“So, write a new one.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll toss off another one this afternoon.”
“Just say whatever comes to mind. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, well, thanks for that brilliant advice, but that’s not how it works. If you knew anything about writing, you’d know it takes weeks, months, to get something right.”
“If you say so,” Max says, clearly not really listening, not really caring. Screw him.
Max is about to head back onto the freeway, which is when I jump out of the moving car. Not smart. Especially since I’m already banged up from my fall.
Max pulls over and rolls down his window. “I will buy you a new computer and a backup drive, okay? Just get in the car.”
I don’t respond. I turn and walk down the street. I can see the U-Haul stopped at a light, heading the other way. Max jumps out, rushes up to me, and gets right in my face.
“Seriously, Kylie, what are you doing? You’re going to run after the truck? Like some kind of superhero? Why don’t you quit while you’re still alive?”
“I can’t.” I wish I could. But it’s true. I can’t. Max obviously doesn’t understand.
“I know it’s a huge drag, but there’s nothing you can do.”
I know he’s trying to be nice when what he’d really like to do is dump me right here on the side of the road. I’m sure he’d rather be anywhere but here. And frankly, so would I.
I keep walking. Max follows me.
“Let’s call the police,” he says.
“We don’t have time. We’ll lose them.”
It’s at this point that I glance over at the Beemer. The driver’s side door is wide open. I can see that Max has left the keys in the car. I make a snap decision to do something I know I will regret later. But I just can’t help myself.
I turn, race back to the car, and jump into the driver’s seat. Max figures out what I’m doing a split second too late. I’m already gunning the engine.
“You coming?” I ask.
“Kylie, you are totally extreme,” Max says. Strangely, he doesn’t seem as annoyed as I thought he’d be. More surprised. He doesn’t protest as he slides in shotgun and looks over at me. “So, what’re you gonna do, Scooby-Doo?”
I laugh, despite my desperation. “Follow them at a distance. See where they’re going. If it seems dangerous, I’ll bail. Promise.”
Max looks at his watch. “I’ll give you a half hour.”
ime’s up. Nothing much has happened. We’ve been following the truck for a half hour as it heads south. The U-Haul isn’t in any hurry, just cruising. We’re keeping a safe distance. “Do you, uh, wanna turn around?” Kylie asks as she glances at the clock. “Not yet.” Kylie looks relieved. I’m giving her a little more time. I’m not sure why, exactly. I guess I’m kinda digging the adventure. I don’t usually do crazy shit like this, but once Kylie jumped into the driver’s seat, I was kind of into it.
I always thought she was such a weirdo. She’s barely spoken to anyone but Will in six years, but suddenly she’s all crazy tough. It was hot, the way she took control. Lily would never do that. I know I should make Kylie turn the car around, that this can’t lead anywhere good, but I’m not ready. Things have been so stressed lately, with Dad, college, squash, and graduation. I’m happy to skip out on real life for a while, follow a U-Haul, and play action hero. It feels good to get out. So what if it’s the last day of school? It’s not like anything that great happens. It’s all about the parties after school, and I’ll definitely be back for that.
We’re cruising through parts of the city I never see: National, Chula Vista. Taking back roads south, toward the border. Maybe that’s where these guys are headed. Over the border to Mexico. A good place to sell stolen stuff. Nowhere I want to go.
“Do you wanna drive?” Kylie asks.
“It’s cool. You can drive.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She’s on best behavior. She knows I could shut this thing down anytime. I don’t know why, but I don’t want to let Kylie down. At least not yet. She’s thinking she’s somehow going to win this thing. I’m sure she’s going to lose. Still, I’m willing to wait it out a little longer, on the off chance Kylie knows something I don’t.
“This is an amazing car. Our car is, like, a hundred years old. We’ve still got a cassette player in the stereo.”
“What’s that?”
Kylie laughs.
“So how come you don’t act like this in school?” I ask her.
“You mean, like, carjacking and playing cops and robbers?”
“No, just…I don’t know, cooler, less uptight. You’re always looking at the floor, avoiding everyone. Unless, of course, you’re going insane on someone in a squash court.”
Kylie smiles at this. Maybe she doesn’t take herself as seriously as I thought.
“I mean, I’ve never even seen you at a party.”
