Speed of Life (6 page)

“I didn't do anything. She thinks I should go to college.”

Amber laughs.

“I know, right?” I shake my head and my hair falls out of its rubber band. My hands are filthy, so Amber scoops up my curls and redoes the ponytail for me. I lie back onto the cracked concrete, staring up at the sky. Our neighborhood doesn't look too bad if you keep your eyes up.

Bonehead whines, wanting off his chain. “Forget it,” I tell him. “You can't be trusted.” Yesterday morning, I was fifteen minutes late to work because he ran off when I opened the car door to let him out to pee. Amber gets up and crosses over to him, rubbing his dopey-looking head, and I snag her lawn chair. Gil won Bonehead in a poker game. He's part German shepherd, part anyone's guess, and he's got one blue eye and one brown one, which makes him look adorable and also slightly crazy. I'm hoping any idiot who might want to steal my car will think he's totally whacked.

Amber abandons Bonehead and scoops up Natalie. She raises her into the air, making faces, and Nat giggles. “What would you study in college, anyway, Crys?”

“Nothing. I'm not going.” Then I tell her how Ms. Spellerman said I could learn about repairing cars, and Amber laughs again. “Yeah, I know,” I say. “Because I need to pay someone to teach me stuff I can learn from Jimmy for free?”

“Totally,” she agrees.

We stay up until almost midnight, watching TV and doing homework. Han hangs with us, supposedly studying for an ethics class he's taking but mostly hogging the remote. I try to grab it from him, but he holds it out of reach. “Why do you have to keep changing the channel?”

“It's a guy thing.”

“Pick a show and leave it there before I have to kill you. I can't concentrate.”

“Will you two shut up?” Amber asks.

She does her own math and mine while I write a persuasive essay for English class, taking the side that a Mustang fastback is superior to the original design. Han continues to flip channels while we ignore him.

On Monday during sixth period, I get called down to see Ms. Spellerman again, and some of the kids in my class say, “Ooooh . . .” like we're in the third grade and I'm busted. I grab my stuff and head to her office. Now what does she want?

“Come in, Miss Robbins,” she says when I knock on her door.

Her face is really pale, and her eyes look red and kind of watery. I wonder if she has a cold. Just in case, I don't get too close. Me and Amber are germ magnets. We get everything that's going around, and then we give it to each other. It didn't used to be a big deal, but now we've got Natalie to worry about.

“I've only got a few minutes,” she says, “but I have something I thought you'd be interested in.”

I smile, but only because she looks like she might start crying. “Umm . . . okay.”

“After our little talk last week, I did some research on the Internet and guess what I found?”

I shrug.

“A college that teaches exactly what you want to know.”

I'm not following her.

“Automotive restoration!” she says. “You learn everything about restoring vintage cars.”

“Really?” This
is
surprising. I'm still not going to college, but it's kind of cool to know a degree like that exists.

“It's in McPherson, Kansas.”

Kansas? I can't even place the state on a map. Somewhere in the middle, maybe?

Ms. Spellerman holds out a whole pile of papers toward me. When she does, I see her left hand is bare. The engagement ring is missing. Could that be why she looks so bad? I don't really want the papers, but the idea that she and her fiancé broke up and she still took the time to do this . . . well, I'd feel a little bad not taking the stuff, so I let her give the stack to me.

“Now,” she says, “there's information there on the program—​how to apply, and deadlines and all that. I've made a list of the dates for the SATs and how to sign up for them, too. And that green sheet?”

I fumble around and pull it out.

“That's a step-by-step timeline for you. I know you said you don't want to go to college, but I thought maybe that's because the process is so overwhelming. This is designed to make it as easy as possible.” She gives me a watery smile. “This way you don't have any excuses.”

“Umm . . . thanks.”

Her phone rings and she tells me she has to take it but I should come back next month to let her know how it's going. Also, she offers to write me a letter of recommendation even though we only met last week.

