by Nancy Allan
There was no warning, no horn sounding, and no squeal of brakes. The vehicle behind slammed right into us. Our heads and bodies flew forward and then backward into the seats. The Cavalier was flung down the road.
We were frozen in our seats. The headlights from the vehicle behind lit Celeste’s pale hands as she clutched the wheel, struggling to keep control. Suddenly, Tara screamed, “Don’t stop, Celeste! He’s going to run us off the road! Boot it. Go! Go! Go!”
Celeste hit the gas and the tires squealed as the Cavalier took off. The chance of the small car outrunning the other vehicle seemed slim, but we had to get out of there. Not far up the road was a residential area of homes.
“He’s going to pass us,” Brenna shouted. “There’s no room. The road’s too narrow!” She was seated behind Celeste and I could imagine her leaning away from the door.
“Slow down, Celeste, let him pass,” I told her, my voice raw with nerves. She hit the brakes and edged our wheels onto the slippery gravel.
Then I saw the big black pickup loom up beside us.
“It’s Mako!” Brenna shouted.
He struck broadside and accelerated. “He’s trying to shove us over the bank!” Tara yelled. The Cavalier veered and fishtailed. Celeste pumped the brakes and fought the wheel, trying to keep the car from going off the edge. We skidded crazily. The pickup hit us again. This time the right front passenger wheel slipped off the road. The Cavalier tilted and time stopped. We hung suspended. Then the Cavalier lurched and we plummeted over the edge.
Brenna’s scream filled the car. Time expanded and morphed crazily into slow motion. I feared we would roll over. Celeste took her foot off the brake and pointed the car down the incline. If I was right about where we were, we were careening nose first toward the fast-moving river at the bottom of the embankment. We bounced violently over the humps and my head struck the roof of the car.
“I’ve got my foot hard on the brake, but the car won’t stop!” Celeste shouted in desperation. I sat frozen. My breath stuck in my lungs as we freewheeled down the incline. Then, I saw it. Our headlights lit the churning river below us.
It loomed closer, and I gripped the door handle ready to jump. A large tree branch appeared in front of us. We crashed over it and a moment later, the car came to an abrupt stop, pointing steeply downward, the headlights shining on the dirty river.
Stunned . . . we sat there, not daring to breathe . . . staring at the muddy water rushing past the front end. Tara’s shaky voice came from behind me. “Everyone okay?”
I answered. “I think so. What about you, Celeste?”
It took a minute for her to answer and I reached across and touched her hand. Ice cold, it was still on the wheel. Her voice was a bare whisper. “I’m okay.”
I turned around to look at Brenna, but couldn’t see her. “Brenna?”
A small voice answered. “Present and still here. I think.”
Tara sounded relieved. “Thank goodness. I’m calling home. My dad will call a tow truck and come get us.”
Celeste found her voice. “I hope Mako kept going ‘cause we’re sure vulnerable sitting here.” She was right but we had another problem. I could swear the car was slipping slowly forward toward the river. “Hey, guys, we’re sliding. I can feel it. Hit the brakes, Celeste!”
“My foot’s on the brake. I can’t stop it!”
“We’ve got to get out. Now!” Tara and I threw our right side doors open. Sure enough, the ground was moving under my feet. “Hurry!” I yelled and jumped out, Tara doing the same.
“My door won’t open,” Celeste said and scrambled across the front seat.
“Mine neither,” Brenna said and came flying out behind Tara.
We huddled together, shivering on the slimy bank, watching helplessly as the Cavalier rolled slowly toward the river’s edge, the engine still running, and the lights still on. We watched in horrified silence as it slipped slowly over the riverbank and nosed down into the river. It came to a rest with the headlights submerged, which cast an eerie hue into the rushing water.
Tara eventually said, “We should climb back up the bank so my dad can find us.”
“As long as it’s him who finds us. Not Mako,” I said through chattering teeth.
The police arrived a few minutes later, their headlights illuminating the four of us standing on the gravel shoulder. Almost in unison we turned to peer down at the swollen river, our eyes fixing on the submerged car.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
It was three in the morning and I couldn’t sleep. Like a bad re-run, I kept seeing Mako’s black pickup pummeling us, the Cavalier going over the bank, the terrifying ride down the embankment, and the car sliding into the river. Those visions and my fear of Mako kept my eyes wide open. As I stared blindly at my bedroom ceiling, a light flashed around the edges of the drapes. Two shorts, a pause, and one long flash. Returning to the present, I sat up and used my flashlight to repeat the signal, and then throwing on a sweater and slippers, I stepped quietly out the back door of our house.
Celeste was waiting for me on their old wooden lawn swing. She was looking at her phone and texting. I sat down beside her, amid the scent of roses. Something pleasant. "Texting Brenna or Tara?" I asked.
"Yeah. Bet they're awake too." She finished and leaned back in the lawn swing. “You sore?”
“Yup. My headache’s back too. How about you?”
“Neck and shoulders.”
“Sorry about your car, Celeste. I guess it’s totaled. We were lucky though. Could’ve been so much worse. If it had rolled…”
Celeste shivered. “I keep thinking that too. We are so lucky. I don’t know what will happen about my car though—whether the insurance will cover it or not. I sure hope they can prove that it was Mako.”