“No one’s ever invited me. And I hate parties.”
Kylie looks over at me, and I can see her big golden eyes poking out through a mess of curls. Her usually tight, prissy ponytail is all messed up. She looks good. Not so geeky.
“They’re pretty casual. Everyone just kinda shows up,” I say.
“Yeah, it would be weird if Will and I just showed up.”
“Maybe.” She’s right. It might be weird. “Why do you spend all your time with Will?”
“Because there’s no one else worth my time.”
“So we’re not good enough for you?” I can’t believe I’m even asking her this question. Like we care what Kylie Flores thinks of us.
“Let’s just say you’re not right for me, and leave it at that.”
I can’t tell if she’s bluffing. Does she actually think she’s too good for us? It’s pretty hilarious when you think about it.
“So what’s the plan? Do you really think you’re going to get your computer back? Those dudes looked pretty serious. We don’t have guns or knives. I may have a Frisbee in the trunk, but that’s it.”
“Decapitation by Frisbee. I like it.”
I laugh. She’s funnier than I would have thought.
“I don’t know. I’m hoping I’ll come up with a brilliant idea any second now.”
“Good. ’Cause I’ve got nothing. Maybe you can talk the guys into giving you back your computer. Like you talked me into doing Murphy’s paper.”
“And look where that got us,” she says, pushing a few stray curls off her face.
She’s got a birthmark above her lip, and the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. She’s kinda hot. Not Lily hot. Hot in a different way. I never noticed it before.
The truck slows down and pulls into a 7-Eleven. Kylie parks a few cars away.
“What are you thinking? ’Cause I’m thinking we’re at the end of the road here. It’s been fun. But now we’re done. I mean, seriously, what are we going to do? Jump the bad guys?”
“Probably not the best idea,” Kylie admits.
The two dudes exit the U-Haul. From the back, they look like father and son. One of them towers over the other. They’re seriously inked; even their bald heads sport tattoos. I so don’t want to have anything to do with these guys. I watch as they head into the 7-Eleven, thinking to myself, I am out of here.
Before I have a chance to say anything, Kylie’s out of the car and heading toward the truck. I follow her because I’m wondering what the hell she’s thinking.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“You wanted a plan, here’s my plan. I’m going to get into that truck and get my computer back.”
“That’s a bad plan, Kylie. These are bad guys. We are way out of our element. We need to get out of here. Like now.”
Kylie isn’t listening to me. She runs around to the back doors of the truck. Shakes them. Locked. She moves to the driver’s side door. Locked. Yeah, people with stolen electronics tend to lock their doors. But then, Kylie manages to open the passenger door.
�
�Kylie, get back here. Seriously. We gotta get out of here.…”
I’m talking to myself. Kylie ignores me and disappears into the truck.
This is no longer fun. Or cool. I’m not into it at all. It’s freaking me out. Kylie is even crazier than I thought. She’s going to get herself killed. And me along with her.
A couple of minutes go by and she’s not out of the truck. I can’t decide if I should just drive away and never look back, or go in after her. Stupidity wins out over common sense, and I climb into the passenger side. I can’t see much. A partition separates the back of the truck from the front. There’s a small window between the cab and the back. Kylie must have crawled through it, because she’s nowhere in sight.
“Kylie, what is your problem? You are going to get us killed.”
“I found it. I’ve just gotta dig it out. But I need help,” Kylie calls out.
I peer through the window, but can’t see her because she’s hidden behind about a million dollars’ worth of stolen electronics. There are wide-screen TVs, DVD players, cameras, iPads, speakers, desktops, laptops, printers. It looks like an electronics store warehouse. I want to run away as fast as I can. This is messed up.
“Please, Max!” Kylie begs, because I haven’t moved.
The desperation in her voice draws me in. Knowing full well this could be the biggest mistake of my life, I crawl through the opening and land on the face of an enormous flat-screen television. I make my way over the equipment, toward Kylie, where she’s attempting to pull her backpack out from under an iMac. We can’t have much more time. Those dudes have got to be on their way back to the truck. I mean, how long can it take to pee and buy a Coke? I push the iMac to the side, freeing Kylie’s backpack, and that’s when the front doors to the truck open.
The two dudes climb in, slam the doors, and rev the engine.