As soon as I'm back in the hallway and her door is shut, I drop the pile of papers into the nearest recycling can. I'm halfway to English when I turn around and go back. The bin's right outside Ms. Spellerman's door. What if she sees the papers in there? What if that was her fiancé on the phone, saying it was definitely over, and she comes out and discovers I've dumped all her hard work without even looking at it? What if she totally loses it because of me? I fish out the packet and stuff it in my backpack. It's not like I'm interested or anything—​I just can't be responsible for the new guidance counselor jumping out of a third-story window.

Two weeks later I'm falling asleep in algebra when I swallow a bug. That's what it feels like anyway, and I'm hacking for a full minute before Mr. Cartwright suggests I go get a drink of water. In the hallway, I run into Ms. Spellerman. Literally.

“Oh, sorry,” I say.

“No, excuse me. I wasn't looking where I was going.” Which is true. She is typing on an iPhone and has barely looked up. Must be nice to have a phone. Not that I'd have anyone to call anyway. Han swears he'll kill himself before carrying around something that will let his parents track him down whenever they want, and none of my other friends can afford one.

I slip away before she recognizes me—​one of the advantages of going to a school with four thousand kids—​and I get my drink of water. Back in the classroom, Cartwright drones on and on, and I fumble through my ratty backpack for a stick of gum. Instead, I find the papers Ms. Spellerman gave me, which I haven't looked at, at all.

I spend the rest of the period reading them over, and when I'm done, I know five things.

1. McPherson College is in McPherson, Kansas, which looks like one of those small towns from the 1950s, where the girls wear poodle skirts, the guys grease their hair, and everyone goes to the prom sober.
   

2. Taking the SATs costs a small fortune.
   

3. They take only fifty people into the restoration program at any one time, but you can enroll in the college, take all your other classes, and apply again if you don't get in on the first try.
   

4. That comedian who used to be on TV and loves cars gives away a full-ride scholarship every year.
   

5. Last year, the students restored a 1949 Hudson Hornet, and it looks amazing.
   

For about half a second I get butterflies of excitement in my stomach. I could do that program. I could have helped with that Hornet. But then reality sinks in. There's no way I could ever talk Amber into moving to Kansas. She's too locked into being around our family. She needs everyone a lot more than I do. When we all get together, our aunts and uncles, cousins, and all the kids, I'm overwhelmed, but Amber's in her element. She won't leave that. Plus there's the whole thing with Aunt Ruby and the Glass Slipper. None of Ruby's kids are interested in the tavern, and she's basically promised to leave it to Amber if my sister keeps working there. That's Amber's dream and part of the plan I've agreed to. I shove the papers in my backpack and try to forget about them.

That night, I'm sitting at the kitchen table with Mom. We're both eating coffee cake and doing crossword puzzles. I try not to eat the crap she brings home from the bakery. No offense, but I don't want to balloon out like her and be a whale. Unfortunately, there isn't anything else to eat in the house. Hopefully Amber will bring me a veggie burger from work.

About once a week, one of the cooks, Brad, sends Amber home with some free food because I give him rides sometimes. If I don't end up with something tonight, I'll get a box of mac and cheese at the corner store.

Normally I'd be at work right now, but most of my shifts this week have gone to David again, and I'm trying not to think about it. “Five letters, starts with e,” Mom says, holding out her crossword to me. “It's an automotive misfortune.”

“Edsel.”

“That's my girl.”

The phone rings. Neither of us moves. Gil is closer. A minute later, he yells, “Crystal! It's for you.”

I go into the living room, where the phone is plugged into the wall. We had a cordless one for a while, but the battery wore out. Amber found this one in the basement of the Glass Slipper, and Aunt Ruby said we could have it.

“Hello?”

“It's Rosa. Can you come in?”

“Now?”

“Raul's got the flu or something.”

“What about David?”

“He's got some school thing. I really need you, Crystal.”

“Yeah, okay. Give me twenty minutes.”

“Make it fifteen. Raul is barfing between customers.”

