Warren started to say something, but a knock on Ms. Simmons’s door interrupted him.
I frowned at seeing Mr. Yates. Warren and I had him for American Government, an honors class for juniors and seniors.
“Hi, Ms. Simmons. Have you talked to them yet?”
The English teacher and our club’s advisor got up from her chair behind her desk. She placed her reading glasses on her head. Her serious expression, combined with Mr. Yates’s question, made the energy in her classroom shift to awkward as everyone became silent.
“No. I was waiting until they finished voting on a new name for the club.” Her serious expression deepened. “But you can talk to them now.”
Warren and I eyed each other, then looked back at Ms. Simmons and Mr. Yates.
Something not good was about to happen.
Mr. Yates, who looked at least one decade beyond retirement, walked into the classroom and crossed his arms over his chest. “Getting a new name for this club might be a waste of time after today. As the student council advisor, I’ve been getting complaints in the council’s suggestion box about this club.”
Wait…what?
I glanced at Warren, who lifted his shoulders and shook his head.
I straightened. And then, as vice president of the club, opened my mouth to ask who’d been complaining, but Mr. Yates held up his hand.
“Anonymous complaints. And even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”
I closed my mouth so hard my teeth clicked.
Where and from who was all this coming from?
“Well, what are they saying about the club? About us?” Warren whined. “Mr. Yates, we’re not doing anything wrong. We’re supporting each other.”
“Warren, that’s not the feedback I’m getting. What I am getting is members complain about other students in this school.”
Silence again filled the classroom. Because it was, depending on the day, sort of true. But what the hell? We had a what-happens-in-the-club-stays-in-the-club pact. We made sure all new members knew it, too. It couldn’t be former members behind the complaints.
“I’m also getting you talk about things, meaning personal relationships, that have nothing to do with being an academically successful student at this school.”
My temper cracked. “How is supporting your classmates not helping them be successful in this—school?” I’d almost dropped an F-bomb in front of two teachers.
I reigned in my irritation and frustration. I didn’t need detention on top of everything else. I’d be grounded the rest of the school year.
“Ms. Simmons did explain the supportive side of this club.”
I slid my eyes to Ms. Simmons, but her narrowed eyes were centered on Mr. Yates.
“But I’m not convinced,” he continued. “Based on what I’m getting, it sounds like an unhealthy environment has been created in here. So this is your only warning. If I keep getting complaints, I’ll have to shut down this club.” He nodded at Ms. Simmons and left.
I sat back in my desk and started to shake from my anger. And the total unfairness.
None of us, or our club, had done a thing to deserve this.
Ms. Simmons walked to the front of her classroom. “I want you to know he caught me off guard earlier today with all of this. And I’m on your side. The club’s side. But I think if you want to keep this club going, you’ll have to change some things. Starting with the name.”
“We’re trying, Ms. Simmons,” Lexi said. “And Mr. Yates knows that now.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s fair he wants to shut us down after getting some complaints. What about our side of it?” Alisha grumbled.
“Exactly,” I muttered. “Thank you, Alisha.”
Warren sighed. “I think we’re going to have to present our side of it to him and prove the haters are wrong. Can we do that, Ms. Simmons?”
She smiled. “I think that’s completely fair.”
I pictured former, original members Jade and Nate, who probably never would’ve gotten together as a couple if not for the club. I also pictured Paige, a freshman and another former member from the club’s beginning, who’d left because she’d developed the confidence to move on to a new boy. They were still together, too.
“There isn’t a past member who hasn’t benefitted from being in the club. Complaining about other students or not.” It was hard not to roll my eyes after saying that. “We’re just venting. Which we have every right to do. The point is we are supporting and building each other up. And I know we can prove it, Ms. Simmons.”
She nodded. “Good. But you better get to work. Because he’s going to be a tough sell.”
