by Rebel Hart
It’s disgusting, and maybe I’m being too stubborn, but driving this car home is almost like another act of defiance. Once again, they tried to stop me, but they won’t. I refuse to let them, even if it means driving home sitting in urine-soaked seats. Knowing them, they’re hiding somewhere nearby just to watch my mortified reaction. I can’t resist flipping my middle finger out the window as I speed off.
Chapter Six
BOOK 3
I’m feeling pretty smug in my determination to drive my destroyed, urine-soaked car home. Nothing can stop me. I’ll show those Elites they can’t bring me down. I turn my stereo up full blast and speed off down the winding roads away from the school.
I get a little overzealous and hit a curvy hill too quickly, shrinking my feeling of invincibility. The car handles around it fine, but I decide to bring it down a notch and press my foot to the brakes to slow down a little before the next sharp turn.
I’m startled by the give of the pedal. It sinks straight to the floor with no reaction in the car. Without thinking I raise my foot and lower it again, but to my horror, it drops in empty motions over and over and my car doesn’t even slow down a little. My heart pounds as the realization sets in that I have no way of slowing down and I am flying downhill, quickly approaching a series of sharp turns that I’ll never make at this speed.
Panic brings tears to my eyes, blurring my vision, as my foot slams to the brake as hard as it can. Each time, there’s just an empty push of air. The breath in my lungs becomes just as empty as I fully accept that the brakes are useless, and I hit another abrupt bend in the road. I barely manage to navigate around it before there is another one. The car is going way too fast and starts to shake with a frightening rattle.
With a loud bang that vibrates through my entire body, it flies off the edge of the road, shredding against rocks and trees. It comes to such a sudden stop that my head slams into the steering wheel just before the airbags go off.
The airbag slams my body back against the seat with a stinging force that leaves me completely disoriented. I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest and my head is dizzy and aching. I blink through my blurry vision and try to look around, realizing that at least the car is stopped. But the hood is smoking and squealing, and I can hear the drips and pops coming from underneath, letting me know that it’s completely fucked.
I lean forward to try and get out, but the entire car creaks and moans, wobbling in the air with the shifting weight of my body. My vision quickly grows sharp as I look straight ahead with wide, terrified eyes. The car is wedged over the side of the cliff so far that the front two tires are hanging in the air. I try to move again, more slowly this time, and the whole thing see-saws, threatening to go flying off the edge.
My hands are shaking as I sob to myself for a second, still in shock. I have to get out of here. Being more careful this time, I try to sit up enough to get a grip on my seat belt, but the car groans and shifts forward again, this time creaking forward even more. I barely hear my own scream as it lunges toward the cliffside with a steep drop down over giant rocks and trees.
There’s a loud crack as the car barely catches on something underneath, maybe a tree. Whatever it is, it momentarily stops it from rolling any further. But the car is at a full downward tilt now and wobbling more with every tiny movement I make. Even the faint weight of my labored breaths seem to be pushing it closer to the edge.
I slowly and carefully inch my hand toward the seat belt buckle, but like the brakes, nothing happens when I push down. The belt is still pulled tight across me from the crash, but the release button does nothing no matter how hard I frantically push it. My urgency causes me to get sloppy, not being careful enough about how much I’m moving, and the car screeches forward another few inches. I freeze in terror.
Now without me moving at all, the car continues giving into gravity an inch at a time, as I accept that the seat belt isn’t going to unbuckle. I take the risk of trying to wiggle out of it, but it’s too tight across my lap and I only make the car teeter even more. A loud snap echoes around me, causing me to take a deep breath as if I’m about to crash into water. But there’s no water below. There’s just a steep drop to certain death.
Still deaf to my own screams and cries, even though I feel them burning through my chest, I try to come to terms with the fact that I am about to die.
A gush of air from my left snaps me out of it just as a pair of hands fly into the car around me and make desperate attempts to loosen the belt enough to rip me out. With a sharp tug to my arms, I feel the seat leave the bottom of my thighs. I go flying through the air, tightly wrapped in someone’s arms, while the sound of whining, twisting metal cries out from a few feet away.
When we hit the ground, I shoot straight up, not fully aware of what’s just happened. The cracking leaves beneath me give the assurance that I’m back on solid ground again, but I look up just in time to see the car slide over the edge and crash down below with a terrible sound.
My chest heaves with adrenaline as my eyes shoot up, finding Coach Granger’s face towering above me.
“Are you okay!?” he huffs.
But I’m speechless. My eyes tear up again, and I am completely unable to wrap my head around anything that just happened enough to form words. It all happened so fast, but in eerie slow motion at the same time.
“I could have died,” I murmur breathlessly as I stare at the spot where my car was lodged just moments ago.
“What the hell were you doing going so fast!?” he scolds, his voice booming with anger.
In shock, I have to ask myself the same question at first. Then it all comes flooding back to me. The Elites. They did this. I thought they had just graffitied my car all to hell, but they obviously tampered with the brakes too. And possibly the seat belt.
