full. Once he swallows, he says, “McPherson. Yeah.”

  I try not to think about how weird it is that a few weeks ago I had never heard of this program and now I’ve met someone who actually wants to go there. I mean, it’s not really that much of a coincidence, considering where I work, right? It’s not like the gods are telling me something. (That’s one of Mom’s favorite sayings when she lays down a bet . . . The gods are telling me to bet on seven.) It’s just a fluke, right?

  Jimmy has wolfed down his sandwich before we’re even halfway through ours, and he goes back outside to smoke and probably call his wife. She likes to grill him about what he eats for lunch. He’ll tell her he had a salad, and then she won’t bug him when he wants a steak and a couple of beers for dinner because it’s Saturday night.

  Except for that first time I saw David in Jimmy’s office, I haven’t ever really looked at him. But now he’s sitting three feet away and I can’t help it. The only other thing in my line of vision is a girlie calendar. He’s not bad-looking—​not as hot as his car, but he does have thick blond hair and blue eyes. He took off his coveralls before he went to get the sandwiches, and he’s wearing a white polo again, which makes me want to smear grease on it, just on principle.

  “My parents don’t want me to go to McPherson,” he says.

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  I remind myself he’s the enemy and stop looking at the way his hair curls around his left ear. The only real reason I got to do the fender job today is because Jimmy’s pulled a million and one dents, and after seeing my stellar work on the Mustang, he swore he’d never do another one if I was around. If it had been anything else, I’d be pumping gas and he would’ve been showing Stanford Boy the ropes.

  I crumple up my sandwich wrapper without saying anything else and toss it in the trash can. On my way out, David asks me if I’m going to college, but I pretend like I don’t hear him and keep walking. I’ve almost decided to apply, but the idea of actually going is not really something I think will happen. People like me work at gas stations their whole lives, go to cruise-ins with their cars, and join softball leagues for fun. If I had to lay a bet on our futures, that’d be mine, and David would be wearing a Stanford sweatshirt next fall and studying pre-med.

  Raul wants to go home because he’s still feeling sick from the flu or whatever he has, so I’m stuck outside pumping gas for the rest of my shift while David hangs out in the garage with Jimmy. I’m kinda bitter, but I hide it well. Years of practice.

  Han comes by in his dad’s plumbing van for a fill-up. He stands next to the driver’s door while I wash his windshield. “What’re you guys doing tonight?”

  I shrug. “Nothing. Amber’s working.”

  “I could come by and hang out with you and Nat.”

  “If you want to.”

  “Sure. I’ll see you later.”

  He pays at the pump and drives off with a wave. I think it’s kind of pathetic he doesn’t have anything better to do on a Saturday night than sit around with me and Natalie, but it’s not like I’ve got big plans of my own. Maybe he’ll bring Chinese food. Anything besides pizza would be awesome.

  Right before it’s time to call it quits, I’m inside with Rosa and she’s telling me how she thinks this job’s too dangerous because of the late hours, so she’s looking for a new one where she can work only day shifts. David comes in and starts checking out the gum display.

  “Hey, Crystal,” he says. “Rosa.”

  “Hey,” we both say back.

  He leans on the counter, trying to act cool but knocking over an old Halloween display of half-price mini chocolate pumpkins. I go around to help him pick them up because they’re rolling all over the store.

  “Sorry,” he says.

  I grab two before they can disappear under the beef jerky fixture.

  “I was wondering, Crystal . . . You going to the swap meet in Bremerton next Saturday?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “How come?”

  What an idiot. Does he think I have money to blow driving all the way up to Seattle to look at car parts I want but can’t afford? “I probably have to work.”

  “Oh, yeah . . .”

  I look at Rosa, and she rolls her eyes and tries not to laugh. All day she’s been telling me he’s hot for me and I should let her matchmake, but she’s crazy. I am so not interested in Stanford Boy. When I do hook up with a guy, he’ll be able to work on his own car. Besides, like I told her, there is no way a rich guy who drives that Chevelle and looks like him doesn’t already have a girlfriend.

