“Uh—why do they call you Frenchie? Do you have one of those dogs or something?” As I said it, my voice squeaked just a little—letting my awkwardness shine for all of the world to see and hear. I thought all might have looked at me like I was an idiot, but the guys went back to their conversation and Tabby continued to smile politely like she didn’t mind at all.
“No—though I should totally get one.” She pointed to her hair with her sparkly nails. “It was my boss’ idea. Plenty of girls have pink hair, but none of them take their clothes off to the Grease soundtrack. You’d be surprised how many guys get it up for vintage.”
I smiled like someone with half a brain. I had never met a stripper before—never even knew anyone who knew a stripper—but I would have been lying if I said there wasn’t something exciting about it. Maybe not as exciting as racing, but exciting nevertheless. Before I began to realize it, my nervousness started to fade.
“A lot of grabby old guys?”
Rejoining the conversation, Eggs stood up and revealed the band t-shirt he was wearing. “That’s all she ever gets!” He grabbed her knee just before she hit him. “Frenchie works the weekday afternoon shift, so all her tips are from senior citizens or unemployed scumbags.”
“That’s if I get any tips.” She sighed. “I swear, if I couldn’t study between stage times, it wouldn’t even be worth it.”
“Oh” My voice had way more surprise in it than I wanted it to. “Do you go to school?”
My fear of insulting her was quickly demolished by her wide smile. I could see then she had a small gap between her two front teeth, but it didn’t make her any less pretty. “Yeah. Art history major. You?”
I tried to imitate her nod. “Business”
She and Eggs flinched almost simultaneously.
“Yeah,” I laughed. “I wanted to go to a culinary arts school, but my family convinced me that it wasn’t very practical—”
“Screw practical.” Tabby scoffed. “You have to do what makes you happy.”
Eggs nodded as though she had said something completely original. I thought happiness was one of those things that was easier said than done, a hypothesis that couldn’t ever be proven, but I didn’t say any of that out loud. I was doing way too good with this so far to spoil it now.
“Did you say this was your first race?” Though she had to shout over someone’s sound system, I still barely heard Tabby, and I found myself straining to hear her.
“Yeah” I admitted sheepishly. I had considered lying, but given my lack of knowledge on racing, and cars altogether I didn’t think I could fake my way through an interrogation.
“That’s cool” Tabby said. “You’d you get the invite from?”
Invite? Were these races formal occasions? Something that outsiders were unwelcome to attend? What if I was declared an outsider? Would I be kicked out for the loser I was?
I stared at the ground, my mouth as dry and my head empty. Luckily, Cosmo was ready to answer for me, nudging Eggs in the stomach and wiggling his eyebrows playfully.
“Jumper is Billy’s friend” Cosmo said putting emphasis on the word ‘friend’. “You should have seen the state he put her in before they got here yesterday.”
I blanched bright red before I could look away or excuse myself. My face burned so badly that I couldn’t hide it even if I wanted to. Quickly, I decided that having them think I was one of William’s friends, was better than them knowing the truth. Sad but true, I knew it was better to be considered a tramp rather than a head-case. In most people’s eyes, depression was a weakness whereas if I was sexually adventurous then at least I was interesting.
If Tabby noticed how uncomfortable I was, she didn’t say anything. She ignored Eggs entirely while he tried to sneak his hands up her shirt, and instead, she hopped off the back of the pick-up, adjusting her corset in such a graceful way, I wouldn’t have even know how to begin imitating it.
“If this is your first race, then let me show you around” She offered, chugging the last of Egg’s beer. “Any friend of Billy’s is a friend of mine.”
I felt of twinge of jealousy just then, a weird sort of possessiveness without understanding why. I did my best to shrug it off and smile.
Saying nothing, I shrugged and tried to nod my gratitude. She took her arm in mine like we were old friends and for the second time, I envied her. Were some people born with the ability to make friends, a natural trait like blue eyes over brown? Or was it something that came with time and practice like learning how to dance?
Chapter 5
We walked for a minute side by side in silence. I didn’t dislike it so much as I felt uncomfortable. It had been years since I had tried to make a friend, the ones I did have either had parents who were friends with my parents, or I went to school with—forcing us to cognate with one another.
“That over there is a steward. We call all of them Stews.” She pointed up to a shed roof where the man with the walkie-talk tried to look down women’s shirts. She leaned in just a little closer to reveal this last part to me. “If I were you, I’d stay away from that one. “He’s the sort of guy you expect to see on America’s Most Wanted on any given week.”
I laughed along with Tabby, even if it was delayed. It was as though my brain and heart were unattached, and because of that couldn’t define what was funny.
“The stewards are the lookouts then?”
For the first time, Tabby looked at me like I had two heads. “Billy really didn’t tell you anything did he? Damn...” The last comment was almost a whisper to herself, and not knowing how to comment, I let it pass.
“Okay,” she said pointing out another man I could not see. “That’s the flagman—or girl rather—she’s the one who signals off the beginning of the race.”
“How do you know it’s her—I mean—how do you all pick who is going to be the flagperson?”
“It changes from week to week” she shrugged. “Usually whoever wins the most races gets to choose.”
