Shift by Ginger Scott
5
Seventy-five bucks feels good in my hands. It also feels dirty. Michael Bosa didn’t do shit to earn that C I got him on the bio test today. And yeah, I earned him a C instead of a B because this scam only works if I make it believable. I don’t think he’s ever gotten a grade higher than C in his entire life. The B is for me, and only because A’s don’t happen in here.
Honestly, what does it matter? Is forcing him to understand the differences between DNA and RNA going to somehow make him something other than a shortstop destined to flunk out of the college that picks him up? Probably not. And now, I’m seventy-five bucks richer.
I don’t know why that intake thing is important, but it meant a lot to Dustin that he was finally able to get it, and have it installed by Friday. This Friday, for whatever reason. The idea to get it back for him struck me after I left him in the kitchen last night.
After he helped with my negotiation.
After we almost—
Bailey is always the last one out of class, which means my car is the last one out of the school lot. Normally, it’s fine, because we don’t have anywhere to go. But today, I’m kinda in a hurry.
I stand on the hood of my car when I catch a glimpse of her hair in the last crowd of students spilling out the south exit. Dialing her number again, I hold my phone against my ear while waving my other hand in the air.
“Hello!” Logan, this jock asshole I have had way too many classes with, shouts, waving back while approaching me. He knows I’m not signaling for him, but the football players at this school like to think everything is about them. He sees it as an opening, which would be fine if his next move wasn’t going to be something totally aggressive or demeaning. His dumb smile is way too eager, so I lower my hand as I glare at him and flip him off before he gets too close.
“Pshh, fine. Fuck off then, Hannah Banana.” He has also called me that since fourth grade. He waves me off while his friends laugh and shove him off balance. I do my best to ignore the entire scene while they purposely slap the side of my car while they pass.
“Hey, what’s up?” Bailey finally answers.
“Hurry. There’s someplace I need to go.” I wave again while I bounce on my toes.
“Are you on your car?” She’s still walking slow, which is infuriating because beyond me telling her to hurry, clearly she can see I’m trying to rush her along.
“Yes, Bails, I’m on my car. I’m trying to get you to hurry!” I shout into the phone.
“Fine, geesh.” She hangs up on me but breaks into a jog which is a fair trade for making her a little bit mad.
I hop down from my car’s hood and get in, starting it up and backing out of my spot so I’m primed to get into the exit line. I take off toward it before my friend has a chance to shut the passenger door.
“Jesus, Hannah!” Bailey whines, over-exaggerating her fall toward me while she tugs her door closed.
“Sorry. We’re on a mission.” I pull my sunglasses from the visor and slip them on while we roll our windows down. I don’t have air conditioning in this thing, which is fine for half the year, but when the Arizona weather warms up, it’s downright brutal. In March, the weather is still close to perfect, so the windows go down the second we go anywhere.
“Okay, I forgive you,” my friend says. I swivel my head and meet her pursed lips and dimmed eyes. After a few seconds of silence, I bust out a laugh and squeeze her hand.
“I’m sorry. You’re right,” I admit. “I’m anxious, and I totally took that out on you.”
Her mouth curves just enough to soften her eyes, and soon, she’s laughing with me and squeezing my hand back.
“Okay, so what’s this mission? Where are we headed?” she asks.
I hand her the receipt from Earl’s.
“Oh, fun. An oil change place, yay.” Her words drawl out to showcase her sarcasm.
“I need to buy something . . . for the boys,” I say, stumbling on my words. I almost said “for Dustin.”
“Can’t they buy their own crap? I have to be home in an hour.” She’s already pulled the makeup wipes out from my backpack and is clearing her face of mascara and lipstick. She’s just as pretty this way, but I wouldn’t dare stop her from putting on my makeup every morning. It makes her so happy to have this tiny act of rebellion. Between this, borrowing some of my outfits, and crawling out her window on Friday nights, Bailey can survive all of the stern formalities that come along with life in her household.
“This one’s a surprise,” I say.
She flips the mirror closed on her visor then pushes it up to the roof.
“A surprise, huh?”
I can feel her eyes on me.
“Yep,” I say, forcing my cheeks not to burn and my mouth to remain loose as I maintain a casual smile.
My friend snickers while I scan for traffic, pulling myself close to the steering wheel as I leave the student lot.
“Uh huh,” she finally says.
