by Adi Alsaid
“We just need to get something out of the car,” Bree said, not slowing down.
The valet squinted at them, noticing the keys in Bree’s hand. She closed her fist tightly against them, as if he might try to take them away from her forcefully. She wondered if they could outrun him.
“Oh,” he said, starting to walk in their direction. “Are, uh, are you guys club members?”
“My parents just forgot something,” Bree said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the golden Mercedes.
Leila followed Bree’s lead, but the valet kept walking toward them, as if he meant to cut them off. He’d pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Okay,” he said, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to leave them.
Shit, Bree thought, sensing an impassable obstacle. Then she remembered how easy it had been to just walk away with all they’d stolen at the convenience store, how that guy pumping his gas had looked at them. The Mercedes was only about three cars away now, close enough that the remote would have no trouble unlocking the doors. She met the valet’s gaze, searching his rather pretty eyes for something besides suspicion.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said, stepping right up to him.
“Um,” he said. They were standing by the Mercedes now. The valet’s gaze went from the car, to Leila, to Bree, who was now less than an arm’s length away. “Sure.”
“When was the last time you felt really alive?”
“What?”
Without another word, Bree put her hand on his waist and pulled herself toward him. She kissed him with abandon. Despite what had happened, Bree still believed in reckless kisses. She pulled back and couldn’t help but laugh at the dazed look in the valet’s eyes.
“Whoa,” he said.
“Listen, I’m going to be honest with you,” Bree said, keeping an arm around his waist. “This is not our car. But we’re not stealing it.”
“No?” He looked at the two girls, and Bree wondered if his worries were already being replaced by fantasies.
“No. But we do plan on borrowing it.”
“Uh,” he said. “I don’t know if I can—”
“Just an hour,” Bree said. “We’ll bring it back before anyone notices.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Bree kissed him again. His scruff was ticklish but not in a bad way, more like a finger tenderly grazing the contours of her lips. This time, she brushed her tongue against his before pulling away. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You just pretend you never saw us,” Bree said, stepping away from him, her heart pounding with adrenaline. “And we’ll come back in an hour with the car. Then, when you get off work, we can all hang out together.”
He scratched his chin, looked at Leila leaning against the Mercedes, then turned back to Bree, his eyes roaming past the neckline of her shirt. A honk sounded from behind them. “Damnit,” he said, turning toward the front of the club. “Okay. Okay. Wait until I pull this car in, and then you can go.” He started a halfhearted jog back to his valet stand, looking over his shoulder. “See you guys later,” he called back.
When he ran out of sight, Bree turned to Leila and unlocked the doors. “Time for some German air-conditioning.”
“You’re my new hero,” Leila said, climbing into the passenger seat.
Bree smiled to herself and got into the driver’s seat. She had expected the interior to smell like leather, or that new-car smell she had once read was actually formaldehyde. But it smelled of stale cigarettes and body odor, of too much cologne and perfume. She wondered if the windows had ever been rolled down.
They started the car and immediately blasted the air-conditioning. It was wonderfully powerful and loud, as if the German engineers who had designed it wanted to create not just air but wind. When the valet drove up in the new car, a silver BMW, Bree waved at him and pulled slowly out of the parking lot and down the driveway. She could feel her heart pounding away the stillness again.
When they reached the street, Bree revved the engine beyond what was necessary, the trees on the side of the road turning into blurs so suddenly that it felt cartoonish.
“Did you hear how he said, ‘Whoa,’ when you kissed him?”
Bree laughed and pressed the gas pedal down a little harder. It barely offered any resistance. They shot past a yellow traffic light, and a woman walking her dog shook her head in disgust.
They turned the now-cool air-conditioning to its full potential, lowered the windows, and let out a yell that would have made Maurice Sendak’s Wild Things quiver with delight. The car roared in unison, the air rushing in and making their hair dance across their eyes. Maybe she was just imagining it, but Bree could feel the adrenaline rushing through her body, microscopic particles crashing around in her veins, little wild things in their own right. She let out another yell, a lung-emptying bellow that the wind grabbed a hold of and swirled together with Leila’s laughter.
Bree found the highway and quickly turned the Mercedes onto the on-ramp. She stepped harder on the accelerator, so hard that she could practically feel the fuel burning. Leila drummed on the dashboard as if their getaway was soundtracked by one of those burst-of-energy songs. Bree could see for miles. It was just her, Leila, the Kansas City metropolitan area spread out beneath the big midwestern sky, and the highway disappearing inch by inch into the horizon, beckoning them forward.
4
BREE BARELY NEEDED to nudge the wheel in order for the Mercedes to swiftly maneuver in and out of lanes. This was not the first time Bree had ever driven a car. Alexis had on occasion given her lessons around their neighborhood or in the vast parking lots of shopping malls in Reno. But this was the first time Bree had felt the joy driving could bring, how a car could make its driver feel powerful, like a beast unleashed.
When the flow of traffic started to slow, Bree took the nearest exit. She drove cautiously and inexpertly on the city streets. She took them back downtown, looking for an audience at which to secretly flaunt their stolen car.