It's not until I hang up that I remember I've got Natalie. Normally she goes to the Glass Slipper with Amber, but there was no point tonight, since I was home. But it sounds like Raul's in a bad way, and Rosa can't pump gas, so I don't really have time to drop off the baby at the tavern, either.

“Can you watch Nat?” I ask Mom.

“No can do, sweetie-pie. I'm on my way out.”

She's still sitting at the table like she's never going to move, but I saw her counting her change earlier, so Aunt Pearl's probably coming to get her to go to bingo before their shift. In the living room, I take one look at Gil, who is prostrate on the couch, and decide Natalie will have to come with me. As long as Jimmy doesn't find out, it shouldn't be a problem. Besides, I'm doing him a favor.

“You brought the baby?” Rosa says when I come through the door, the bell jingling behind me.

“No choice. I'll stick her in Jimmy's office. Yell if she starts crying.”

It's a slow night, so I'm inside with Rosa more than I'm outside pumping gas, which is fine with me because it's pretty damn cold, even for the first week in November. And the stinging rain is coming down slantwise, making it hard to stay dry.

At midnight, I lock the door from the inside and turn out all the lights except the ones over the register. Rosa counts out her till, and I get Nat from the back and set her on the floor behind the counter. I've already swept and cleaned the glass doors, and I start restocking the cigarettes at lightning speed so we can blow the second Rosa's done.

We're talking about nothing important when we both hear the bathroom door at the back of the store open. Me and Rosa give each other frightened looks as a man with greasy hair and wearing an overcoat comes out and staggers his way toward us.

I look at Rosa again, and her eyes go wide. In an instant, my heart's beating so fast, it's like there isn't even any space between the beats. This is it. Mom always told me I shouldn't work here because it's too dangerous, and now she's gonna be right.

Behind the counter is a hole in the floor where Rosa drops the money into the safe all night long so there's nothing much in the register. There're signs posted all over saying we never have more than thirty-five bucks in cash and we don't have the combination to the safe, but druggies aren't usually big readers.

The guy stops on the other side of the counter facing us. His eyes are bloodshot, and he has to hold on to the edge to keep from falling. Maybe we could take him? We keep a bat behind the counter . . . Slowly I move my hand toward it, but then I remember Natalie's here.

Oh, God. Please don't cry, Nat. Please, please, please.

“What d'you want?” Rosa says in a tough voice, and then her eyes roll back in her head and she passes out at my feet. It's the fake faint that she's been telling me she's gonna do if we're ever robbed, and now she's finally got her chance.

The guy blinks twice and shakes his head like he's not sure what he saw. Then he says, “Give me some Marlboros.”

That's when I clue in to what's going on. Since gas stations don't keep money in the registers anymore, most of the robberies around here are about beer and smokes. So far, I don't see a weapon, but I grab four cartons of Marlboros and slide them across the counter without hesitating.

He stuffs his hand into one of the deep pockets of his coat, rummaging around forever. Every muscle in my body tightens until I feel like I will shatter if I try to move. I just know he's going to pull out a gun. I live in a crappy neighborhood, but I've never actually seen one in person. There's this weird little part of me, like the ghost of Crystal, that sort of floats above my head and
wants
to see a gun.
What the hell is wrong with me?

On the ground where the guy can't see her, Rosa is wide awake. She's already hit the silent alarm and is sending texts on her phone, probably to her kids to say she loves them. I see Natalie shift in her carrier.
Please. Please. Please don't cry.
My hand is shaking as I reach for more cigarettes and start piling them in front of the guy. There's a nice little wall of red and white cartons between us now.

“Dude.” He laughs. “I mean, dudette. I only want two packs, man.” He lays a twenty on the counter.

“What?”

“Two packs,” he repeats.

“Two packs?” I say like I'm a stupid friggin' parrot.

“Yeah, man. I'm not made of money.”

I stare at him, and he stares back at me, making his eyes bug out, and then he laughs like we're sharing some joke, his nose crinkling up, a gap showing between his back molars.