Breakdown (Crash into Me) (15 page)

“The cars? In the church?

“Right. Jon is part of the parish. That helps a lot.”

I did my best to shake off William’s stare and get back to reality. What he said about having an insider in the church made complete sense. From what I had seen and heard so far, while these people were technically breaking the law every weekend, they had formed a community amongst themselves, a group where everyone played a part and contributed for the sake of the rush. They all seemed to want the danger nearly as badly as I did—they were just careful about how they achieved it.

They were an elite sort of group. And it seemed I had been invited in.

“You ever go to church, Jumper? Most Italians are Catholic, aren’t they?”

While the question wasn’t entirely out of the blue, it still surprised me. God had always been a distant mystical creature in my life, right up there with Santa and The Tooth Fairy. Did William believe in God? Did that make it easier to be happy?

I shook my head until my silk headband threatened to come undone. William, who I thought had been concentrating on the road, smiled faintly.

“I went a couple of times when my nana was still alive—my mom’s mom. The two of them argued all the time because my parents wouldn’t send me to Sunday school.”

“You’re a lucky one then.” William laughed. “My sisters and I dreaded every Sunday morning within an hour of getting back from church that same day.”

“Sisters?” It was harder to picture than anything else, a little William amongst a group of girl-faced Williams. I had to blink hard to try and make the image real.

“Yeah,” he said. “Three of them.” He held up his fingers to demonstrate. “No brothers.”

I laughed freely. At least that explained why William was so good with the girls. Suddenly then, I could see it: William being forced to play princess dress-up and shoved off to ballerina rehearsals. “Where are you along the line?”

His smile fell just a little, and I felt his hesitation as he scratched the back of his head. “Youngest.”

I laughed so hard I felt a stitch form. Even then I couldn’t stop myself, laughing like it was the only thing saving my life.

“D-did they make you play Barbies?”

He grumbled something incoherent.

“I bet you were the life of the tea party!”

“It’s not
that
funny, Jumper…” His face was all smiles anyway.

“How about beauty parlor? You’ve probably had your nails painted more than I have!”

Trying to soothe my stitch, but still laughing, I leaning forward enough to see how pronounced both of his dimples were. “I’ll have you know, Jumper, that I can pull off one hell of a French braid.”

The second biggest surprise of the night came when we stopped on a street in a residential neighborhood. It was just off the freeway where I understood many of the races would take place in their bulk. Only a few of the other racers from the convoy were there, but the spectators had already set up, looking as though they had been there for a while too. Cliques of people lounged on curbsides and leaned against the trees planted in the fronts of people’s yards. Actually, it seemed as though most of the spectator traffic was going between two houses—duplexes that were just as rundown as every other house on the street.

“Aren’t we going to get in trouble?” I pointed out a couple to William who were drinking beer on a porch swing, and groupies who were congregating around a tire swing.

“Cosmo lives here.” He pointed. “And Darby lives there. When we have races over here they have simultaneously parties. They make out great on the cover charge.”

From there on William hardly said a word to me, centered and motivated on nothing else but his car. Though I tried to talk to him and make jokes, he was completely single-mindedly focused on testing the breaks and checking the oil, the air in his tires, and other stuff I didn’t understand.

Standing there like a chump, I gave up on trying to talk to him and left him to his work. I admired his passion more than I had the words to express. Even on my best day I had never loved baking as much as William seemed to love his car, the hustlers their gambling, or the groupies their gossip. Frankly, I doubted I ever would. Maybe, I thought morbidly, if racing didn’t give me the rush I had hoped for then it would be the means to an end I had originally wanted.

“Lottie? Hey, I thought that was you.”

In another corset—this one leopard spotted—Tabby’s appearance once again had the mild confidence I had about my own looks vanish.

“Oh, uh, hi, Tabby. I like your earrings.”  It was true enough that I did. Shaped like cat claws, they went with her corset perfectly, and once again I envied her sense of style.

“Thanks.” She smiled. “You should come shopping with me and a couple of the girls sometime. I’ll show you all the best consignment shops in LA.”

