From What I Remember by Stacy Kramer Page B

seconds.
    Max thrusts his hand on top of mine and throws the gear into drive. I hit the gas. We plow forward, crunching the bumper off the car in front of us and nearly swiping several parked cars. I have never, in my life, punched someone. Sure, I’ve screamed at people during one of my angry spells. But nothing like this. I slammed this guy with a fury and force I had no idea I possessed. I’m equal parts scared and excited by my newfound powers. I’d almost believe I’m part superhero if my hand weren’t pulsing with pain.
    Out of my peripheral vision I see Max gaping at me, as stunned as I am. We are both silent. This is no time to talk.
    I keep the pedal to the metal as we career down the street. In the rearview mirror I see the two guys chasing after us. They’re receding into the distance. They’ll never make it on foot. Miraculously, we have survived. Against absolutely the worst odds imaginable.
    We are moving at a pretty fast clip when I suddenly realize that the street is about to end. I nearly crash into an old man selling food from a metal cart. I jerk the wheel hard to the right. We hug the corner. The truck lurches dangerously to the left, threatening to overturn. Max slides into me. I slow down a little and the truck rights itself.
    “Just keep driving,” Max tells me.
    “What did you think I was going to do? Stop for an enchilada?”
    “Who knows? You’re pretty unpredictable.” A smile creeps up the side of Max’s face.
    Max isn’t so bad. As it turns out, neither am I. I just saved our lives, by the way.
    The situation, however, is a whole ’nother thing.
    We speed down a street, somewhere in Tijuana, no idea where it will lead. It doesn’t matter. We are alive. We are not going to die. Maybe in five minutes, an hour, but not right now.
    “That was pretty awesome! I cannot believe I hit that guy. And hard!!” I blurt out. And then, because I can’t hold back, I let out a quick little holler and slam my hand down on the steering wheel. “I’m like La Femme Nikita. Jason Bourne—”
    “Uh, let’s not get carried away.”
    “Angelina Jolie in Salt ?”
    “Tina Fey in Date Night ?”
    “Shut up. I saved your ass, white boy.”
    Max bursts out laughing. I laugh along with him. The tension ebbs.
    “You definitely did. It was like that chase scene in The French Connection .”
    “I’ve never seen The French Connection ,” I say.
    “Wait. You’ve never seen it? You’re the film snob, not me.”
    “Yeah, well, we all have gaps in our education. I can’t believe you’ve seen it.”
    “Guess I’m not the cultural retard I appear to be.”
    “Guess not. And I’m not the social retard I appear to be.”
    Max and I share a quick smile, followed by silence as we absorb what just happened. We may be safe, for now, and my performance was outstanding, if I do say so myself, but the whole thing was so stressful and scary, I think we’re both still reeling.
    As we take in the streets of Tijuana, heaving with people, merchandise, and smog, I’m feeling pretty stoked even though my hand is throbbing. Kind of like I saved the world. I’ve never felt particularly cool, but I’m feeling it now. For once in my life, my academic career is the last thing on my mind.
    “So, now what?” Max asks.
    “Dunno. We try to figure out a way out of here, I guess.”
    “This is way messed up. The last day of our senior year and we’re in Tijuana!” Max’s mood suddenly shifts.
    I couldn’t care less about the last day of school. I mean, I want to get back, but I’m hardly broken up about it, like Max. It’s just another day in the salt mines for the socially obscure, like me and Will. But it’s a momentous occasion for a high school celebrity like Max.
    “We’ve got no GPS, no cell service, no passports, and no plan, a truck filled with stolen electronics and two dudes who are extremely pissed at us,” Max reminds me. As if I need to be reminded.
    “Yeah, it’s probably not the best way