  “What about Sunday?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. “Even if I get the day off, I’ve got things to do.”

  He nods. “Yeah, okay. I only asked ’cause I know a guy up there with a ’sixty-six Mustang, and I thought you might like to meet him.”

  Rosa smirks. “You fixing her up?”

  He shrugs and his phone rings. He looks at the display and then answers it. “Hey, babe.”

  I give Rosa a told-you-so look, and she raises her hands in defeat.

  He wanders off to take his call, but after he hangs up he comes back. “Well,” he says, “I’m going to Bremerton, so if there’s anything you need, let me know and I’ll look out for it.”

  I could really use a right taillight, but I’m not asking him for shit. “I’m good,” I say. I’m not gonna be his friend after he stole my job.

  He nods like he gets it and punches out for the day, leaving Rosa to speculate on who “babe” is and me to eat nachos. On my way to the Mustang after my shift, I find Jimmy in the shop leaning over a ’49 Ford.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  He doesn’t look up. “As long as it don’t got nothing to do with my feelings.”

  “You have feelings?”

  He shakes his head. “Last night, Betty kept going on about how I feel about her. Do I like my cars better than her and all that shit.”

  “You didn’t tell her the truth, did you?”

  “Hell, no. How stupid do you think I am? Of course I said I love her more than my cars.”

  I laugh and he grins. I hand him a clean rag before he can even ask for it and watch while he wipes away an almost invisible smudge on the fender. “So you were saying?” he asks.

  “Do you know anyone who actually went to that program at McPherson?”

  “Why? You going there too?”

  I shrug.

  “You should,” he said. “You’d come out ahead.”

  “You think?”

  “What the hell you gonna do around here if you don’t? Wait for me to croak and then buy the business off Betty?”

  I shrug again, not willing to admit that that was pretty much my plan. Not that I’m hoping he’ll drop dead anytime soon or anything.

  “Go to college,” he tells me. “Open your own place. The old-car guys’ll flock to a woman mechanic as long as you know your shit.” I smile. He’s probably right. He lowers the hood on the Ford and wipes his hands on his coveralls. “You’re the real deal, Crystal. Hell, you’ll probably put me outta business.”

  I feel a little embarrassed by his praise, so I say, “You’re not trying to get rid of me, are you?”

  “If I was, I’d just fire your ass for being late all the time.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m only late so you got something to complain about besides your love life.”

  “Yank my chain harder, honey. I like it,” he says. Then he slaps his hand over his mouth in fake shock. “Sorry. I forgot about all that sexual harassment bullshit. You’re not gonna sue me, are yo
u?”

  “Not if you write me a letter of recommendation for McPherson.”

  “Aw, shit,” he says. “You know I would, but I hate paperwork. Can’t I call them?”

  As predicted. But I’m feeling pretty smart because I’ve come up with a solution. “I need a real letter,” I say. “But how about if I write it and you sign it?”

  He nods. “Perfect.”

  Before I leave, he gives me a drag on his cigarette and a piece of gum. Now that I’ve got my recommendations lined up, it’s time to have a look at the application. All the way home I try to think of some way to ditch Amber tomorrow. I want to go to the library and check out McPherson’s website without her looking over my shoulder.

  The next day I tell Amber I’m taking the Mustang to a cruise-in at Mikey’s Diner. After all these years, she should know there aren’t any in November because most people have garaged their cars for the winter, but she totally buys it, and I’m stabbed with guilt as I drive away, leaving her and Natalie in front of the television with Gil.

  Chapter 11

  I get a surprise when I check out the application online on Sunday afternoon. I don’t need any letters of reference. Why the hell did Ms. Spellerman have them on my to-do list? When I stop by her office on Monday to point this out, she doesn’t remember who I am at first, and then once I remind her, she tells me I might want the recommendations to apply for scholarships or to help me get a job in Kansas and that I should go ahead and get them anyway. I’ve already talked with Jocelyn and asked Jimmy, so I figure why not?

