I should have learned long ago that my plans never go like they’re supposed to. Andrew says I’m too impulsive, and maybe he’s right, but I was just so thirsty. And Ale8s always taste better in a bottle – especially the returnables. So when I saw the machine all lit up outside of the closed-down Chevron downtown, I had to stop. It was one of the old Ale8 machines, the kind with the clear glass door that you open before pulling one of the bottles from the slots. The whole operation took twenty, thirty seconds, tops. I didn’t even bother to take the keys out of the ignition. It’s just that the door-locking habit is so hard to break…

My father was going to kill me. I called Andrew, just like I always do when things don’t go according to plan. At 27, he was much too mature to offer me any real sympathy, but I knew he’d come up with a solution. He had to. Otherwise, my father would come home from his San Antonio business trip to find his $35,000 BMW 330i was conspicuously missing from the garage. And that would be very bad, indeed.

“Hey, big brother!” I chirped cheerfully when Andrew’s smooth, soft voice answered the phone. “How’s it going?”

“Katie, what do you want? Aren’t you supposed to be in school? Where are you?”

I tried to shift his focus onto more important things, like my current predicament. “Listen, I need you to do me a favor. Do you still have that spare key to dad’s BMW?”

I was met with a long, heavy pause. “Yes. Why?”

“You never gave it back to him after you borrowed it? You’re sure?”

“Yes. I kept forgetting, and he never asked. What did you do?”

“Well….” I knew he wouldn’t help until he knew the whole story, so I gave him the Cliff Notes version of my day. Chapter one: Got up. Took shower. Fixed hair, applied makeup. Walked outside, thought it was much too nice a day to be kept inside, ‘borrowed’ Daddy’s keys, went for a drive. Was very thirsty. Accidentally locked self out of car in some shithole part of town. Please bring spare key. “So can you help me?”

“Katie, I’m at work right now. I can’t just get up and leave for no reason,” he sighed.

“But you do have a reason! Me! Your baby sister needs you!” I pleaded.

“I’m working on a ten-hour return right now, and I’ve got at least three more piled up that should be started on today. There aren’t enough hours in my day to finish the work I need to get done as it is. I’m sorry, but I don’t have the time to run out and rescue you! Not this time!”

Dear God, he was serious. This would be harder than I thought. I allowed my voice to take on a frantic edge. “Drew, please. Dad is going to kill me. I’m not even supposed to be driving. You know, because of that speeding ticket.”

“Yes, I know. I believe I was the one who accompanied you to court that day.” I could hear shuffling papers in the background, and sharp, insistent voices. “I’ve gotta go. Call me back in about an hour, and maybe I can see if I have time on lunch to run over there. I’m not making any promises, though.”

“An hour?!? But--”

“Take it or leave it, kiddo.”

Damn him. “Alright. One hour.” I pressed ‘End’ and checked the time, 10:47, before slamming the receiver shut and slipping the phone back into my pocket. I skulked over to the Ale8 machine, bought another, and walked back over to the black BMW to pout.

I leaned against the hood, arms crossed. The metal felt warm against the back of my legs. Across the street, a dilapidated garage slouched among the weeds, its dirty, broken windows glinting in the sun. FOLEY & DANA’S CAR REPAIR was painted over the entrance in navy blue block letters. The rest of the street was empty, except for a small elementary school and its dusty, grassless baseball field. A class full of younger kids were out on the field, lining up for a kickball game while the gym teacher stood by and watched with a bemused expression. Their tiny feet kicked up dirt clouds as they ran. I wrinkled my nose. They would be filthy before the day was over.

I finished off my drink, turning the bottle up and greedily swallowing the last few drops. Above me, the sun was gaining strength, rising high in the cloudless blue sky. I rolled the empty bottle absentmindedly between my palms, wondering what the hell I was going to do for an hour. I held the bottle up and slowly read the tidbit on Uncle Lee, the man who created Ale8, the nutritional facts (Calories per serving: 80), and the ingredients.

I pulled the phone back out and glanced at the digital clock. 10:55. Groaning aloud, I tossed the bottle aside. It hit the ground with a loud clink but didn’t smash. I watched it roll to the edge of the parking lot, where it was stopped by the soft grass and weeds. Andrew would have been pissed that I was littering, but at this point, I didn’t figure it mattered.

No, only one thing mattered, and that was getting me and the 330i home in one piece. My father had been adamant about the car before he left – I was not even to touch it. “If you even think about driving it, you’re grounded,” he’d said on his way out the door. He knew me too well – he’d even made an attempt to hide the key, although any kid knows better than to fall for the old hollowed-out book trick. I remembered, quite vividly, the day he came home behind the wheel of the BMW. He’d pulled into the driveway, grinning madly through the open driver’s side window as I watched through the dining room window of the house. I immediately ran outside, nearly tripping over the cat, to investigate the latest solution to his mid-life crisis.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” he murmured, stepping out and running a hand over the sleek black top. “Athletic, yet refined. The ultimate
driving machine,” he quoted.

