Overdrive (4 page)

“Mickey, just stop trying to act so cool. Get on the bike. Let's go.”

He looked like he was going to say something, but he didn't. We walked the bikes out of the garage and I closed the big door behind us. I was happy to keep the car completely out of sight.

We rode along the street and then cut down a pathway. There were walkways throughout the neighborhood that cut between streets. As we pedaled along, I kept thinking about the accident. Was anybody hurt? Was it my fault? Had anybody seen
me? And what sort of trouble could I get in if they found out Luke was racing with me before the accident? I pushed down harder on the pedals and tried to push the thoughts out of my mind. The bike picked up speed, but the thoughts stayed stuck in my head.

We stopped well behind the people who lined the sidewalk, watching, staring, gawking at the accident. I got off the bike and leaned it against a telephone pole. Mickey put my sister's bike beside it.

As we got closer, I understood why the crowd was so large. The two cars—the black BMW and a silver SUV—looked like they'd been welded together in a single piece of tangled, smashed metal. If it weren't for the difference in the colors of the two vehicles, I wouldn't have been able to tell where one started and the other one ended.

There were emergency vehicles lining the street: three police cars, a couple of ambulances, five…no, six tow trucks and a big fire truck. The lights on top of all of the vehicles were circling around, flashing,
bathing the scene in a series of lights, like some sort of dance or party.

A fireman was hosing down the road, washing away gas or oil. Or blood. Another fireman had a broom and was sweeping away larger pieces of the cars. There were two policemen, both wearing orange reflective vests, directing traffic. Only one lane was open and traffic was backed up for blocks. As cars passed, they slowed down and drivers and passengers gawked at the accident.

“Looks bad,” Mickey said to a woman standing at the edge of the crowd. “Was anybody hurt?”

“Everybody was hurt,” she said. “The one ambulance has already gone. The one with the driver of the black car.”

“How did he look?” I asked anxiously.

“Not good. He wasn't moving.”

“What do you mean? Is he dead?”

“If he had been they wouldn't have been putting him in an ambulance and shooting off with the lights on.”

“Thank goodness,” I said.

“Of course, that doesn't mean anything. Lord knows how he is now.” She turned to look at me. “He seemed about your age. Do you know him?”

“No!” I protested. “I was just worried, that's all. Do you know how many people were involved in the accident?”

“Three. The boy in the car and a couple in the SUV.”

“I guess they weren't hurt very badly because the ambulances are still here,” Mickey said.

“The ambulances are still here because they can't get the one woman out of the car,” she said. “She's trapped inside.”

“Trapped?”

“The fire department is going to have to cut her out. They're getting ready to use the Jaws of Life.”

“The what?” Mickey asked.

“Watch,” the woman said.

Almost on cue, two of the firemen pressed a large machine against the side of the SUV.
They began to cut through the roof of the car. It was like some sort of combination chain saw and gigantic can opener. It sliced through the metal, and the fireman peeled back the side and roof of the car. They turned off the machine and two paramedics raced forward. They removed a woman from the passenger seat. The side of her head was bandaged and there was something wrong with her leg…it was sticking out at a strange angle.

“She looks okay, I guess,” Mickey said.

“That's where the BMW hit, right into the side of the SUV, right into the passenger door.”

A man—his head all bandaged as well— rushed to her side as they placed her on a stretcher.

“I can't be sure,” the woman said, “but she looks pregnant.”

The sick feeling that had been growing in my stomach got worse.

A man standing just in front of us turned around. “I heard the kid was street racing.”

“That's awful. A couple just out for dinner, minding their own business doing nothing wrong and this happens.”

“I wonder what happened to the other car,” the man said.

“What other car?” the woman asked.

“The car the BMW was racing.”

“Did you see another car?” she asked. My heart rose up into my throat.

“Naw. Just figured. Nobody races by themselves, that's all.”

I stumbled away from the crowd. Mickey followed after me.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded weakly.

“You look awful,” he said. “You're all white.”

“We gotta go. Now.”

I sat bolt upright, my heart racing. I looked around. I was in my bed. In my bedroom. It was light, which meant it was morning.

My brother was in his bed on the other side of the room. He must have come in pretty late. I was awake until after three in the morning—I couldn't stop thinking about the accident—and when I finally closed my eyes, he still wasn't in. I guess when I did
fall asleep I was really asleep because I hadn't even heard him come in. He was gently snoring and there was a smile on his face. He always had a smile on his face the morning after a date with Natalie.

I was completely awake. The scene on the street—the tangled metal of the cars, the police, firemen, the ambulances, everything—all seemed like a dream. A nightmare. I needed to know more about the accident.

I climbed out of bed and quietly left the room. The whole house was silent. As I came down the stairs I could hear the clock ticking on the mantel. It was a few minutes before 8:00. That was way too early to be up on a Saturday morning. Everybody else was obviously still asleep, and in my brother's case would stay asleep for hours to come.

I went to the front door and opened it just wide enough for me to reach out and get the paper from the mailbox, but not so wide that anyone outside would see me in nothing but my boxers.

I grabbed the paper and let the door close as I retreated inside. I put the folded paper under my arm. I wanted to look— especially at the front page—but I didn't want to look even harder. I was afraid of what I might see.

I sat down at the kitchen table, took a deep breath and opened up the paper. There on the front cover was a gigantic picture of some guys, and a headline that said “Peace Slipping Away in the Middle East.” How could something that didn't exist slip away?

