Free Breakdown (Crash into Me) by Amanda Lance Page B

slammed the door in his face and listened to him laugh.
    “See you soon, Jumper. See you real soon!”
    I watched from the living room windows as he walked down the front path, stopping at Bloody Mary parked on the side of the curb. See you soon? He couldn’t possibly be serious could he?
    And if he was, what would I do then?
     

Chapter Four

     
     
    With William gone and no baking supplies left, I sat on Mom’s antique walnut sofa, an item Dad had been forbidden to sit on, let alone nap. Yet without Mom around I could sit on her precious couch without her pitching a fit. It was immature, silly at best, but I think it was mostly my way of rebelling within a safety-zone.
    It was like flipping her off when her back was turned.
    I sat there for so long I lost track of the time, listening to the ticking of the wall clock and watching the sun move across the room. The Reiner’s dog yipped and yapped at early evening joggers, and cars honked at kids who slowed traffic with their mischief. Every time one of the skateboarders fell, there was the echoing of swearing and laugher. The mailman came and went. There was the sound of a walker and its elderly owner making its way slowly down the sidewalk, and bike chains dangling as the Masson boys raced each other. I closed my eyes and tried to replace the sound of chains and flipping skateboards with engines, the smell of lemon pledge for diesel.
    I had no idea why the memory of the race made my stomach so fuzzy, but only that it did, and once I acknowledged the feeling did I realize that I liked the fuzziness very much. Yet my lack of awareness on why I liked it so much added confusion into the equation that I didn’t want to deal with. I had never been one for sports, and had definitely not been interested in anything illegal. So why was it exactly I couldn’t stop daydreaming about racing? Was it the speed? The danger? Or was it just that in a lifetime of sitting in the backseat I finally had the opportunity to see the road for myself?
    I had to admit that there was something strangely fascinating about seeing so many people gathered for the sake of cars, a modern machine that I had probably taken advantage of my entire life. Obviously, there were a million and one reasons to love a car, but I couldn’t ever having recalled seeing so many people gathering against society for something as everyday as a car, and it had me wondering about the motivation of those besides myself. Why did they all love it so much? Why did William?
    For William, I could have attributed his motivation solely to the affection he received from his female fans. Then again, with the way he looked and his charming manner, I seriously doubted that he needed a gimmick like a nice car to get any woman he wanted.  For Mickey and Cosmo, maybe they were just trying to fit in, do what their friends did to be trendy and meet girls. The others, however, were a mystery, one that I was genuinely sad I’d never get to discover for myself if I continued ahead with my intended suicide. Before becoming aware of it, I began considering whether or not if I should go to the race—if only to see William again.
    I sat up when my leg fell asleep and the sun traveled far enough across the room to blind my eyes. Without intending to, the daydreams had made up my mind for me, the memory of speeding cars inspiring fantasies I knew could never be realities. But, who knew, maybe William was right about this being a better alternative after all.
    Keeping that in mind, I made my best attempt to focus on the invitation William had given to me, even if it was a pity one. I had to admit that it was nice to have something interesting to think about—other than dying anyway. If I was completely honest with myself William was just as responsible for my thinking as the races themselves. Because my mind wasn’t in great shape, I kept them both in my heart for safekeeping, letting them spin around like a car doing donuts.
    Eventually, I