“Malcolm,” I stammer out finally through sharp breaths. “And the others. They keyed and slashed my car. The brakes…they…”
Suddenly I’m overcome with the urge to bolt to the edge of the overlook to try and see my car. Coach Granger races behind me, holding my arms to keep me steady on the edge. It takes what feels like forever to finally spot it. It’s so far down it’s almost a spec, and what I can see of it is completely crushed and folded in on itself. Just as I feared when I was still trapped inside and dangling there, I would have never survived that fall.
“Those bastards tried to kill me!” I shriek, half hyperventilating as I stare down at the mangled mess below.
Coach Granger pulls me in tight and drags me away. He shuffles me into the passenger seat of his car. Once I’m sitting inside, I become aware of the pain shooting through my head and limbs all over again. My fingers touch lightly against the wet ache on my forehead, and when I pull them back, I see they’re bloody.
“We need to get you to the hospital,” he says as he watches me with concern.
“I’m fine,” I heave in disbelief.
“Doesn’t hurt to get checked out,” he insists. “That’s a pretty nasty gash. You could need stitches. Anyway, you don’t want some hidden injury popping up next time you start running laps.”
I laugh lightly at Coach’s focused concern on my ability to run track, even after my near-death experience. But he’s right. As much as I’d love to pretend none of that just happened, I need to see a doctor. And beyond that, my car is gone. Completely crushed and mangled. Which is just what I need as I near the end of my senior year.
Coach drives me to the hospital for a check-up, where they determine I don’t need stitches. But they do give me a prescription of muscle relaxers from the aches and pains, which I can expect to be worse tomorrow. I’m waiting to be officially dismissed when two police officers walk into my room. Jameson police are terrifying to me. They’re corrupt and with all the changes in the structure of the Elites lately, it’s impossible to know whose side they’re on.
“Ophelia Lopez?” one of the officers questions as Coach takes a cross-armed stance in the corner. He knows all too we
ll about the corruption of local police and is just as skeptical as I am. “We’re sorry to hear about what happened to you today. Mr. Granger filled us in, but we’d like to ask you a few questions if you’re feeling up to it.”
“Okay,” I answer blankly.
He nods and pulls out a pad of paper and a pen from his coat pocket. “He told us you suspected someone tampered with your car before driving it. Can you tell us what made you think that?”
“Ha!” I laugh out accidentally. “I didn’t just suspect it. It was obvious. They spray painted it, keyed it, and shredded the seats! I thought I could get it home to be fixed, but when I started driving…the brakes wouldn’t work. Then the seat belt was jammed.”
“Was it an older car?” he asks suggestively.
I have to fight back a spark of rage before answering. “What does that have to do with it? You’re saying it was just a coincidence that it was vandalized right before I discovered the brakes weren’t working?”
He shifts his feet, looking slightly offended by my tone. “Well, if you’re so certain someone tampered with the brakes, who do you think might have done such a thing? Has anyone threatened you in any way? Someone at school maybe?”
Once again, I can’t contain my laughter as I consider all the ways in which the Elites have threatened me since my first day at this school. I try to keep it together. My laughter trails off into suppressed snickering as I cut my eyes over to Coach Granger, unsure how honest I should be. He nods his head in encouragement, pushing me to tell them more.
“Malcolm Henderson,” I blurt finally. “It’s a long story, but I know he hates me. Him and the whole clique he runs in.” I try to avoid using the term Elites. If these officers aren’t already bought by the new leaders of the circle, the phrase alone will scare them off from actually doing anything about this.
“Malcolm Henderson?” he echoes in surprise. “Didn’t he and Liam Henderson just take over Jameson Automobiles?”
“From my boyfriend, Emmett Jameson. Yes. He’s the one who rightfully inherited it,” I shoot back firmly.
I see the wheels turning in the officer’s eyes. He perks up and tries to pin down what question to ask next. But just as his lips part, the officer behind him whispers something in his ear. They mutter things back and forth for a moment, and finally I see his pen click shut before he puts it back into his pocket along with the notepad.
“Thank you for your time, Ophelia,” he announces suddenly. “We’ll let you know if we have any more questions.”
I’m not surprised, but the blatant calculation of it all enrages me. They’re obviously trying to get a handle on who’s off-limits around here now, rather than pursuing all crimes and criminals equally.
“That’s it?” I huff. “Will there be any consequences for Malcolm over this?”
I notice Coach Granger’s eyes darken. I should know the answer to that. We had DNA evidence that Malcolm maliciously planted heroin into the hands of his recovering addict son and nothing happened to him. He’s definitely not going down for this.
“We’ll look into it,” the cop assures me half-heartedly, already halfway out the door.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I grumble sarcastically, thinking he won’t even hear it. But he stops abruptly in the doorway and whips back around, looking angry.
“Look, Ms. Lopez,” he snaps. “I understand this was very scary for you. But the fact is we have no way of proving who vandalized your car or if they were also the reason the brakes malfunctioned. There’s a big difference between vandalism and attempted murder, and we can’t make that leap with no evidence. Your car is at the bottom of a valley, completely crushed. I just don’t think we’re going to get the result you’re hoping for out of this.”
I’m quiet as I process everything. I know part of what he’s saying is true, but I also know it all comes down to how hard they’re willing to try. And with Malcolm being the accused culprit, we all know they’re simply not going to try that hard.