  On Tuesday night I have the SAT prep course I’ve signed up for. David couldn’t work for me, but Raul said he’d swap for Wednesday, so that was good. When it’s time to go, Amber’s huddled under a raggedy quilt on the couch with Natalie to keep warm. There’s a space heater in the corner, but it’s one of those old-fashioned ones that glows red and might burst into flames at any second, so none of us get too close to it. Amber’s trying to do her calculus homework, which she has spread out on the coffee table, but it’s obviously hard with frozen hands and Nat in her lap.

  “Where’re you going?” she asks when she sees I’ve got my coat on.

  I’ve got my lie ready. “Library.”

  “Why?”

  “Paper for English.” I scoot toward the door.

  “I’ll come with you,” she says. “It’s got to be warmer there.”

  Luckily, my class is at the local college, so I have an out. “I’m going to PCC. You know they don’t like it when we bring Nat.” I head for the kitchen. Unfortunately, it’s only through the archway and Amber’s voice follows me.

  “Mom can watch her.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Mom says, not looking up from her crossword puzzle. “She can hang out with Grandma. As long as you’re back by eleven.”

  Crap. I wasn’t counting on this. And the clock is ticking. “Yeah, okay. But let’s go.”

  Amber hands me Nat, and I automatically check her diaper. She needs to be changed and I know Mom’ll never get around to it, so while Amber finds her shoes, I do the dirty deed.

  “Poor little baby,” I say to her when the cold air hits her naked butt. “You’re a summer baby, aren’t you? You don’t like this cold air, do you?”

  She wrinkles up her face like she might cry, and I rush through my job and get her wrapped back up quickly. Now I really am going to be late. And I still don’t know how I’m going to get away from Amber once we’re on campus. I guess we’ll go to the library together, and then I’ll try to ditch her.

  “What’re you gonna do?” I ask her when we get inside the library.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “My calculus. Maybe go online.”

  “Great. I’ll meet you back here when I’m done.”

  “How long?”

  “Not sure,” I say, rushing off before she can stop me.

  I hover by the front door until I see her logging onto a computer, and then I slip outside and run through the breezeway, hoping I’m not too late. I’m looking all over for room 207, and I can’t find it anywhere. Finally, I ask a hipster with a bushy beard and a ferret wrapped around his neck.

  “It’s down there,” he says, pointing at a little hallway by a bathroom.

  I have my hand on the knob when I hear a click, and then I pull and the door won’t open. I knock. There’s a second where nothing happens, and then the door opens and a guy about a mile tall stands over me, looking down his nose.

  “You’re late.”

  “I couldn’t find the room.”

  He waves me in and then proceeds to tell everyone that once the door is locked, no one gets in, so we should all be early from now on. My face is burning, and I wish my hair wasn’t up in a ponytail so I could hide under it. I keep my eyes on my desk.

  For the next two hours he drills us. He gives us tips and tricks and practice tests, and I feel like someone’s pounding little nails into my head. I’m also distracted by the idea that Amber might get bored and go looking for me. Another problem is that the SATs are full of trick questions. I guess that’s why we have to take the course, so we can figure out the game they’re playing with us.

  As soon as the instructor says we’re done for tonight, I stuff my workbooks into my backpack and head for the hallway. I’m almost through the door when I hear my name.

  “Hey, Crystal!”

  I turn and see Stanford Boy. “Oh, hey.” So this is why he couldn’t cover my shift.

  “How’s it going? Man, my brain feels like mush.”

  “Yeah, mine too.”

  “You want to get a coffee?” he asks.

  I’m totally surprised. I mean, he’s always been polite to me, but I haven’t exactly been friendly to him. “Uh, no, I can’t. I have to meet my sister at the library.”