I smiled. Go shopping with a bunch of strippers? I couldn’t even begin to picture it. Then again, if you had asked me to picture it a few days ago, I wouldn’t have pictured myself at a street race either.

“Sure.” I nodded. “I’d like that.”

Tabby gave a quick look over my shoulder before rolling her eyes. “I see Billy is getting ready to ride.”

I quickly looked back at William. Sure enough, his head was still stuck under the hood, and if I could see his face, I was sure it would be serious.

“Yeah.” I laughed. “I’ve given up on trying to talk to him.”

“Eggs is the same way.” She laughed. “I’ve accepted that he and his car are soul mates.”

I snickered at the idea. “Can’t get in the way of true love.”

She laughed with a snort. “Exactly.”

“I better get back over there,” she said after a minute. “Eggs always throws up before a race, so I like to have a toothbrush ready.”

“Wow.” I flinched. “Really?”

“Of course.” Tabby smiled. “Dental hygiene is very important.”

I walked down the street after Tabby did, watching tires being measured and listening to arguments over engine widths. By the time I got back to William and the car, I was unsurprised to find him with his head buried under the hood, but I took the opportunity to get back in the passenger seat and put my seatbelt on. As if the click of my seatbelt brought him out of a trance, William’s blond mess of hair appeared from the over the top of hood. He looked at my face and then the seatbelt, his face forming a conclusion with a frown.

“Jumper.” William sighed before he slammed the hood shut.  He sighed seriously before getting in and gripping the wheel tightly. “I might not be able to stop you from killing yourself, but I sure as hell won’t help you either. This is serious shit. I could easily die doing this.”

“But you haven’t.”

“But I could,” he emphasized. “You could too. Course you already know that.”

“T-that isn’t why I want to do this.”

I had to stress my argument with the little time I had left. If I didn’t get my point across, then he might have shoved me right out of the car.

“I—I like the feel of the speed, how everything looks and sounds, even how it tastes. Last week when we were running from the cops—driving rather—I felt better than I had in a long time. If you’re the do-gooder I think you are, you won’t deny me that again.”

William frowned as he gritted his teeth together and got back inside the car. I did my best not to stare at the buttons of his jacket as he hit his head against the steering column. When that didn’t seem to get him the answers he desired, he sighed and slid down, gripping the wheel tightly. “You’re putting me in a hell of a spot here, Jumper. When I’m on the road, I have to be 100% focused—”

“And you will be!” I could feel his resolve giving way just a little, so I took a sledgehammer to it. “I’ll sit here and be nice and quiet, no attitude, no nothing. I’ll even sign a waiver if you want.”

His smile broke through. “Okay, Jumper, you win. Switch up your seatbelt there.”

I traded the standard seatbelt for the double-belted one. Once William seemed assured that I was buckled in correctly, he went back to focusing on the road, eyeing up the competition and the cars I understood we were going to race with. The extra belt slightly cut off my circulation, but I didn’t complain, knew I didn’t have the right to, even jokingly.

With the direction of one of the Stews and a hustler, we waited until we were assigned a spot before the starting line. In rows of two I counted six cars total. We were assigned the last space, right next to the cherry red car.

“We’re down here because of the handicap right?” Though I tried to ask as quietly as I could, it still seemed too loud.

The third surprise of the night was him answering me right away. “Yeah.”

“This car here.” William pointed out the cherry red car with a kind of disgust. “It’s a Toyota Supra with twin turbo 2JZ-GTE engine, and a dual wet-shot nitrous-engage… piece of crap.”

Over the last week I had heard the term nitrous several times, though I hardly understood anything other than the fact it gave the car an extra boost at the last minute. Forgetting my own promise temporarily, I went ahead and asked, “What is the nitrous shot again?”

“Triggering the NOS floods the carburetor with super oxygenated fuel, it makes the explosions in the pistons even bigger then when you just hit the gas.”

“More oxygen in the engine, the faster the car will go…”

“Yep. The thing is, though, if you use it too much, the engine will blow. Next to your breaks, your engine is your best friend. If you don’t feel confident in your engine, you shouldn’t be racing at all.”