“I wonder if the police would actually arrest him or even charge him.”
Celeste rested her head on the backrest of the lawn swing and gazed up at the stars. “It would be a first,” she replied and pulled her sweater around her. “He scares the crap out of me.”
“Mmnn, glad he didn’t come back, with all of us standing out there like that,” I added, reliving the whole thing all over again.
“Who knows what he would’ve done. He might have run us down.”
“You know it.”
I rested my aching head and searched the constellations for answers. They sparkled against the indigo sky as if all was well with the world. We sat absorbed in our thoughts, the lawn swing moving gently back and forth. Many summer nights, when sleep had escaped us, Celeste and I had met here and discussed our troubles. We never solved them, but we sure tried. The crickets started up and filled the night with their chatter.
“Your parents pissed about the car?” I asked.
“Pissed doesn’t begin to describe it. They are completely freaked. Dad wants to put the house up for sale. He says the sooner we leave here, the better.
I sat up too fast and my headache crashed inside my skull. “No!” I said too loudly. “He’s not serious. He’s just upset, right?”
“Shhh-h.” Celeste shook her head. “He’s dead serious, Ashla. He and Mom have been threatening to do it since we were attacked across the road. Tonight was too much for them. Mom’s convinced we could have been killed.”
I fell back against the backrest and closed my eyes. “I can’t imagine living here without you, Celeste, I just can’t.”
“Well, I’m not supposed to say anything, but apparently your parents are considering a move as well.”
“No way. We can’t move. Not with Mom’s daycare.”
“Dad says your parents are thinking about moving up near Mt. Vernon where housing is a lot cheaper, and it’s safer.”
I yanked the sleeves of my hoodie down over my fingers. “They forgot to mention any of this to me.” I considered this new eventuality. “It’s not a bad plan if we get a house that’s too small for my grandmother and our families move side by again. But what are the chances? Have your parents
said where you guys will move to?”
Celeste shrugged. “Who knows. The whole thing is upsetting, but I don’t think they want to be near you. Sorry to say this, Ashla, but they’re convinced that the further we get from you the better. They think that what happened tonight wouldn’t have . . . if we weren’t friends.”
Ouch. That hurt, yet it was true. We drifted within our own thoughts . . . the cool night settling around us. After a while, I broke into the silence. “Remember that night at the pool, when you promised to stand by me through all this?”
“You mean the night it was on the news and in the paper?”
“Right. That one. Anyway, you said that you knew exactly how I felt. You said that you’d been where I was.”
“I remember.”
“Did you ever find a way to come to term with what you’d done—to forgive yourself?”
I heard an intake of breath, something she did when she disliked the question. “No,” she said softly. “I didn’t. And I never will. It still hurts to think of it.”
“Are you ever going to share?”
The lawn swing started moving faster and I could feel her tension. In the ensuing silence, the crickets started up again, filling the void. I could barely hear Celeste when she spoke. “Remember little Vicky Duanne?”
I flinched. “Yes.” She had lived three doors down, an only child born to two Chinese immigrants. Although she was a year younger, she played with us often . . . until that fateful day.
Celeste explained, “Vicky was sweet, but she had that habit of taking our toys home and not returning them, remember?”
I nodded. It had upset Celeste and me to the point where we were thinking in our five-year-old minds of de-friending her. We couldn’t understand why her parents didn’t step in. They had to be aware of it. Meanwhile, our own parents weren’t inclined to do anything about it either.
“Remember that darned doll that she dragged around with her everywhere?”
I had a flashback memory of the limp doll with a wrinkled blue dress that lived in the crook of Vicky’s arm.
“The day she was hit by the car I took the doll from her and went running up the street toward your house. Vicky was right behind me, crying and calling my name.” Celeste’s voice faltered. “She kept calling out, “Celeste, give me back my doll.” Celeste paused and covered her eyes. I reached for her other hand and held on tight.
Celeste searched the sky for a while and when she spoke again, her voice was raw. “I wanted to teach Vicky that it was wrong to take things. I wanted her to know how we felt when she did that to us. So, I took her doll, her favorite toy in this world. I had intended on giving it to you to put away for a while, but just then, your dad’s car came down the road. I ran across the street. I decided instead to hide the doll in the brush . . . maybe give it back to her the next day. So, when your dad turned into your driveway, I was in the middle of the road with Vicky running right behind me,” Celeste stopped.
I knew, of course, what was coming. The scene was vivid now in my memory, but I had never known what had led up to it.
“What neither of us realized,” Celeste continued, “was that there was another car right behind your dad’s. It missed me, but…”
I swallowed hard . . . remembering and turned to hug Celeste. Vicky had been hospitalized for awhile. We never saw her again as the family moved away not long afterward.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I staggered bleary-eyed into the kitchen, dragged the OJ out of the fridge, and poured a glass. I had overslept, so I was alone. Or so I thought.
“So, you finally rolled out of bed.”