“What?” I flash her a quick look, lifting my right shoulder.
I’m so busted.
“You’re getting something for Dustin. Don’t you lie to me, Hannah Lee Judge.”
I cringe at the utterance of my middle name. She’s broken out the secret warfare, and that tone, the one that’s a little melodic. The one a smart-ass know-it-all would use.
I wrinkle my nose and squint my eyes, shaking my head to stretch out the lie. It’s useless, though, because the moment my eyes meet hers, she cackles at my lame attempt.
“Girl, you are buying a present for a cute boy. There’s nothing wrong with that, so quit trying to cover it up.” She lightly pushes my shoulder.
I halt the car at the stoplight a block from campus and breathe out a heavy sigh. My shoulders sag. If Bailey can see through my façade, there’s no way I’ll be able to hide this from my brother.
“Okay, fine. But it’s not like that. I swear.”
I lie.
“I feel bad because Dustin’s dad broke his windshield and he had to sell this part to pay for the replacement, and I know how important it was. I have the money, so . . .” I shrug.
“It’s sweet,” Bailey says.
“Yeah?” I lift a brow.
She nods.
I breathe in through my nose to ease the tightness in my chest. It has little effect. I have to ignore the feeling, though, and push on. It takes about ten minutes to get to Earl’s, and I know the guys there are going to be a pain in my ass. I try to build up my pretend courage and arm myself with the bluster my dad and brother have taught me from years at the track. This scene—the shop, the track, the cars themselves—is very much a man’s world. I fully expect the guys on shift today to try to take advantage of me and pocket the extra cash. I did not do two assignments and a test for Michael Bosa for nothing, though, and this one-seventy-five that I’ve saved up is the exact amount I need to reclaim that part for Dustin.
“You ready?” I turn to my friend.
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head.
“What? I’m not robbing the joint. I’m spending my money.” I hold the wad of cash out as proof. I jacked one six-pack of beer from the corner market two months ago, and now Bailey thinks I’m a hardened criminal. I did it on a dare from my brother, and frankly, the way Dustin looked at me after made me wish I hadn’t. I didn’t even drink any of it at the party we went to.
Most of the guys in this place at least recognize me. I roll my shoulders back and punch my feet into the ground with my stride. I know how much Dustin got for the part. I dug the exchange receipt out of our dumpster. My lucky day, Earl seems to be off. The rest of the guys working for him are young and malleable. They have no idea I’m seventeen, and if I say things just right, they really don’t care. I catch a faint whistle leaving someone’s lips as I enter the bay.
“Hannah.” Jim, the oldest one next to Earl at all of twenty-six, stops what he’s doing under some Camaro hood and wipes his hands on a rag on his way to me.
“I’m here for the intake manifold my boys sold to Earl?” I’ve used the right words; the question at the end is an added dose of sweetness.
“What’d Dustin do, cheat a bunch of fools out of cash on the Straights to buy it back?” He turns his back to me and moves toward the counter. I pull my lips in tight and swallow the defensive comebacks I’d like to say. Jim’s bent because he’s lost to Dustin a dozen times. He’s a shitty driver, but he refuses to see that.
“I’ll be using my own money, thank you.” I slap the cash on the counter as he turns around, unraveling the part from the plastic bag Dustin brought it in with. He sets the part down close to him and pulls my money into his permanently oil-accented hands.
“You’re short fifty.”
Bailey swallows hard enough that I can hear it over my shoulder. She’s not a fan of conflict. I’m impressed that Jim’s actually trying to pull one over on me like he does all the other clueless people who come into this joint.
“Yeah? You wanna sell me a new air filter while you’re at it, Jim?” I level him with the same straight-mouthed glare he’s giving me, and after a five-second stand-off he breaks our connection and shakes his head.
“Shit, fine. Take it,” he mutters, cashing out the drawer. “Earl’s gonna have my ass for being soft.”
“Again,” I mutter under my breath. I raise my voice as I edge out the door with my prize. “Yeah, but you’re a good person and Earl’s a real asshole, Jim!”
I bless the boys with my swaying hips as I march back out of the garage, Bailey rushing along in my footsteps. We break into a major case of giggles when I leave the lot.
“That Jim guy really likes you, and yet really hates you,” Bailey observes, pulling her mirror back down to make sure she’s completely free of any signs that she’s a typical teenager.
