Free The Car by Gary Paulsen

against the building, looking at the sky.
    â€œHow long have you known him?”
    Wayne glanced up and out at Waylon. “Oh, we go back a long ways. Did a little war, a little peace together. There was a time when he thought he was in love with me, but I ran off with a girl named Carmelita, had black hair that hung down to her ankles and could sing. . . .”
    â€œLove? You mean, like, if he was gay or something?”
    Wayne nodded and went back to work “Yeah. He’s gay. You didn’t know?”
    Terry stared at Waylon. “But he never . . . I mean, we’ve been together three days and he hasn’t . . . You know . . .”
    Wayne put his wrench down and studied Terry. “Made a move on you? Hell, boy, he’s gay, he’s not a pervert. You’re just a kid, why would he make a move on you?”
    â€œWell . . .” And the truth was Terry couldn’t think of an answer, nor did it seem important He shrugged and went back to work on the engine with Wayne.

12
    â€œY OU READY TO TEST HER? ”
    Wayne stood over the engine, his hands and head covered with grease—where they weren’t hidden by his hair—his smile a cut of white across the dirty face.
    Terry was across the Cat, one hand on the windshield. It was early morning. They had worked all night—Terry thought he would never sleep correctly again—and the turbocharger was in place, shining and new-looking though it had been in the box for perhaps years. It was simple in concept. The exhaust manifold had been removed and replaced with the turbo. When the engine fired, the exhaust gases were expelled through the turbo, which was in reality a fan with a duct that led back to the carburetor. When the engine ran, the expelled gases turned the fan and that drove high-pressure air into the carburetor, which dramatically increased the power.
    Or, Terry thought, it was supposed to. But he had never seen anything work this way and most of what had been done was accomplished by Wayne who was—as far as Terry could tell—the best mechanic in the world, or near it. Except that he just worked and didn’t say what he was doing, so much of it was still mysterious to Terry.
    But he nodded.
    â€œWell, get in—crank her.”
    Terry slid into the seat and held his breath, turned the key, pushed it over to start.
    There was a moment’s hesitation and then the engine fired with a snort and a thundering growl. The Cat was just outside the door of the garage, but the sound was so deafening that Suze ran from the trailer to close the garage door and protect herself.
    â€œIt’s loud,” Terry said, or yelled, smiling at the same time. It sounded like he thought a car should sound—hungry.
    Wayne nodded, leaned over, and yelled back. “That’s because we dropped the muffler and put in that swollen piece of pipe to make it reverb a little. The muffler created too much backdraft for the turbo. Rev her a few times.”
    Terry pushed on the accelerator once, twice, and the sound grew, roared, filled the world. “Wow . . .”
    Wayne nodded. “Far out, right? Oh, man, I can dig this thing. Let’s go for a ride, see how it works.”
    Terry waited while Wayne got in. Waylon was nowhere to be seen and Terry supposed he had gone into the trailer to get some sleep.
    Wayne closed the door. “You’ve got to watch it. It will seem the same for the first second or so, but the turbo kicks in fast and she can get squirrelly.”
    Terry nodded, put the Cat in reverse, turned around to look over the back, and eased the clutch out. It was loud but didn’t seem much different.
    â€œYou don’t want to give her too much—,” Wayne started to say.
    But he was too late. The Cat seemed unchanged to Terry and he pushed on the acclerator.
    A pause, half a beat, then the turbo started pushing air, mixed it under pressure with