I nodded, but otherwise said nothing.
“Girls get really excited about it” Tabby continued. “It’s all very high school, but guys tend to choose their girlfriends to flag. It kind of how relationships are announced—or denounced.”
I nodded again, making a mental note for later.
Tabby and I increased our pace, walking from the end of the park to a trail line where a grove of trees once laid. There, where roots and the remainder of stumps lay, an artificial line with yellow spray paint had been set up—growing out just beyond the grass. While we were far away, I could still see two men arguing over the line itself, one of them even pulling out a tape measure while the other one swore loudly. My eyes searched for signs of William, his accent, or even that stupid car he loved so much. Despite my search however, I saw nothing but more tricked out cars, and mini-skirts that defied laws of nature.
“Because of the new laws set up, we mostly just do cannonballs anymore.” I heard Tabby say over my thoughts. “I can’t imagine the last time anybody did a full run—”
I unwrapped my arm from hers, maybe, I thought, if I could get a few steps to the side I’d have a better chance of seeing William. “What’s a cannonball exactly?”
Tabby remained ever patient with me. “It’s just a drag race—a fourth of a mile. It’s the best way to see how a car accelerates while keeping the risk of getting noticed by the cops pretty low.”
“Yeah” I sighed. “I noticed that part. This is technically on state property. How do—”
“One of the hustlers also works for the park department. Obviously we can’t have races here every week, but if we keep it limited to a couple times a year it works out.”
“How do you guys determine the winner?” I asked. “It seems like both cars always reach the finish line at the same time—”
“Sometimes the photographers figure that out through their cameras. Most of the time though, they decide it through the point system.”
“T-the point system?
”
“Cars in crummy condition get a handicap—”
“Like golf?”
“Yeah,” her voice was soft as she examined her nails and I decided not to push my luck further. “Something like that.”
Without me interrupting to ask any more questions, Tabby continued talking, telling me things about racing that I should have, been listening to. As many times as I told my brain to focus however, my curiosity about William kept popping up, forcing my eyes to look for him even though I knew it was rude to ignore Tabby so openly.
“Did you guys come here together?”
The sound of her voice snapped me back to reality. Yet, if she was offended by what I was so obviously doing, her tone didn’t project it. Instead, she sort of laughed at me and shook her head as I blushed at having been caught. I wrapped my arms back myself and tried to focus. “Huh?”
“You and Billy” she laughed. “Did the two of you come here together or were you supposed to meet up somewhere?”
“Separately” I coughed and pretended to look at an aluminum sign of Smokey the Bear. “We came here separately.”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “Can’t say I’m surprised. He comes to these things every week with a different girl—no offense” She added this part quickly, her hand flaying out in front of herself.
I grimaced and found a spot on my shoelaces to focus on. I couldn’t say that I was shocked by this news or anything—had expected it really. Considering the way William looked and what seemed to be a genuine tendency to help people, it was no mystery that he had racing groupies falling over him left and right. Still, despite my awareness of this and the fact that I was homely at best, a twinge of disappoint ran through me.
I squashed it down as best I could—but still, didn’t seem to be enough.
“We’re ah—not like that. I just met him yesterday.”
She laughed like I had said something hilarious. “It usually doesn’t take that long with Billy. Personally, he’s not my type, but a lot of these skanks like him.” Tabby leaned closer to me and pointed out something by a grove of trees. “You have to be careful when you’re with a racer. Skanks throw themselves at them all the time. I’ve had to bust my heels on a bitch more than a few times when it comes to Eggs.”
I was still reeling over the fact that she called her boyfriend Eggs and that people who took their clothes off for a living could be in monogamous relationships when we walked up a short hill that led to a pathway of thin pavement and streetlamps. It gave me the impression to be more of an oversized bike trail rather than a racing strip, and when I saw the large novelty fire hydrant I realized we were standing in what was intended to be a dog park. From that point on, I decided to double check before I put my foot down.
Two cars roared past us just then, inciting a stampede of cheers from the spectators who stood or sat on the hill. It was like a cloud of bees came and went in an instant—shaking up the leaves on the ground and kicking dust into the air.
Tabby said something about ear plugs and laughed.
I wanted to continue talking with her, to ask questions and try to have a normal human interaction, yet the whirlwind of excitement that I felt the night before found me once again, and I was lost to it.
Everything looked brighter, felt wider and freer as a racer on a motorcycle zoomed past us. I hadn’t realized until that most just how confined my depression had been keeping me—creating a constant feel of claustrophobia everywhere I went. But at that moment, in front of hustlers, groupies, drivers and flagmen, I felt as though I could see for the first time in months.
A window had opened, and I could breathe again.
“He and Bloody Mary are racing just up here. He’s been running cannonballs around the corner all night.”
Tabby had been talking the entire time and I was zooming out. I blanched at the realization that I had no idea what she was talking about. I just sort of nodded, and tried to think of something to say.
“About these nicknames” I chose my words carefully as I sat beside her on the grassy hill. “For people, I can sort of get, but cars?”
She giggled mercifully and took a quick peek at her phone. “If you think that’s bad, you should hear what some of them call their dicks.”