“He hates the three of us—me, Tommy, and Dustin. Next time he’s there on a Friday, I’ll point his car out to you,” I say, noticing the familiar Toyota grill reflect back at me in my rearview mirror. My grin inches up.
“Hey, look behind us,” I say to my friend.
Bailey twists in her seat to confirm Dustin and Tommy are behind us. She waves and Dustin responds by flashing his headlights a few times and racing up dangerously close to my bumper. One touch of my brakes would really piss him off, but I would never do that to him. He must know I wouldn’t.
Bailey unbuckles her belt when we reach the neighborhood, crawling through the open window and hanging out enough to let her arms wave and hair blow in the wind as she howls. My brother does the same thing as the four of us cruise by the senior center on the corner of our street, catching more than a few sideways glances from the social club letting out.
I speed away from my brother and Dustin and continue down the road to drop Bailey off, helping her to comb out her hair before she exits the passenger seat. Her parents won’t let her drive yet, and part of me thinks she’ll have to move out before she gets her license.
By the time I get back to my driveway, Dustin’s car is already pulled in reverse with the hood popped open for the boys’ daily tune-up session. Sometimes, I think they just like to walk around the car and stare at it.
I pull up right next to the car and reach into the back seat to grab the part I can’t wait to give to Dustin.
“What’s that?” Tommy asks before I’m fully out of the car. He’s alone.
“A surprise,” I respond.
He nods at it, rubbing his hands together as his eyes squint and focus the block-like part I’m trying to conceal behind my back.
“That our intake?” Tommy asks.
I don’t know why the way he asks pricks the hairs on the back of my neck so much, but I’m instantly defensive.
“You mean Dustin’s part?” I retort. It’s not like my brother paid for it. My brother quit paying for things on that car months ago.
“Hannah.” The scolding, condescending way he says my name really puts me off, and I slam my door closed now that I’m fully out of the car and take a huge step backward, away from him.
“Tommy.” I echo his tone.
He reaches in at me and I twist to avoid his grabby hands, which only makes his immaturity tick up. Lunging at me twice, I flinch each time until he finally catches me turning the wrong way. He pries the piece from my hands and strides around the back end of the car while I practically chase him.
“Tommy! Give it!” I sound like such a child, but I’m pissed. I helped a real douchebag cheat on a test so I could buy that part.
“This is too much, Hannah. I don’t know what you think—or what you’re hoping this will mean—but you have to stop. Okay, Hannah?” He points his long finger at me, along with the final utterance of my name, and I’m tempted to reach forward and snap it off.
“I’m not doing anything, Tommy! I was being nice! To . . . our . . . friend!” I shout, my hands flailing desperately. I can feel the fire tickling my cheeks. I always glow red when I’m angry.
My brother’s eyes shift over my shoulder and he clears his throat. Out of habit, I guess, I obey. Maybe my body is trained to react and follow his lead, to keep my mouth shut when he hints that I should. It’s the curse of being the younger sibling, automatic subservience. Whatever it is, it shuts me up.
Dustin pops out our front door with one of my mom’s sugar cookies in his hand.
“What’s that?” He nods toward Tommy, but his eyes flash to me for a moment. My stomach bubbles up with aching pride as the heat drains from my cheeks, anger replaced by an overwhelming joy because I’m about to give something nice to someone special.
“Surprise, dude! Had my dad pick it up today. Didn’t say anything in case it was gone when he went in,” my brother says, literally stealing my thunder.
What the . . .
I’m stupefied, my feet glued to the ground beside Dustin’s car, my fingers curling into themselves until they practically lose feeling. It’s not that my brother lied; Tommy lies all the time. It’s that he lied to Dustin about me, in a way. That he stole a moment from me, and why? Because he’s jealous.
“That’s amazing, man! Thank you so much! I mean . . . wow!” Dustin slings an arm around my brother’s neck, an arm that’s meant for me. All that’s left for me to do is nod while I smile through gritted teeth as Dustin pulls away and points to the part in his hands.
“Amazing.” I can’t imagine the resentment in my clipped response and tight smile doesn’t beam through the seam between my lips. It’s so obvious to me, but Dustin doesn’t appear thrown by it. He’s already under his hood, already calling out for tools that my brother scurries to find. The two of them are fast at work within seconds, and I’m still glued to the concrete beside a passenger door I’ve never even gotten to pass through for a ride.
Not even once.