“Park here,” Leila said, pointing at a small lot. “Let’s go find some celebratory ice cream.”
“Celebratory ice cream?”
“Nothing’s more suitable,” Leila said, “not even alcohol. It’s the secret every parent instinctively knows: Ice cream makes everything better. I’m surprised hospitals aren’t all stocked with every flavor of Ben and Jerry’s.”
Bree thought back to her parents’ stints in the hospital, how she and Alexis actually used to go make ice cream runs, either to fill the time or because their mom couldn’t handle eating anything else. “Now you’re talking,” she said, parking the car. As they got out, Bree thought of something. “How’d you know, by the way? That hospitals don’t stock any good ice cream. Who’d you have to visit?”
Leila turned quickly, as if caught doing something wrong. Then she cast her eyes downward and shrugged. “My little sister had tonsillitis.”
They found a shop nearby. It was decorated in the vein of an old-fashioned soda fountain; a long counter lined with stools, and, outside, a candy-striped awning over a couple of stainless-steel tables. “This looks so much like a place in San Fran,” Bree said, pulling out a chair and turning it to face the street. “They had all these crazy flavors, like roasted pineapple, spicy chocolate, and basil.”
Leila licked at her scoop of strawberry and put her feet up on the chair in front of her. “That sounds amazing.”
“Yeah. I could rarely afford to go there, which made it so much better when I could.”
“How long were you there?”
“Just a couple of weeks, right after I left home,” Bree said, watching the traffic go by.
“I’ve never been. How was it?”
“Bit of a shit show, to be honest.” Bree chuckled.
There was a certain amusement in watching how miserable everyone
was sweltering, in their cars. Bree liked seeing the little details: ties loosened in a yank or two and then forgotten; conversations yelled into hidden, hands-free headsets; ponytails coming apart like fabric being unwoven.
“Come on,” Leila said, finishing off the last of her waffle cone. “It’s been a while since my adrenaline spiked. Let’s go find something to do.”
* * *
Bree and Leila passed a park busy with a number of Little League games. The basketball courts were a blur of bright-colored shorts and shirts. Swarms of bugs surrounded the overhead lights, and Bree parked but kept the engine on for the air-conditioning, then noticed the stale cigar stench and decided to crack the windows. A warm stream of air slipped in through the opening.
Bree thought about the arc of her day in terms of temperature, starting with the sunburn on the side of the road, the sweltering heat in Leila’s car, the cold initial blast from the Mercedes, and now the miraculous way that dark could make the air pleasant. “People don’t appreciate the Earth’s rotation enough,” she said, slipping a finger through the cracked window.
Leila laughed. “That was a bit of a stoner comment.”
Bree shrugged, relishing the feel of the air on her finger. “Nah, I quit all the stoner stuff when I left San Francisco. The occasional weird comment is all part of seizing the day. The appreciation eventually just comes pouring out of you.”
Leila lowered her window and stuck her hand out. “How did you and your sister not get along? You’re one of the coolest people I’ve ever met.”
Bree turned to face Leila with a smile. “We just clashed. She was always kind of uptight, and I’m...the way that I am. And this is a calmer version, too. A few months ago I was a little more, um, aggressive about having a good time.”
“And you said she was being too parental?”
“Yeah. Sometimes it seemed like we were just pretending. She’d get mad and scold me, and I’d throw out these exaggerated teenage clichés, like ‘You’re ruining my life,’” Bree said in a bratty voice, lowering her window the rest of the way. “I kept expecting Alexis to finally crack a smile, or to cry, or something. But all she wanted to do was discipline me, and that only pissed me off more. I guess on some level I expected that what we’d gone through would bring us closer, you know, bridge the gap between our personalities. Instead, she shacked up with some law student and seemed to hate me more by the day.”
Leila didn’t respond for a while. They both stared out at the game. “How did your parents die?”
Bree picked at the steering wheel’s leather. “My mom had lung cancer. She got sick first. I was fourteen, and Alexis was eighteen.” She glanced over at Leila, then ran a finger along the length of the car door, her hands unwilling to keep still. “Within a year, Dad died, too. Sometimes I don’t know whether to be thankful or appalled that at sixteen I’ve already lived so many lives.”
Bree sighed, then waved her hand through the warm air. “I’m glad I left,” she said, turning to smile at Leila. “I get to seize more days.”
“It’s been a good day,” Leila said.
“Very good day,” Bree repeated, glad that Leila wasn’t pressing the conversation. “So, what’s next?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking of covering a bit more ground today. We could go take this car back, pick my car up, and head north for a few more hours.”
“Where do you usually sleep?”
“Every now and then I’ll get a motel room, but they’re so goddamn lonely, I’d much rather sleep in the car.” Leila turned down the AC and then lowered her window all the way, leaning her head partly out to sniff the air. “You’re more than welcome to tag along, if you don’t have any other plans.”
“Sweet,” Bree said. “No plans. Just how I like it.”
“Let the adventure continue, then,” Leila said, reading Bree’s mind.
A cheer sounded from the soccer field. Bree watched the kids from the scoring team run into a massive hug, the parents applauding wildly, happiness plastered on everyone’s face. The kids on the other team looked on at the celebrations as if they wished they’d been invited.