“Thank you,” I finally mutter, knowing it’s useless to argue with them. With that, he finally turns and walks away without another word. Once they’re gone, I turn back to Coach. “This is bullshit. You know Malcolm and the Elites were behind this.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he offers, his eyes still haunted by the memory of what Malcolm has put him through.
“Ophelia! Oh my god!” my mom’s voice cries out from the doorway.
My mom’s worried voice and face instantly remind me of the car accident that Emmett and I got into last year. I may never know what the Elites expected him to do to me that day. Whatever it was wasn’t good, and in my desperate attempts to get away from him, he slammed the car into a streetlight. And somehow that’s what led to our first kiss, right here in this hospital.
My mom rushes over and showers me in kisses and hugs, each one causing me to wince in pain.
“Mom! Stop!” I rasp as I cringe.
“Sorry, I was just so worried when I got the call about your accident!” She cups my face in her hands, looking down at me with a relieved expression. “Coach Granger, thank you so much for everything.”
I listen to her tone and realize whoever called her must not have told her the whole story. She is obviously thanking him for picking me up and driving me to the hospital but has no idea he saved my life. And maybe that’s for the best. I’m learning to accept that my mom may never know the full story of anything in Jameson.
“I’m ready to go home,” I moan as I brace my stuff body against the back of the bed, eagerly pushing myself to my feet.
She wraps her arms around me and guides me out of the room. Coach Granger says goodbye at the front doors of the hospital. I almost want to run after him. The corruption of this town has a special way of making you feel alone, making you want to flock to the arms of anyone who fully understands it. That’s part of what brought Emmett and me together after all.
The Elites have threatened to kill me plenty of times. Thomas Jameson and the Hendersons have all put guns to my head. The ways I’ve been injured and humiliated have almost been as bad as the death threats. But they’ve never come this close to actually killing me before. If Coach Granger hadn’t shown up on the side of the road like that, I would be dead right now.
The harsh reality of it makes me feel sick as I press my aching forehead to the window of my mom’s car, relishing in the coolness of it against my skin. All I want is to graduate and get the hell out of Jameson, away from the Elites and WJ Prep. But I’m starting to wonder if they’ll ever let that happen.
My father and I are the ultimate insult to them, after all. Between his past transgressions against them and the murder of Thomas Jameson. That only left Emmett standing in their way of ultimate power, and he’s hand in hand with me. Plus, I’ve never been good at bowing down to any of them the way everyone else does. I swallow down a hard lump in my throat as I begin to wonder…if maybe I will have to start treating them the way everyone else does just to survive. Like unquestionable gods.
Chapter Seven
BOOK 3
Between the muscle relaxers and the exhaustion from my adrenaline crash, I sleep like a rock. When I wake up the next morning, I somehow briefly forget about the whole thing. Enough that I spend a minute or two wondering where my purse is before I remember that it’s down at the bottom of a cliff.
As it hits me, there’s a knock at my bedroom door. “Ophelia?” my mom calls out, just as she barges in. “Are you ready?”
“No, I just got up,” I reply, rubbing my face in confusion. “Ready for what?”
“I’ll have to drop you off at the DMV so you can get a new license,” she says. “But we have to hurry. I can’t be too much later for work than I already will be.”
“But…school,” I murmur through my grogginess.
“You’ll have to miss part of the day,” she insists. “You can catch a bus to WJ Prep when you’re done. They’re only open weekdays and you’ll need your ID.”
&n
bsp; “For what?” I sneer. “It’s not like I have a car to drive.”
She ignores my pity party and disappears down the hall, but I know it’s her way of rushing me. If I want to sulk, I’ll have to do it in the car. We have to go. I throw on some clothes and follow along. As she drives me to the DMV, I reach for my cell phone five or six times, thinking I need to message Emmett, only to remember it’s in my mangled car right along with my driver’s license.
“Did anyone tell Emmett what happened?” I ask her, amazed that I was too tired to think about it the night before.
“Yes, I talked to him last night,” she assures me. “He was worried sick, like the rest of us. But I told him you were okay and that you’d be at school later in the day. He wanted to come over, but I told him you were asleep and needed your rest.”
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the need to be in his arms, and I’m almost angry that she didn’t let him burst in on my sleep in the middle of the night. Aside from Coach Granger, he’s the only other person I really feel safe with right now.
She drops me off at the DMV, feeling completely naked without my phone or anything else. I can only hope that I don’t have any problems and that I catch the bus afterward because otherwise I’m screwed. It’s at least a three-mile walk to any place where I could reach someone to come pick me up, and everyone will be at work or school.
Those Elites really do know how to fuck a person over. I’m sure they’d be happier if I died, but survival means I’m stuck facing down all of these inconveniences. I guess I should be grateful for. But it’s all overshadowed by the fact that if Malcolm and the others tried to kill me once, who’s to say they won’t try again?
Thankfully, I get my new license with no problems. I catch the bus to school in time to make the last couple of class periods. I manage to meet with teachers for the classes I missed that morning, pass a test I should have studied for last night, and survive the school day without any more brushes with death.
