Free No Right Turn by Terry Trueman

school nights with the car, and she bought it. It’s true, both for the reasons I explained to Becka and for the other, real reasons that I haven’t admitted yet.
    I didn’t want to take the car again; I wanted the lies and the fear of being caught and all of that to stop—but I can’t give it up. Things are going good now; for a change I’m actually having fun.
    So I’m just riding the wave.
    I’ve gotten so good at grand theft auto that it’s scary—it almost feels like I’m not even doing anything wrong.
    When I get to Becka’s house and pick her up, we cruise down Indian Trail Road; I ask what she wants to do.
    â€œLet’s go park at Arlington,” she says.
    I laugh. “What, are you getting all scandalous?”
    She laughs too. “There’s nothing scandalous about parking at Arlington. But of course, you’re a geek, right, you wouldn’t know that.”
    I punch the ’Vette and we roar forward for half a block. She grabs the black plastic grip on the door, just like I did that first time I felt the Stingray’s power.
    â€œDon’t make me turn on the nitrous,” I tease her, easing off the accelerator.
    â€œDang,” Becka says. “This sucker goes, doesn’t it?”
    â€œShe,” I say.
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œShe’s not an it, she’s my baby,” I say.
    â€œHmmm?” Becka smiles. “Is that right? Your baby, huh? Your one and only?”
    I smile but don’t say anything.
    Becka says, “ She’s the one who’s scandalous.”
    â€œOh, yeah,” I agree.
    Becka, a soft, sexy tease to her voice, says, “Get us to the park … and we’ll talk about scandalous.”
    When we get there, we do more than just talk about it.
    After I get back home, I phone Wally; I have to tell somebody what’s happened. It’s like a dream. If no one else knows, it won’t even feel real.
    Wally can’t believe it. “She actually kissed you?”
    â€œYeah, we made out.”
    â€œHow far did you get?”
    â€œI’m not gonna go into details, Wal. We kissed and made out.”
    â€œDid you feel her up?”
    â€œA little bit.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, a little? On top of her shirt? Under her shirt? On top of her bra? Under her bra? How far did you get?”
    â€œNo comment, Wally.”
    â€œYou made out with Becka Thorson—you!!” His voice sounds like he’s in a trance. “You kissed her and felt her up—”
    I interrupt: “A little.”
    â€œYeah, whatever. This is incredible. Amazing. My best friend is gonna nail a cheerleader.”
    â€œLet’s not get carried away here, Wal.”
    But Wally, on a roll, can’t stop himself, “Come on, man, this is how these things start—some kissing, some making out, and the next thing you know you’re buying condoms by the jumbo pack. And she must have some cheerleader girlfriends, right? She must—”
    â€œI gotta go, Wally.”
    â€œYeah, okay, but just remember—”
    â€œI got it, Wal.”
    â€œGood!”
    We hang up.
    God, life can be good sometimes—I wish I could just shut everything else out and concentrate on that.
    When Mom gets home, I’m doing homework at the kitchen table.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Mom asks, smiling. “Those can’t be schoolbooks, can they?”
    â€œOf course not,” I kid her back, and hold the book up for her to see: American History: Freedom and Democracy . “This is just a little light reading, you know; they were out of nasty magazines.”
    â€œGood boy,” Mom says. “I’m proud of you. Did you have a good day?”
    I blurt out, “Becka Thorson and I went out again.”
    â€œOh, really,” Mom says. “Did you have fun?”
    â€œOh, yeah,” I answer, a little more enthusiastically than I mean to.
    Mom asks,