Gramps parked in a spot outside of a massive building called Easton West Classic Car Restoration, located in an industrial part of South San Francisco. He’d picked me up and surprised me by heading here. He’d also refused to answer my questions about why we weren’t going to Sausalito where he and Grams lived. The place I called my real home.
“Gramps, what are we doing here?” I asked as I looked all around us.
That’s when I spotted a yellow 67 Pontiac GTO in perfect condition parked near us.
“An early birthday present. Your mom’s probably going to be even more upset when she finds out about this, but I couldn’t help the timing.”
I faced Gramps and smiled for the first time since Mr. Yates ruined our meeting. “My present? Already?” My seventeenth birthday fell during spring break, the last week of March. My crabby mood started to lift. “And who cares what she says.”
He frowned. “It’s really a very belated sixteenth birthday present. Maybe that’ll ease your mom’s displeasure when she finds out. I’m not sure I’m happy about the timing of this, either.” He gave me a long, hard look through his glasses. “But they arrived a couple days early with it.”
I knew I should feel ashamed. When my grandparents gave me their disappointed looks, I usually did feel bad. But I couldn’t stop myself from shaking with anticipation. If it was the gift I could clearly imagine, nothing—not my mother or community service or Mr. Yates—would burst my belated sixteenth birthday present bubble.
“Gabe Easton, the owner, was nice enough to let them drop it off here.” He grinned. “This is the place that restored my Chevy several years ago. And your grandma wanted to be here, too, but it’s her volunteer day at the library. Are you ready? Gabe’s waiting for us.”
I scrambled from the SUV since I now knew for a fact why we were here.
The lousiness of yesterday and the club meeting evaporated as we walked up to a tall man standing outside the office portion of the building. He seemed a little older than my dad, with his graying light-brown hair and goatee.
He and Gramps shook hands and smiled at each other.
“How’s the Chevy treating you?” he asked Gramps.
“Take her out as often as I can. Gabe, this is my granddaughter, Natalie.”
His warm, wide smile reached his blue eyes. “It’s very nice to meet you. Your grandpa says he’s turned you into a classic muscle car enthusiast.”
I returned his smile and nodded.
I’d always be a grandpa’s and, to some extent, daddy’s girl instead of a mommy’s girl.
“So how does the car look?” Gramps asked.
Excitement tore through me, and a giggle escaped as I bounced in place.
“It’s in decent shape. We’ve already got it in the shop.”
We followed him past the office entrance and right to the first enormous, open garage door. And there sat my dream car. It just didn’t look the way I imagined, being a crappy yellow-beige. But it was still the most beautiful 68 Chevy Camaro SS 396 I had ever seen.
I squealed. Loud enough for everyone in the shop to hear, and I so didn’t care. I threw my arms around Gramps. He returned my hug, turning it into more of a bear hug. We released one another, and I sprinted into the shop toward my car.
I stood beside the driver’s side and admired her overall…
beauty. I then placed my right hand on the roof, slowly slid my hand left and stopped at the windshield. I finished my greeting after sliding my hand over the hood. And I sighed.
I planned on having so much fun in this car. Far from my mother and the Carlisle name.
“Where’s the key?” I had to hear the engine. And find out what she could do with me behind the wheel.
Gramps walked up to me, his smile slipping.“The engine, which is original, needs work.”
My mouth fell open. “I can’t drive it?”
“No, honey. I’m sorry. It also needs new suspension, breaks, tires…” His voice trailed off since I knew he saw my shoulders slumping with each thing needing to be fixed. “According to the former owner, it’s been sitting for a long time because he never came up with the money to restore it. I can’t have you driving this without knowing it’s safe.” He put his arm around my shoulder to give me a sideways squeeze.
“That’s where we come in,” Mr. Easton said. He joined us at the car. “Once we get done, she’ll be better than she was in sixty-eight, brand new. But it will take time.”
The restoration would take closer to forever, but I had no choice but to grumble, “Okay.” And just because I couldn’t drive my beautiful Camaro didn’t mean I couldn’t sit inside of her.