In the slow clatter of revving engines and yelling spectators, I concentrated on the smell of gasoline and cheap cologne—a smell I wanted to associate forever with the nights of street racing. I kept my grip loose on my seatbelt while trying discreetly to get Tabby’s attention from the other side of the street. Not wanting to embarrass myself though, I saved the waves for later, envying instead the way she kissed Eggs through the window of his car door and how he smiled at her as she walked away. As much as I was enjoying myself, however, William seemed strangely disturbed.

“W-what is it?”

Instantly, I hadn’t wished I had asked it. What if he asked me to leave again? Got sick from nerves like Eggs?

Hesitating, William’s eyes shifted back and forth from me to the road, his thumb tapping impatiently on the steering wheel. Just when I was beginning to think he wouldn’t answer at all he stared at me straight on. “I-I’ve never done this before.”

Unnerved by his expression, I did my best to make a joke. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Though William’s brows remained knitted together, the slightest hint of his smile gave me hope. “I meant had another passenger when I race.”

“So did I.”

Smiling freely now, William opened his mouth to say something, but before he could the flagman walked out at the starting line, and within the snap of a finger, William was back in concentration mode.

Prettier than average, everyone watched the flagman in her impossibly tight jeans while she teased the audience with her smile and flashlights. I, however, watched William, watched the veins pulsed as he gripped the shifter and steering wheel respectively, how dark his eyes looked when they narrowed.

Once we took off, the force of gravity thrust me back into my seat, telling my brain I’d have a nasty case of whiplash before the morning came. The strain in my neck was still raw when I looked over, watching as we past a blur of bright yellow—another Chevy muscle car. Briefly, my eyes saw William’s just before he shifted passing another car and entered the freeway without hesitation. He smiled at me and returned to the road.

From there, everything seemed slow, the few cars that weren’t a part of the race like a smear of paint, one out of a million on a canvas. My blood pumped, my breathe stuck, and my heart raced just like we were. And in the same instant I thought we were actually slowing down, I realized that my body was just trying to adjust to the speed—an astronaut in space.

As I had hoped, the adrenaline pumped through me hard, keeping me from being afraid when I saw the speedometer tip just over 120mph. Even if I had been as reluctant as my usual self, my objections would have been drowned out by his acceleration. My eyes went from the speedometer to William. I could see The Kid in him then, the rebellion combined with the lack of self-concern. For a minute I wondered what made him want to escape so badly, what gave him his need for speed, but, considering the circumstances I knew if I wanted to ask, it would have to be later.

And then it was over. When William backed off the throttle, I was immediately overcome by a powerful combination of joy and excitement. I had no idea as to whether or not we had won or come in last, and neither did my shaking hands. As we slowed to a gradual stop, I found myself clutching the seatbelt, my thumbs digging in until the flesh ached.

“Jumper?”

After a few seconds I realized that I was hearing William’s voice, distorted and deep, he repeated my name—my nickname anyway—more than once, concern growing with each call. I acknowledged that worry of his, the continuous calling and cheering of those outside the car, but I couldn’t make myself snap out of it.

He put his hand on my shoulder and I flinched.

“Huh?”

“Are you still with me, Jumper?”

I swallowed hard and released the seatbelt clenched up in my hands. My fingers screamed with relief. “T-that was—”

“Really stupid of me.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have let you come along.”

Looking over at him, I could see the subtle but clear worry on his perfect face. Shame coursed through me that I was the cause of it. Didn’t he understand how wonderful that was for me, how affirming, and fun? Yes, I was rattled, my body ready to flee out of pure instinct, but the fear felt good, encouraging me to stay alive.

I shook my head. “No.” My shaking hands were so bad that I couldn’t steady them enough to unbuckle my seatbelt. Somewhere in the pounding of my ears, I heard William shout at the cheering crowd to shut the hell up. Someone pounded their hands against Mary’s hood, and I flinched.

“Here.” Without asking my permission—not that he needed it—William unclasped my seatbelt, his hand resting on mine for a second before he let go. “I’m sorry, Jumper—Lottie.”