I pulled my knees up to my chest and sighed. The nickname thing had seemed stupid at first—a way for William to pick on me. Now that I could see how happy it seemed to make everybody it suddenly seemed less childish and more of an excuse to make each other laugh. Maybe, I hoped, it was a way for William to make me feel like a part of the group.
“What does Eggs call his truck?” I asked.
“Popeye” Tabby rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask me why.”
I laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Is there a reason Wi—Billy I mean, calls his Bloody Mary?”
Tabby shrugged, and leaned back onto her elbows. “Something about the urban legend I think. I guess because it’s white like a ghost?” She waved her hand away and stared hard into the road. “He and Funky Bunch are set to race next. It’s bound to be pretty good.”
We waited in silence, Tabby playing on her phone while I people watched. I tried to memorize the faces with the tattoos and the owners to their cars. How many of them had I sold bread to? Decorated cakes for and didn’t even know it? What were the odds that any one of them would have gotten stuck in traffic under the Port Elizabeth overpass because of me?
When Tabby offered to exchange numbers with me, I had to do a double-take. It had been so long since I had voiced my phone number, or even written it down that there was an instant where I struggled to remember it. Faintly, I mused that if William hadn’t held it hostage over me just that morning; it might have escaped me altogether.
I only knew William’s race had started by the waves of cheering along the hill. It seemed like Tabby and, I “whoo-hooed” with the best of them—desperate to not be pointed out for the misfit I was.
The flash of white that was Bloody Mary came and went with a blast of swearing and even more cheers. Maybe a half a second later, the metallic flash of purple followed it. I nudged Tabby’s elbow with mine.
“So is Funky Bunch the name of the driver, or the car?”
Her brows narrowed and she laughed. “You know—I’m not exactly sure.”
I followed her down the hill and passed the novelty fire hydrant like I had the faintest notion of what I was doing. Tabby was greeted with smiles and catcalls by a lot of the guys we passed, and scowls from most of the girls. More than once, she stopped to say to a few people but did not bother to introduce me. Not wanting to be alone, I did my best not to read too much into it and focus on William instead.
There was a small bonfire at what I decided was some kind of a winner’s circle. Funky Bunch and three muscle cars including Bloody Mary were parked beneath the overgrown trees. But now that I was so close, my legs turned to lead. What if he saw me and just started laughing? And what was I supposed to say to him when I saw him anyway?
Yes, hi, hello there. Remember me—the crazy girl from the bridge?
Tabby was accosted by another friend as we walked into the unofficial parking lot. She chatted happily while I shifted my weight from side to side. I was beginning to wish I had never come at all—just drawn a hot bath, taken a aspirin and sharpened a dull knife when I finally did catch a glimpse of him. Really though, it was that smile of his I saw first, just as perfect and snarky as ever as a girl pushed her chest into him and whispered something in his ear.
Biting my lip, I looked away and pretended to read a sign that about forest fires. If I stared at Smokey the bear hard enough, maybe I could pretend I hadn’t seen William at all.
Chapter 6
I still didn’t know how to feel by the time class rolled around on Monday morning. While there was a cheap thrill at doing something rebellious, there was also that reserved fear to leave my room for the rest of the weekend. I so struggled to stay busy that my 8AM economics class was actually a highlight
. I got up early, showered and snuck out of the house even before Mom woke up for her morning workout.
I only felt slightly like a coward for continuing to avoid her.
Despite a cup of coffee and a lack of other options, I had a hard time trying to focus in the classroom, my mind going back and forth between William and the short high that the races brought me. Instead of doodling gravestones and drops of blood, I sketched little tires and steering wheels.
I sighed when I heard my phone vibrate against my leg. With my luck, Dad had probably forgotten my class schedule and was looking for a ride home from the airport.
Imagine my surprise when a number I didn’t recognize sent me a text:
Unknown: Morning Jumper. Got a case of the Monday blues?
Unknown: That was me being clever.
Instantly, the process of elimination narrowed down the people who knew my unwanted nickname and my phone number. But since I had already programmed Tabby’s number into my phone, I knew the unknown sender of the messages couldn’t have been her, and the memory of how William had stolen my phone number came back at me full bore.
I ignored him and switched my phone from vibrate to silent. It was appealing how he appeared to still care about my well-being even after the weekend, and if I wasn’t stuck in the middle of a lecture about supply and demand I might have even responded. The more I thought about it however, the gladder I was to have a solid excuse not to reply. I didn’t want to be the recipient of someone’s pity party—no matter how desperate I was for a friend.
The rest of class was spent staring at the hands of the clock as they slowly ticked my options away. I could accept that William might have been trying to be my friend—though that seemed unlikely—odds were, however, that he just felt that sense of responsibility he had mentioned on the overpass. Quickly, I declared to myself that I didn’t want a friendship based on sympathy and guilt.
Then again, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Since I knew I had to take a run at raising my self-esteem—at least if I wasn’t going to kill myself—then maybe I could use William as a stepping stone of sorts. Through him I could meet other people like Tabby, maybe even go to the races as a regular social event...
The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories Page 128