FUCK!
The truck slowly pulls out. With us inside.
We’re hidden from view by all the equipment, at least for now. What happens next is anyone’s guess.
Kylie and I stare at each other. She looks like I feel—freaked and terrified. I’m sure I must look like that as well. I’ve never been this scared in my life. Frantic, I quietly crawl my way to the back door, but it’s locked from the outside. We’re totally trapped. I take Kylie by the arm and maneuver us into the corner. She doesn’t seem so tough anymore as she peers up at me. We crouch behind a huge pile of speakers as the truck picks up speed.
think I might throw up. I’ve been through some pretty bad stuff: Jake’s seizures, getting mugged at knifepoint on Crosby Street, and Nana’s heart attack. But now that all seems minor league in comparison. I’m pretty sure we’re both going to die. It’s weird what comes to mind when you think your life is about to end. I’m wondering who will be at the memorial. Definitely Will. But anyone else from school? I kind of doubt it. Will would call it an “intimate” affair. The perils of dying young when you’re not super popular. I’m sure Max’s funeral will be standing room only. I force myself to try to think positive. I am not going to die.
Everything will be all right despite the absurdly ridiculous odds against that possibility. People say positive thinking can save your life. I doubt it will help, but I might as well give it a try. I attempt to focus on the fact that, best-case scenario, I’ll have some good material for my next screenplay. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take hold. And I’m back to freaking out.
It’s dark in the truck, with only a few slashes of light piercing through the seams of the back doors. A huge television looms over us, dangerously close. If the truck swerves or stops suddenly, we could be crushed to death, which might be preferable to being beaten to a pulp.
I am so stupid. And reckless. And selfish. What about graduation? NYU? Jake? Mom? My life is just beginning. It’s not supposed to be ending. How could I have just climbed into this truck? Max was right. It was a bad plan. A terrible, awful, horrible, idiotic plan that I didn’t think through. As usual. I have my computer, but I’m about to lose my life. What on earth is wrong with me?
Max is sitting next to me, his arms wrapped around his knees. As I look at him not looking at me, I feel even worse. Nausea and tears well up inside me. I feel like I might burst open—raw, ugly emotion splattering all over the truck. We are so screwed, and it’s all my fault.
I’d never write a lame scene like the one I’ve managed to find myself in. I sure as hell wouldn’t have let my protagonist jump into the bad guys’ truck without a plan. At the very least, I would have made sure my hero had a gun or a knife hidden in her boot. The only thing I’ve got is my computer. And it isn’t even turned on. I suck as a real-life action hero.
I’m feeling more and more despondent. I try to play things out in my head, to ferret out a good ending, but it’s just not happening. Even if we can somehow escape, that would probably involve jumping out of a moving truck onto a road with high-speed traffic bearing down on us. If we survive that—and that’s a big if—we’d most likely be in San Ysidro, a border town filled with drug runners, where massacres are a daily occurrence. And that’s the happy ending.
As for the bad scenarios, take your pick. We’re discovered by the bad guys, dragged to a deserted location, shot, knifed, or strangled, and then left for dead. I’m overcome with images of Max and me riddled with bullets, lying in a ditch. I’m trembling. I can’t get the gruesome picture out of my mind. I shake my head to stop myself from spiraling into the abyss. So much for the power of positive thinking.
I glance over at Max, looking for some kind of solace. But he seems even more terrified than me. It’s disconcerting. Panic doesn’t suit him.
“What are we going to do?” I whisper.
Max doesn’t respond. He continues staring straight ahead. It’s wigging me out. I wish he would just scream at me. Or punch me. Something. Anything. I need him to be present. He’s all I’ve got. I am about to say something else to Max when he shoves his hand over my mouth. His palm is sweaty from nerves.
He holds up his iPhone and taps into it. My phone vibrates. I pull it out. He’s texting me.
MAX: WTF WER U THINKING?
KYLIE: IDK. GUESS I WASNT.
MAX: YEA.
KYLIE: IM REALLY SORRY. REALLY. REALLY.
MAX: SAVE IT. NOT GOOD ENUF WEN IM DED.
KYLIE: I KNOW. I MESSED UP.
MAX: BIG TIME.
KYLIE: I GET IT. YOU HATE ME. IM AN IDIOT.