“Yeah,” I said casually, eyeing the bright silver, intricately designed hubcaps. “Looks nice, daddy.” I carefully crept closer and peeked in. “Ooh! Leather seats!”

He snapped out of his reverie and gave me a patented parent look. “Don’t even think about it, Katie,” he warned. “This car is off-limits.” Sure, daddy. Whatever you say.

11:12. My father’s plane was supposed to land around 1:30, and allowing time for traffic, he would be pulling into 4782 Ankrom Way at approximately 2:00. That meant I had less than three measly hours to get it together. Amazing how when I took the ACT, three hours had seemed like a lifetime.

I stood up straight and slowly shuffled around the empty lot, kicking up bits of gravel with my sandals. I carefully stepped around a half-eaten jelly doughnut, still somewhat fresh and moist, with a dark, congealed substance oozing from the center. I figured it had been tossed out of a passing car. I walked over to the grass where clumps of dark, wild violets were beginning to grow around the bottom of the chain-link fence that separated the schoolyard from the gas station. I leaned down and pulled out several handfuls of flowers and walked back over to the car.

Weaving the flowers into a thick chain provided a mindless way to pass the time. It was a simple act, my fingers automatically braiding the thin stems together while my thoughts wandered. A bell at the elementary school rang, and the kids who had been playing kickball reluctantly trudged back into the building. I smiled faintly at their gloomy faces – they didn’t know how lucky they were. When I was in elementary school, my recesses were usually spent inside writing I WILL NOT TALK DURING CLASS over and over.

Small trickles of sweat formed on my forehead, slowly tracing wet lines down my face. It was an unusually hot day for April, with surprisingly little wind. My pale skin was already beginning to form a light lobster-pink hue. If Andrew were here, he’d be slathering me with SPF 45 sunscreen. “Skin cancer is the most common form of cancer,” he’d say, before adding, “and with your pale skin, you should be extra careful.”

I took my thick violet chain and curved it into a large circle, about six inches in diameter. Twisting the ends together, I carefully set the crown of flowers on my head, pleased with my handiwork. 11:35. Close enough. I dialed Andrew’s work number.

“Andrew Lovejoy speaking.”

“Hey Drew!” I said cheerfully. “How’s the taxes going?”

He replied with a deep, heavy sigh. “Katie--”

“You know, we don’t see each other often enough anymore, Drew. We really don’t. You should come over sometime and I’ll make dinner or something. You could come over tonight! Dad would love to see you, I’m sure!”

“Nice try, kiddo. And thanks for the offer, but I’m really not in the mood for burned grilled cheese tonight. Hold on.” He covered the phone for a moment to speak to someone. “I have to get back to work.”

“So when are you bringing the key?” I asked hopefully.

“I can’t. I can’t leave work today. There’s just too much that I have to get done. I told you I couldn’t make any promises.”

“WHAT?!” I shrieked. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Try calling Lou’s garage and ask if he can get it open for you,” he replied calmly.

“I can’t do that! You know he’ll rat on me!” The panic from earlier was bordering on full-fledge hysteria.

“Well, I don’t know, Katie. You’re just going to have to solve this one yourself, for once,” Andrew grumbled, the irritation climbing in his voice. Next door, the school bell rang again and a new group of kids milled out into the yard.

“Solve it? I can’t get the door open by myself! I’m not McGyver! I can’t break the lock with a light bulb and some ice cubes!”

“I guess you’re just going to have to live with your mistake this time. If I were you, I’d be calling dad and confessing before he makes it home and sees that it’s missing.”

“Do you realize what he’s going to do to me?” I demanded. “I will never see the light of day again. You will never see your little sister again, do you hear me? Your future children will grow up without an aunt!”

He mumbled something unintelligible, though I believe I caught the word ‘melodramatic’. “How much is a plane ticket to Mexico?” I asked. “Do you think I could make a living down there?”

“I’m going back to work now. Goodbye, Katie.”

“You’re sending me to my execution!” I screeched as he hung up. Utterly defeated, I slipped the phone back into my pocket and sank down to the ground, sitting with my legs neatly crossed. I had to think, think of a way to get out of this mess, but I couldn’t even concentrate because those goddamn elementary kids kept shouting something about Red Rover.

A few yards away, the jelly doughnut continued to bake in the sun. An army of ants had discovered it, and I watched disgustedly as they formed neat little lines and marched toward their quarry. All order was abandoned, though, when they reached the doughnut. Instead they swarmed awkwardly, climbing over and around it and all over each other, just to get a tiny morsel for themselves. Scowling, I picked up several bits of gravel and tossed it at the doughnut, watching as they scattered for a moment, waiting for some unspoken command to regroup or retreat. The lure of sugary goodness won out in the end, however, and they resumed the takeover.

