“But why?” he said miserably.
“Because we can.” It was my new mantra for everything. Why steal one of my dad’s cigarettes and smoke it out behind the apartment even though it made me sick? Because I can. Why toilet paper Missy the cheerleader’s house even though we used to be best friends in the fifth grade? Because I can. Why make out with bad boy Everett James in the boy’s locker room at school even though he sucked at kissing and tried to feel up my boobs? Because I can.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing Travis’s arm and hauling him to his feet. “We have to go now, before the street lights kick on.”
The car I had decided to hot wire was located on a quiet suburban street ten blocks away from my suck ass apartment complex. Here the sidewalks were litter free and every lawn in front of the copy cat houses was mowed to perfection. Even the garbage bin we were hiding behind smelled nice. Like Chinese food and Febreze. I took a deep sniff as we slowly edged out to the street and my empty stomach growled in reply.
“Shhh!” Travis hissed.
“I can’t help it if I’m starving.”
“What! We just ate, like, half an hour ago.”
“I didn’t eat that much,” I protested.
“You had two cheeseburgers, an extra large fry, and a milkshake!”
I elbowed him in the ribs. “What are you, the food police? You know I have a fast metabolism.”
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘pig’ before he clamped his mouth shut. I let the insult pass. I have plenty of problems, but body image isn’t one of them. I am more than content with my height to weight ratio. I’ve always been able to eat whatever I wanted without having to worry about adding extra pounds. Just lucky, I guess. That’s me. Queen of Luck.
Pulling my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans I consulted it one last time. It was surprisingly easy to find out how to hot wire a car on the internet. One site even had step by step instructions complete with pictures. “You have the screw driver and wire strippers?” I asked Travis. He reached behind him to pat the orange backpack he had slung over both shoulders. “Okay,” I said, cracking my knuckles. “Let’s do this.”
Two weeks ago we had picked out the car. It belonged to a man who lived in the third house down on the left, a split level rancher with scary little garden gnomes scattered all over the lawn. According to his mailbox his name was Mr. Livingston. He drove a 2003 black Toyota Corolla. According to Kelly Blue Book it got thirty five miles to the gallon and was a top safety pick. Whatever the hell that meant.
Side by side Travis and I walked down the sidewalk, trying our best to look like two regular teenagers out for a stroll at eight thirty on a Tuesday night. From somewhere across the street a dog was barking. A woman yelled and the dog shut up. Halfway to Mr. Livingston’s driveway a car pulled up behind us. I felt Travis tense and tightened my grip on his arm. The car’s lights flashed as it swung wide into the other lane and shot past, tires squealing.
“Jackass,” I said.
“Do you think they know what we’re doing?” Travis asked nervously. The poor guy was already sweating bullets. I squeezed his arm.
“Calm down. This will be fun.”
“Fun?” he squeaked. “You think stealing a car is fun?”
I sighed. “Need I remind you that you agreed to this over a month ago? And besides, we’re not stealing. We’re just… starting. It’s not like we’re going to drive it anywhere.” Probably not, I added silently.
“What if we get caught?”
“Then I’ll take the all the blame, just like I told you yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. You know Travis if you didn’t want to come you didn’t have to. I’m not twisting your arm or anything.”
“Uh,” he said. “You kind of are.”
I looked down to where my fingers were making little red marks on his skin and immediately let go. “Oh. Sorry.”
He rubbed his arm and managed a weak smile. “It’s okay. A little nervous too, huh?”
“I’m not nervous,” I scoffed. “This is going to be easy.”
“Yeah, that’s what everyone sitting in jail said too.”
I shot him The Look. He made The Face but stopped talking. We walked right past Mr. Livingston’s driveway, just like we planned, and went to the next street up before we turned around and walked back down. Two teenagers. Out for a stroll. Dressed all in black. Nothing suspicious here.
The Toyota was sitting right in the middle of the short, slightly sloped driveway. I slinked up to the driver’s side and Travis hovered just over my right shoulder, his breath hot on my neck.
“Okay,” I said, mostly to myself. “Okay. First step is to get into the car without setting off the alarm. Travis, hand me the wedge and the coat hanger.” I held out my hand expectantly. Flexed my fingers. “Travis? Travis!”
“I don’t think it’s locked,” he whispered. “The little nub is up.”
“Of course it’s locked. What idiot doesn’t lock their car?”
“We’re not on the West side, Lola. No one locks their cars here.”
I clenched my teeth and counted to three. “Travis, just give me the damn wedge and -”
Instead Travis reached past me and opened the door. His teeth flashed white in the encroaching darkness. “See?” he said triumphantly. “Told you.”
I bumped him out of the way with my hip. “Whatever. So Mr. Livingston is an idiot. It’s not as if he – damn it!” I cursed.
“What? What? What is it? Is someone coming?” Travis flattened himself against the side of the car and dropped to the ground. It would have been funny if I wasn’t so angry.
“He left the keys in the ignition!” Stupid yuppie East siders. They deserved to have their cars stolen.
“That’s too bad,” said Travis, making no attempt to disguise his relief. He stood up and made a grab for my elbow. I snatched my arm out of reach.
“No,” I said stubbornly. “We’re not leaving yet.”
“Lola… If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking -”
“I think we said we were going to steal a car,” I interrupted. “And that is exactly what we’re going to do. Now get in.”
“Get in?” he gaped. “Uh uh. No way. You said we were just going to hot wire it, not drive it. You promised.”
I felt an irrational surge of anger. This wasn’t turning out anything like I thought it would. We were supposed to break in the car, start it, and drive off into the sunset like a modern day Bonnie and Clyde. Why? Because I can.
Except now the car wasn’t locked, the stupid keys were in it, and my partner in crime had turned chicken.
Flipping my long hair behind my shoulder I slid smoothly into the front seat and turned the key. The car started with a quiet purr and my anger kicked over to adrenaline. It pumped through my veins, a better high than any stupid cigarette could give me.
Rolling down the window I leaned out and grinned at Travis who stared down at me in slack jawed disbelief. “Want to go for a ride, sugar?” I said in my best southern drawl.
“No.”
“Get in, Travis.” It wasn’t a request.
“We are so going to jail,” he whimpered before he ran around the back of the car and more or less fell into the passenger seat. I grinned recklessly as I put the car in reverse and started to glide down the driveway.