I withdrew from Gramps and, giggling, opened the driver’s side door. At that moment, a powerful car tore down the street in front of the shop. A street that would be perfect for drag racing since this industrial area was pretty secluded. And at night the area would be empty.
The car’s tires screeched to a halt, and I smiled. A few seconds later two younger guys in a black, pristine 70 Chevelle slowly drove by—my smile disappeared when I caught a good glimpse of the passenger. Nosy Drama Boy. Shane.
I glanced at Mr. Easton. His hair was a bit darker, but same height. Same blue eyes.
Drama Boy was this man’s son?
The driver parked the Chevelle in a nearby space. The two, laughing loud and hard, hauled themselves from the car.
Mr. Easton wasn’t laughing or smiling as the two ambled toward us. But their humor vanished when they saw us. Drama Boy did a double take when our eyes caught. His surprise clearly mirrored mine.
The other guy, with darker hair but the same blue eyes, said, “Sorry. But he dared me to get it up to eighty before we reached the shop.”
“I don’t know if you remember my son, Gabe Jr.?” Mr. Easton said to Gramps.
Gramps nodded and said, “Well, did you get it up to eighty?”
His question eased the tension, and Easton Junior smiled. “I was going over ninety.”
I fought a smile as they laughed.
“This here’s my youngest son, Shane.”
“Nice to meet you,” Gramps said, and Drama Boy gave him a quick, friendly smile.
“This is Joe Carlisle. Remember the 56 Chevy we restored about seven years ago?”
Gabe Jr. nodded at his dad’s question. He appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties and must’ve been working in the shop, even back then. His much younger brother, being my age, would’ve been around ten years old, which explained why he didn’t nod.
“Shane, you and Natalie have to know each other from school,” his dad continued.
Gramps looked at me. “I forgot about that.”
I pushed my surprise aside, leaned forward and asked, “Or is it Giles Corey?”
His face brightened with humor.
In that instant, and not in the school office while pissed off at my mother, I recognized him from a couple school plays. He’d been in Romeo and Juliet last semester, and I was pretty sure he’d been in The Wizard of Oz a year ago. But I’d have to check my yearbook on that one.
“You remembered,” Drama Boy said with a touch of sarcasm. “I’m really…touched.”
“Giles? Wasn’t that one of your characters a couple years ago?” his brother asked.
Drama Boy’s eyes never left mine. “Yeah. It’s a joke between us.”
I glared at him, then focused on Mr. Easton. “Can we start talking about my Camaro?”
“Yes,” Gramps said. “She has definite ideas for it.”
Mr. Easton and Gabe Jr. smiled. The other Easton didn’t smile.
“This Camaro is your car?”
Something about the way Drama Boy said that made me say, “Yes. I also know your brother drives a 70 Chevelle. And the yellow car out there is a 67 Pontiac GTO.”
Drama Boy’s shock transformed into something resembling…respect.
I’d accomplished exactly what I wanted.
His brother laughed. “The GTO belongs to one of our fabricators. I’m also the shop foreman.” He held out his hand, and I returned his firm handshake. “The three of us can talk in the conference room.” He released my hand and looked at his brother. “Check in with Carl after you get changed. I think he’ll need some help with the Fairlane.”
Drama Boy nodded and, after a swift glance at me, started to leave. And it occurred to me he, of all people, knew this private, tomboy, classic muscle car junkie side of me I didn’t want anyone to know.
I didn’t need my classmates judging me more than they already did.
“Wait a minute.” I tried on a friendly smile. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
Drama Boy stopped, and it took him a few seconds but he nodded.
Gramps, Mr. Easton and Gabe Jr. headed back outside.
I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “Could you…not tell anyone at school about this?”
He frowned. “Tell them what? That you talked to me outside of school?”
I returned his frown. “No. About this. The car stuff. It’s no one’s business.”