12:30. I leaned my head back against the car, gently thumping it several times. Without Andrew, I was screwed. That was all there was to it. We hadn’t inherited the same traits – he was calm and clever, I was frenzied and brash. In high school, he was voted Most Likely to Succeed. I’ve been told I’m a shoo-in for Biggest Drama Queen. When I’d entered high school three years ago, all my teachers were delighted to learn who I was. “Andrew Lovejoy? He’s your brother? Why, you all don’t look anything alike!” Yeah, tell me about it. He’s got skin that actually tans. “I had him in class a few years ago. Great kid. How’s he doing?” Then, usually, with an added wink, “Bet you hear that all the time.” Their jovial kidding ceased, however, after about the first week of class, when they realized that all the good genes must have run down a patriarchal line.

The Red Rover kids finally left and another, older group walked onto the field. The school must have been one of the smaller consolidated ones, because the kids looked to be around 13 or 14. Several of the boys began passing a softball back and forth. I’d tried to play softball last year. They made me be catcher and it killed my knees. My first time at bat was a disaster; I’d swung wildly at two bad pitches while the coach screamed at me to be patient. The next pitch had beaned me in the hip. I had a gigantic purple bruise for a week, but at least I’d gotten on base. Andrew had been patient enough to try and teach me how to hit, but even his famed serenity had run out after the first three days of batting practice.

And apparently it had run out again today. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d denied to help me out when I was in hot water, which was often, truth be told. When our parents first told us they were getting a divorce five years ago, I thought I’d prove a point by running away. Who drove out to the lake and coaxed me home? When I spilled bleach all over my father’s favorite dark green sport coat, who had gone back to S&K to buy another exactly like it? And when I’d thrown that party a few months ago while dad was away, who helped me collect all the empty liquor bottles and clean up vomit off the couch before dad got home?

In retrospect, I guess I could see why he had refused this time around. I was almost 18, after all, just months away from being a legal adult. Maybe Andrew was right. Lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe I should just give up and call Dad and confess.

Hmmm.

Or, maybe it was just time to take some drastic, desperate measures.

I walked over to the low edge of the fence and leaned over. “Hey,” I called to a tall, rail-thin boy who was stepping up to the plate. “Can I borrow your bat for a second?”

With a little charm and some help from my low-cut tank top, he relented. Clenching the aluminum barrel in my left hand, I practiced my excuses as I walked back to the car.

I have no idea what happened, daddy. You mean it was like that when you got home?

Someone tried to break into the car while you were gone. I would have called, but I didn’t want you to worry...

I was just outside washing the car for you before you got home and then suddenly there was a drive-by shooting... but luckily they only hit the car window. Amazing, huh?

I stood next to the car, raising the bat in a left-handed batter’s stance, preparing to swing. The sun shone brightly against the window. My eyes focused momentarily on the small set of keys dangling from the ignition, just through the thin sheet of glass. I took a stilted breath.

“KATHLEEN LOVEJOY! What the hell are you doing?!?!”

Startled, I dropped the bat. It hit the concrete with an ear-splitting thunk. I turned to see Andrew – Andrew?!? – running across the street toward me. “Drew?”

“Have you lost your mind, child? I knew you’d try and pull some stunt like this. Breaking the window? Do you want to be locked up forever?” He stepped closer to me, slightly out of breath from running. Across the street, his Jeep Wrangler sat with the engine still running and the driver’s side door thrown open. “Give back the bat,” he commanded. I obeyed, jogging back over to the fence and flinging it over the side to the kids.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, still a little dumbfounded.

“Saving your ass, yet again,” he grumbled. “You know I hate that guilt-trip thing you lay on me.” He grabbed my palm and placed a small metal key in it. “There. You owe me big for this one. I told them it was an emergency. I’m going to be there working until midnight because of this.”

“Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou,” I squealed, crushing his neck in a hug. “Thankyouthankyou--”

“—Get going. It’s almost 1:30,” he interrupted. “And don’t forget to replace the gas you used.”

I beamed at him. “Thanks. I will.”

“And buy some Aloe while you’re at it. Your face is red as a beet.”

A loud crack, followed by several shouts from the field beside us drowned out his words. “HEADS UP!”

I turned just in time to see it speeding towards us. I would have flung myself in front of the foul ball, because that would have been the noble thing to do, but Andrew’s strong grip dragged me to the ground out of the way. The ball and I impacted our destinations at the same time.

I rolled over, horrified, and picked up a handful of broken glass, letting the shards drop between my fingers. “Andrew,” I said morosely, “it’s been nice knowing you.”

“Well, Katie,” he said after a moment’s thought, “there’s always Mexico.”

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