I was relieved to see that there was absolutely nothing on the front page about the accident. I turned the page and scanned the stories. Nothing there either. Quickly I went page by page through the whole first section. Nothing. I put aside the sports pages and the classifieds. It wouldn't be in either of those sections. The last section was titled City. That's where it could be. Slowly I looked from story to story, page by page. There was nothing about the accident. How could that
be possible? I worked my way backward through the whole section. Nothing.

I didn't know whether I should feel relieved or disappointed. Instead I felt both. It was like the accident never happened—which I knew was wrong. Maybe it hadn't been as big or bad an accident as I thought and I was just overreacting.

Then I thought of something else. The accident took place pretty late in the evening. Maybe the newspaper had already been put together and printed before the accident could make it into the papers. That would just mean I wouldn't know anything more until Sunday's paper came out.

The phone rang. I jumped out of my seat. Who could be calling this early in the morning? What if it was the police? Somebody had seen me racing and had written down my license plate number and now they were calling and—the phone rang again. Would the police call or would they just show up at the door? The phone rang a third time.

Police or no police, I had to answer it before it woke everyone up. I grabbed the phone.

“He…hello,” I stuttered.

“Jake?”

“Yes?”

“It's me, Mickey.”

“Mickey…what are you doing calling so early?”

“Did you see it?”

“See what?” I asked anxiously.

“The TV news flash. The accident was on TV.”

“You're kidding. It was on TV?”

“Yeah, they made it into a big story. I couldn't sleep, so I was up watching the tube and then it came on,” he said. “It interrupted the late movie.”

“What did they say?”

“They talked about the people that were injured. There were three people hurt, but only two of them were hospitalized.”

I took a deep breath. “Luke and…and…”

“The woman. The pregnant woman. The reporter said they had to keep her in
for observation because they wondered if the force of the accident would cause her to lose the baby.”

I felt my legs go soft. If I hadn't been sitting down, I thought I might have fallen over.

“What else did they say?”

“They interviewed some cop and he said they were looking for another car,” Mickey said.

Now I knew I would have fallen down.

“But there's good news,” Mickey said.

“How can any of this be good?”

“They said they're looking for a white car.”

“White? But my brother's car isn't white.”

“I know that. I think those patches of primer paint made them think it was white. And by Monday, because of the paint job, the car is going to be even less white…it's going to be red.”

“That's right,” I said.

“Isn't that good news?” Mickey asked.

“I guess. But what if somebody saw my license plate?”

“Do you have a cop at your front door?” Mickey asked.

“No…I don't think so…I just peeked out the door and—”

“You don't or you'd know it,” Mickey said, cutting me off. “And if anybody got your license plate, then there'd be a whole squad of cops there already.”

“I guess you're right,” I said. “Although I really didn't do anything wrong…right?”

“I'm afraid you're wrong now and were right last night,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“The cop said that cars that see an accident are supposed to stay around to give a report. Especially if they were somehow involved.”

“Involved,” I said. “Like we were involved. Do you think I should … I should call?”

“Only if you're an idiot!” he snapped. “They didn't see you. They don't know who you are. Just don't do anything.”

“I guess you're right,” I said.

“I know I'm right. Calling can only get us in trouble.”

I didn't answer. Somehow it didn't seem right. There were two people in the hospital—one of them a pregnant woman who might lose her baby—and while I hadn't hit the other car, it was still my fault. Sort of. Maybe I just didn't know.

“So, we both keep our mouths shut. Agreed?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah. Agreed.”

“So, you want to do something today?” Mickey asked. His voice was cheery and happy, like he'd suddenly forgotten what we were just talking about.

“I don't know,” I said. “I have things to do today. I'll see you tomorrow or Monday at school.”

“What's wrong with you?” Andy asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you sick or something?”

“I'm not sick.”

“Then why didn't you go out last night?”

“I don't always go out.”

“You almost always go out on Saturday nights.”

“But not always.”

“And now you've been moping around the house all day,” he continued.

“I don't even know what moping means, and even if I did, I wasn't doing it, so shut up,” I said.

He shook his head slowly. “Sometimes I can't believe you're my brother. I've got to check with Mom. Either you were dropped on your head when you were a baby or we adopted you. There's no way we're related.”

“Why don't you shut up or else I'll—”

“You'll what?” He started moving around the room like a boxer, bobbing and weaving and tossing pretend punches. “You may be getting bigger, but I'm always going to be your bigger brother,” he said.

“Correction. You'll always be my older brother, but in about two years I'll be the bigger brother and looking down on you.”

“Speaking of looking down, where's the Mouse?”

My brother always called Mickey, the Mouse.

“He's probably at home,” I answered.

“So the Mouse is in his house. I think I could make that into a rap lyric or a Dr. Seuss story. Something like, ‘Do you want that mouse in your house? Oh, no, I don't want that mouse in my house.' That would sell. Any idiot can write a kids' book.”

“If being an idiot helps, you could be one fine writer,” I said.

“So, seriously, why have you just been hanging around all day?”

“I've been studying,” I lied.

“Studying what, the TV and newspaper …and when did you start reading anything except the sports section and comics?” he asked, gesturing to the paper strewn around the floor at my feet.

“I read other parts of the paper,” I argued. “I'm not the one who only looks at the Sunshine Girl picture on page three.”

“That is the best part of the whole paper. You'd understand that if you started hanging around with Minnie instead of Mickey Mouse,” Andy said.

I tried hard not to laugh, but I couldn't help myself. The guy was funny. As big brothers went, he was pretty good.

“You know, I wouldn't mind the Mouse if he'd learn to just shut his mouth sometimes,” my brother said. “I'd hate to trust a secret to that guy.”

I felt a chill go up my spine.