His expression changed into confusion. “Okay. I’m great at keeping secrets. And you’ve…surprised me.” He then gave me his wicked smile. “You’re also cute when you’re nervous.” He turned and walked deeper into the shop.
I narrowed my eyes as I watched him veer left, toward a hallway, then he was gone.
Why the hell had he called me “cute” when he didn’t like me anymore than I liked him?
“Natalie?” Gramps called out. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
I turned toward them and suppressed my irritation. And the image of Drama Boy’s irritating smile. I had way more important things to focus on right now. Like my dream car.
Chapter 3
I stared out the passenger-side window at the school.
I’d chosen to work on the set. And if I’d known Mrs. Meridian would push it to the point of calling my mother in for a meeting, I would’ve started my hours at my dad’s office weeks ago.
But why did the hours have to be done on Mrs. Meridian’s schedule?
“Natalie, you have no one to blame but yourself for this. Stop pouting.” Gramps sighed. “Behave yourself and I’ll see you at twelve.”
I opened the door, dragged myself out and closed the door behind me, a little hard, and I flinched. Whenever I rode in his 56 Chevy I gave it respect. But today I couldn’t hide my bitchy.
I stood by the curb, a few feet from the steps leading to the school’s double doors, as Gramps drove away in his beautiful metallic-blue car.
I shivered from the chilly air, despite standing in the sun, fighting through the city’s typical salty, marine haze I could also smell and see. The sun might win today, and though I wanted to still be in my cozy bed, Alta Plaza Park was only a few blocks away. So the idea of stretching out on the grass and listening to music for four hours started to pull me away. But common sense hit. A no-show would worsen this entire community service situation. I couldn’t risk my academic future. And Gramps controlled my Camaro’s restoration that would take next to forever based on the work we talked about with Mr. Easton and his oldest, not annoying son.
I faced the school and took a deep breath, but the air came out in a burst of agitation.
I just had to get through the next four hours.
I started
to walk up the steps when I noticed a guy approaching on a bicycle. He slowed down, then stopped beyond the steps. The young guy straddled the bike between his long legs and shook his head. He had on black sunglasses, old jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt.
He unfastened his helmet. “That’s such a badass ride.” He gave me a wicked smile.
I rolled my eyes.
Why was Drama Boy suddenly everywhere I went?
“We have a picture of your grandpa’s car, and other restorations, hanging in our lobby. It’s one of my favorites.” He pushed his bike out from underneath him to stand beside it and walked toward me. “But it’s surprising. I figured Carlisles would be into foreign cars.”
His assumption about my family made my crabby mood hit boiling point. Even though my mother did drive a BMW SUV. “And I never would’ve guessed a drama boy would know anything about hot rods. Are you sure you’re related to the Easton family?”
“Drama boy?” He grinned. “That must mean you know I’m in the plays. You remembered my last name, too.” He raised his eyebrows. “This must be an off week for you.”
Why couldn’t he get over the fact I hadn’t known his name? Why did he even care?
He leaned toward me, and I breathed in.
“But we do have a connection now. Your secret?” He straightened. “I think it’s cool you’re into old cars. But I’m wondering what else the kids at school don’t know about you.”
I gave him my if-looks-could-kill-he’d-be-turned-into-dust stare, which made his smile grow. “I’m so happy you approve. And you can stop your wondering about me at any time.”
“Too late for that, Sunshine.” He broke our stare to pick up his bike. “This has been loads of fun, but I have community service hours to earn.”
Oh...this couldn’t be happening.
“Did you say you’re here for community service, too?”
“So that’s why you’re here on a Saturday morning.”
He carried his bike up the stairs. He set it down by the doors, reached into his back pocket and pulled out his student I.D. Our I.D.’s doubled as key cards. Our way of getting into the building since the doors were always locked.
The '68 Camaro Between Kenickie and Me (Pacifica Academy Drama Book 2) Page 2