The jarring voice affected my pour and orange juice splashed onto the countertop. My grandmother’s tone sent the usual shivers down my spine. I looked over my shoulder to see her standing in the dining room doorway. The woman had no compassion what-so-ever. You’d think after last night’s accident and everything that followed, she’d give me a small break. Angry, I popped the juice back into the fridge and grabbed the dishcloth to wipe up the spill. I bit down hard on my lower lip. I had said enough the other night.
“You’re late. Class starts at 8:30 a.m. sharp. Get your butt in here.”
My mouth dropped. “What? What are you talking about?”
My grandmother stepped back into the dining room and pointed to the dining room table. She wore a summer dress and pumps. Her curly gray hair was perfectly coifed. I hadn’t seen this side of her in years. Not since she had worked. Crossbow was over by the door, lapping the milk Mom had left out for him. He gazed up at her suspiciously, his hairless tail disappearing between his hind legs.
Her answer was full of distain. “If you want to pass eleventh grade, you need to write the finals and to do that, you need to prepare for them.”
I drank down the orange juice, and in sheer frustration, slammed the glass onto the counter. “I’ve been working on my own. We discussed this already. I don’t need your help.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Prove it!”
“What?”
“Finals are in two weeks. You say you’re ready. Great. I have a test here that will tell all. Let’s see how ready you are.”
Another one of her lose-lose situations. If I take the test and blow out, she wins. If I don’t take the test, it looks like she’s right anyway, so she wins. Truth was, I had been having a lot of difficulty focusing lately. Nothing sticks. My mind wanders. I worry about Dad’s health, our family’s growing debt, and our trying to survive on Mom’s daycare income. I fret about falling behind in my schoolwork, about Justin and his legs…and my intense feelings for him. I worry about Delta being alone and going off to California, about being attacked again, about my friends getting hurt because of me, about what’s being posted on those nasty websites, and above all…about Mako and his friends and what could happen next. Of course, now I can add moving to the list.
“Hurry up. I don’t have all day.”
“Oh really?” I snorted as I swung past her into the dining room. At the end of the long formal table sat the test, a pen, and a timer.
She glanced at her watch. “Day’s a’wasting.”
I gave her my evil eye and plopped down in Dad’s chair. She started the timer. “Two hours,” she informed me. “When the timer goes off, put down the pencil, and push back from the table.”
I scanned the test paper.
“Go,” she said.
Time flew. I struggled on some of the questions and kept going back to them, trying to dislodge the answer from my besieged brain. I really wanted to ace this and prove her wrong, but there were a few areas on the test that were new to me. Was I behind in my studies? I glanced up, pushing my hair back from my face. She was sitting in Mom’s chair at the opposite end of the table . . . seemingly engrossed in a novel. Crossbow had come to terms with her new look and purred contentedly on her scrawny lap.
Suddenly the timer rang, destroying the silence, and sending the cat fleeing the room. My grandmother dropped her paperback face down onto the tabletop. “Put down your pen.”
I obliged and got up.
“Sit back down.”
“I need a break.”
“You’ll get it at lunch. Put your butt back in that chair.” She snatched up the exam and slid a package of papers toward me. “Here, get busy.”
I remained standing. “We were going to let the test results be the judge.”
“Oh, we are. But until I mark this, you’ve got work to do.”
I banged my fist on the table, angry with her for duping me, for her thorny, unlikable personality, for her pomp and cockiness, and especially for her living in our house. “I have no intention of spending six hours a day cooped up with you in this room!”
She scanned the exam, unruffled by my rude remark. “We can have a working relationship. Set some ground rules—“
“Yeah, like cut the nasty remarks—“
“We can treat this as a teacher-student relationship. You show respect—“
“Respect! Are you kidding—“
“Let me finish, for crying out loud! You show respect for me and I will do likewise.”
“Ha! That’ll never happen.”
“It can work. We set ground rules and boundaries. The minute we walk into this room, I become your teacher. You become my student. We leave everything else at the doorway. In this room, I will treat you the same way I did my students. I will offer you the best of my teaching skills and in turn, I ask for discipline, hard work, completed assignments, and yes, respect!”
Still steaming, I tried to consider this. We despised each other. I abhorred the sound of her voice, her nasty looks and putdowns, and her prickly personality. On the other hand, I had to pass those exams and I was troubled by the areas on the test that were new to me.
“Well?” Her foot tapped impatiently on the wood floor. Even that agitated me.
“I’ll let you know at the end of the day,” I replied, sitting back down.
“Good. We meet here each day at 8:30 a.m. sharp. And no more pajamas.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
After dinner, I called Celeste. She had spent over an hour at the police station going over what led up to the accident etcetera. I was anxious to hear how it went. “Let’s go for coffee,” I suggested.
“Can’t.” she whispered. “My parents don’t want me going anywhere with you, outside of our own homes. They’re freaked out about us being run off the road, and they’re terrified of what might happen next. They don’t think Mako will be arrested which means that he’s out there. I’m basically grounded, except for school. Mom’s going to be driving me up to Huntley. Just what I need. That’ll look really cool.”
“What about swimming?”
“That’s okay, but we come and go separately.”