“So,” Bree said, as she moved to put her seat belt back on and start the car, “why the Northern Lights?”
“They’ve been my obsession for a while. My portfolio for school just wouldn’t be complete without them,” Leila said, just as a cop car behind them let out a quick howl of its siren. The sound was gone almost as soon as it had started, as if it were just clearing its throat to politely interrupt the conversation. Red and blue lights shimmered across the inside of the car. Another squad car pulled into the lot, parking directly behind the Mercedes. It switched on its floodlights, and Bree turned away from the blinding glare in the rearview mirror.
“What are the chances that’s not for us?” Leila asked.
Two officers climbed out of each car, hands on the butts of their guns. One of them pointed a flashlight at the Mercedes, which seemed a little redundant with the lights from the cruiser beaming onto them. They approached from either side of the car, taking slow and measured steps. Bree shielded her eyes from the bright lights and wished they’d just get it over with.
The soccer game had slowed to a near halt. All the kids were busy looking at the Mercedes and the police cars, and the adults were halfheartedly trying to get them to keep playing, although they, too, were distracted.
Bree felt somehow bad for the soccer ball rolling slowly out of bounds, temporarily forgotten. Bree imagined that the ball loved nothing more than to be kicked across the field, to feel the blades of grass give way beneath its weight. If not for the very real possibility of getting shot for it, Bree would have sprung out of the car, raced across the field, and kicked the crap out of that ball. It would sail up over the goal, past the edge of the field, across the street, and over the row of houses, rising up higher and higher in the sky like a misfired bullet or a missile seeking destruction.
5
THE HOLDING CELL they were in was about ten by ten feet and surprisingly clean. Bree was lying down on the narrow bench built into the wall, hanging off its edge though she was pressed against the wall. It was made of cold, unforgiving concrete that stiffened her back. Not without a certain amount of satisfaction, she rubbed the sore spots where the handcuffs had pressed against her wrist bones, almost sorry to know that they wouldn’t scar.
“Is it just me,” Leila said, “or is this cell more comfortable than you’d expect?” She was sitting near Bree’s outstretched legs, looking at the floor with her arms hanging low and her fingertips grazing the ground.
Bree ran her finger along the underside of the bench and examined the whorls of her fingerprints for signs of dirt. “Cleaner, too.”
Leila sat up quickly, her eyes wide. “Holy shit! This is my first time in a jail cell.”
Bree lifted herself up onto her elbows, looking quizzically at Leila. “Mine, too.”
“We should be celebrating. This is something to tell the grandkids about.”
“That’s a good point. How should we celebrate?”
“You think they’ll bring us some ice cream if we asked them nicely?”
“If that doesn’t work, it’s your turn to kiss someone to get what we want.”
“Deal,” Leila said, rising from the bench and walking over to the bars, which weren’t the dirty gray of iron but had been painted a pleasant beige. “Excuse me, officers,” she called down the empty hallway. “We haven’t received our complimentary scoop of ice cream yet.” She paused for a moment. “I know my rights!”
She turned back to Bree and frowned exaggeratedly. “I don’t think we’re gonna get any ice cream.”
“Bastards. We’ll have to think of some other way to mark the special occasion.”
“Have any ideas?” Leila walked back to the bench and took a seat with her feet tucked under her.
&nb
sp; “I’d suggest streaking, because I’ve never done that, and it might be nice to cross another thing off the list while celebrating. But we don’t have much running room in here. Plus, maybe it wouldn’t be the smartest decision to add to our criminal records so soon.”
“Alleged criminal records,” Leila corrected. “Are you worried?”
“Nah,” Bree said, lying back down as if to flaunt her carelessness. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Plus, they pretty much just wrote my college essay for me. I’ll talk about learning from the hardships of my rebellious teenage years, and I’ll get accepted anywhere I want.” After she said this, Bree realized that there was a tiny inkling of worry in her belly. But it wasn’t for herself—she was a minor and at worst might go to juvie for a few months. It was a concern about what might happen to Leila.
A moment passed in which Bree realized how eerily quiet it was. There was just the low hum of a fluorescent lightbulb somewhere down the hall. There was no clue as to what was happening in the outside world.
Leila stood up and walked to the bars. “Anyone? Ice cream?” Her voice broke the silence and echoed down the hallway, eliciting no response. “Jerks!” She plopped down onto the floor, resting her back against the bars, her legs stretched out in front of her. She took off her flip-flops and examined them for a few moments. “Don’t you think it’s a mistake to let prisoners into a jail cell wearing shoes? They could conceivably be used as weapons. I mean, mine are too light to cause much damage, but I could really slap the hell out of someone.”
Bree raised her legs to look at her shoes. They were skater sneakers, once solid black but now faded and tattered, their soles rubbed smooth from Bree’s journey. The right one was stained by some unrecognizable, crusty material that she had never noticed before. “Mine are heavy enough to cause some damage. I’m somewhat attached to them, but if it means becoming the first people to break out of jail using only their footwear, I’ll gladly sacrifice them.”