  He nods. Everyone else is heading for the parking lot, and I peel off, hoping to lose him, but he follows me. “I was thinking,” he says. “If you change your mind and want to go to Bremerton on Sunday, you could ride with me.”

  For about half a second, I consider it. Who wouldn’t want to ride in the Chevelle? But then I snap to. Even if he drove, I’d have to offer gas money, pay to get in, buy lunch, maybe even dinner.

  “What would your girlfriend say?” I ask.

  He smiles. “It was her idea. She keeps telling me to get some car friends because she’s not interested.”

  “I know the feeling. My sister never wants to hear about my car.”

  By now we’re standing in the lobby of the library and, like she knows we’re talking about her, Amber materializes.

  “Whoa,” David says. “I’m seeing double all of a sudden.”

  We laugh politely like we’ve never heard it before, and I introduce them. The whole time they’re talking, I’m praying he doesn’t mention the SAT prep course. Amber looks a little pissed off, but I can tell she’s trying to hide it in front of David.

  I really want to get out of here. “We should probably go.”

  Amber’s totally silent until we’re in the car, but before I can start the engine, she says, “You lied to me.”

  Crap. How did she find out?

  I try to sound innocent. “What do you mean?”

  “Did you really have a paper to write?”

  “Yeah, I did.” I’m relieved because technically I did. I always seem to have a paper to write.

  “You weren’t meeting that guy?”

  “No. God, no. I don’t even like him. He stole my job, remember?”

  “Why were you standing in the lobby?”

  “I was looking for you.”

  She nods like she believes me, but when I pull into the driveway, she says, “I was at the same computer all night, Crys. If you want to meet a guy, go ahead. But don’t bullshit me.”

  If Amber’s pissed off about this, just think what she’d say if she knew where I’d really been. Next week, I’m going to have to come up with a better plan.

  Chapter 12

  It’s a good thing I dec
ided to blow off David and the swap meet. By the weekend I’m so sick I can barely drag myself to work, forget a road trip. On Saturday I stumble around the gas station until Rosa sends me home at three o’clock, and when I get there, Amber’s already in the bathroom throwing up. Unable to wait, I race into the scraggly excuse for a backyard and empty my gut out there.

  When I stagger back inside, Amber’s curled up in a little ball on her bed. I check on Nat, who’s in the living room in her playpen. She smiles up at me and promptly puts a foot into her mouth. I’m not sure what to do about her. She looks fine. But for how long? If we take care of her, won’t we make her sick too?

  I lie down on the couch where I can see her without breathing on her. Mom goes into the kitchen and I call to her, but I’m not sure any sound comes out. She steps back into the living room and looks at me.

  “Why does it smell like someone died in the bathroom?”

  “We’re sick,” I manage to get out before clamping my hand over my mouth to keep from heaving.

  Mom reaches down and touches Natalie’s forehead. “She seems okay.”

  “Me and Amber. What do we do about Nat?”

  “Leave her to me,” she says. “If she doesn’t have it already, it’ll be a friggin’ miracle, though.”

  I watch her pick up the baby, but then my eyes close, and I have these crazy dreams about someone chasing me with a giant toilet plunger. They go on from there, too many and too whacked to remember. Then someone’s smashing snow in my face, and I struggle to get away.

  “Shhh . . . baby . . . shhh . . . it’s okay. Let me put this cloth on you.” I open my eyes and Mom’s looming over me with a damp rag.

  The next time I wake up I’m in my bed. Someone’s taken off most of my clothes, and I have no idea how I got here. It’s pitch-dark and my throat’s on fire. “Am?” I think I say. I hear a little moan across the room, and then I’m out again.

  I’m in my bed and Natalie’s on the floor, reaching toward me, her little arms plump and her hands opening and closing. I try to get up. She shouldn’t be on the ice-cold floor, but my body’s heavy and I can’t lift my head.