MAX: OK.
KYLIE: U DONT HAVE TO B SUCH A DICK.
MAX: IM GONNA DIE CUZ OF U. HOW SHD I B?
KYLIE: NICER?
MAX: R U SUICIDAL??
KYLIE: NO!! JUST WANTED MY COMPUTER. IT WAS STUPID.
MAX: WHTEVR.
KYLIE: U CLIMBD IN BEHIND ME.
MAX: N BY THAT U MEAN THANX?
KYLIE: IT WAS UR CHOICE.
MAX: I WAS TRYING TO HELP. WONT DO THAT AGAN.
KYLIE: SORRY. REALLY, REALLY SORRY. I AM.
MAX: WATS UR PLAN NOW?
KYLIE: DUNNO. U HAVE ANY IDEAS?
MAX: THIS IS UR PLAN, UR FAULT. U COM UP W SUMTHING.
KYLIE: WISH I CD. BUT HOW? WHAT?
MAX: GUESS U SHD HAV THOT OF THAT B4.
I shoot Max an exasperated look. How is that helpful? He’s acting like a petulant child, and refusing to be part of the solution. Max won’t meet my gaze. He’s too angry at me. I can’t blame him. I deserve it. He’d be at school, basking in the limelight, celebrating the last day of classes, comfortably intertwined with Lily in an ostentatious show of public affection, if it wasn’t for me. Still, if we’re going to spend our final hours on earth together, it might be helpful if we could get along. Or at the very least, work together.
KYLIE: I GET THAT I MESSED UP BUT UR GONNA HAV TO HELP ME OUT HERE.
MAX: HOW???? ID B OUT OF HERE IF I CD. DOORS R LOCKD. NO WAY OUT. WERE SCREWD.
KYLIE: SHD WE CALL 911?
MAX: NO! 2 RISKY. IF THEY C COPS, THELL FREAK. MAYB SHOOT US.
KYLIE: T
HEN WHAT?
MAX: WE WAIT. MAYB THELL STOP AGEN. N WE RUN.
The truck makes a sharp left turn. I fall on top of Max as both of us are thrown against the wall by the centrifugal force. The television falls to the ground. The edge of it nails my knee, which throbs in pain.
Something seems to shift in Max, and his anxiety shoots through the roof. He is gulping air like he’s struggling for breath. His eyes are glassy. His jaw is tensed. I look down to see his hand gripping his pant leg. He reminds me of Jake when he’s seen a snake. Too frightened to move or speak. I text him.
MAX R U OK?
Max doesn’t text back.
“Max? What’s wrong?” I whisper in his ear.
He doesn’t respond. He turns away from me and stares at the floor. I don’t know what to do. I want to reach out to him. I’m just not sure how. I barely know the guy. Amid this nightmare, and despite all my better instincts, my heart swells a little for him. I can’t help it. He looks so vulnerable. It’s a whole different side to a guy who I thought was made of stone.
or the past ten minutes we’ve been moving at a pretty fast clip. I’m deep breathing to keep the anxiety at bay. Kylie keeps looking at me, but I want nothing to do with her. Seriously, what do we have to say to each other at this point? I’m having a hard time just maintaining. I hear one of the guys in front yelling into his cell in Spanish. I don’t understand anything except the word “Tijuana.” Tijuana? Jesus. I know Kylie understands Spanish. I text into my cell.
MAX: R THEY GOIN TO TIJUANA?
KYLIE: YES
MAX: WHAT ELS DID THEY SAY?
KYLIE: JUST SOME ADDRESS. I THINK THEY’RE DROPPING STUFF THERE. NOT SUR.
Mexico?!
I read the papers. I know what’s going on in those border towns. People are being slaughtered, entire police forces are quitting, journalists are murdered just for showing up to work.
I feel dizzy. My vision starts to pulse in and out. There’s no more keeping anything at bay. The dam breaks and an enormous wave of fear spreads through my body. I sit on my hands to stop them from shaking. I’m having a panic attack. It’s not the first time. I’ve been here before. My chest cramps up. My heart whirs out of control. Red-hot anxiety courses through my veins. I just need to breathe. Count to ten. Slowly. Focus on something. I can will myself off the ledge. I’ve done it before.
From What I Remember Page 6