go.”
“How could I be so stupid?” I lean my head against the hood of the car as if in agony. “I remember looking down at the gauge one time and thinking that I must have the most oil-efficient car ever manufactured.”
“It could happen to anyone.” Mr. Shultze says this in a nice-enough way, but it’s clear that something so dumb would never have happened on his watch.
“What should have been two dollars and fifty cents’ worth of oil is now going to cost me a thousand times as much!”
“I have a buddy who works at a yard in Cleveland who might be able to find a good used engine for you,” he offers. “Sometimes people total the back end and the car itself isn’t worth repairing but the engine is fine.”
“I’m definitely interested, if you don’t mind,” I say appreciatively.
“It would only save you about five or six hundred—I mean, a good used engine is always saleable.”
“That’s still five or six hundred I don’t have,” I say. “Thanks for your help. I’d better go see if I can borrow the Buick.” I nod in the direction of Olivia’s car and then head back inside the house.
Olivia is busy at her writing desk and Ottavio has a pile of travel guides on his lap. They’ve been talking about taking a big trip to Italy to meet Ottavio’s relatives and then visiting the Greek Islands for some relaxation and classical culture.
I explain that my car conked out, without going into
all
the details. As it happens, Olivia and Ottavio don’t have any special plans for the afternoon and she’s happy to lend me the
QE2,
so designated by Bernard because it’s more like driving a living room set than an automobile.
As soon as I enter the hardware store, Mr. Burke gives me a big smile and shows me some new super-strength lawn and leaf bags that he especially likes. The Stocktons have an account here and my name is listed on it, so technically I can spend as much money as I want. This is a detail obviously not lost on Mr. Burke, particularly since he doesn’t appear to be as busy as he was before the big discount variety store opened up a few miles outside of town. And when I’m painting, the tab often runs into the hundreds of dollars. Sometimes it’s hard to believe I’d managed to go from local juvenile delinquent to valued customer within the short space of a year.
After finishing my shopping I notice the long yellow line of empty buses lurching toward the high school and realize that it’s time for classes to let out. I’m sure that Gwen and Jane, my best friends from high school, are busy with finals and all sorts of end-of-senior-year stuff, but I decide to try and dig them up so we can make plans to get together.
Pulling into the parking lot it doesn’t appear as if anything has changed. Kids still come hurtling out the doors in a frantic rush, as if being freed from a long imprisonment. Only I’m astounded by how small the brick building now looks. I remember it as being much larger and more imposing. Though it’s just as ugly as ever. Apparently they tried to tart up the front with some hedges, but if you ask me, the dark gray cinder-block tomb still screams out:
Hunker down and pray for daylight!
A heavily made-up gaggle of girls whip out cigarettes the minute they’re on the other side of the metal doors and strut toward the hot-rod section at the back of the parking lot. The reason they’re able to light up so easily is because they’re not carrying any books or folders. I spot my sister Louise right smack in the center of the group, waving her smoke as if it’s a sparkler on the Fourth of July. Not that I have anything big against smoking. But it definitely contributes to her aura of a soon-to-be dropout.
“Hey, Louise,” I yell out the car window.
She swivels her head to seek out the owner of the voice, giving her long shiny hair a sexy toss in the process. But as soon as she sees me and my decidedly uncool cherry red Buick Park Avenue she quickly turns
“How could I be so stupid?” I lean my head against the hood of the car as if in agony. “I remember looking down at the gauge one time and thinking that I must have the most oil-efficient car ever manufactured.”
“It could happen to anyone.” Mr. Shultze says this in a nice-enough way, but it’s clear that something so dumb would never have happened on his watch.
“What should have been two dollars and fifty cents’ worth of oil is now going to cost me a thousand times as much!”
“I have a buddy who works at a yard in Cleveland who might be able to find a good used engine for you,” he offers. “Sometimes people total the back end and the car itself isn’t worth repairing but the engine is fine.”
“I’m definitely interested, if you don’t mind,” I say appreciatively.
“It would only save you about five or six hundred—I mean, a good used engine is always saleable.”
“That’s still five or six hundred I don’t have,” I say. “Thanks for your help. I’d better go see if I can borrow the Buick.” I nod in the direction of Olivia’s car and then head back inside the house.
Olivia is busy at her writing desk and Ottavio has a pile of travel guides on his lap. They’ve been talking about taking a big trip to Italy to meet Ottavio’s relatives and then visiting the Greek Islands for some relaxation and classical culture.
I explain that my car conked out, without going into
all
the details. As it happens, Olivia and Ottavio don’t have any special plans for the afternoon and she’s happy to lend me the
QE2,
so designated by Bernard because it’s more like driving a living room set than an automobile.
As soon as I enter the hardware store, Mr. Burke gives me a big smile and shows me some new super-strength lawn and leaf bags that he especially likes. The Stocktons have an account here and my name is listed on it, so technically I can spend as much money as I want. This is a detail obviously not lost on Mr. Burke, particularly since he doesn’t appear to be as busy as he was before the big discount variety store opened up a few miles outside of town. And when I’m painting, the tab often runs into the hundreds of dollars. Sometimes it’s hard to believe I’d managed to go from local juvenile delinquent to valued customer within the short space of a year.
After finishing my shopping I notice the long yellow line of empty buses lurching toward the high school and realize that it’s time for classes to let out. I’m sure that Gwen and Jane, my best friends from high school, are busy with finals and all sorts of end-of-senior-year stuff, but I decide to try and dig them up so we can make plans to get together.
Pulling into the parking lot it doesn’t appear as if anything has changed. Kids still come hurtling out the doors in a frantic rush, as if being freed from a long imprisonment. Only I’m astounded by how small the brick building now looks. I remember it as being much larger and more imposing. Though it’s just as ugly as ever. Apparently they tried to tart up the front with some hedges, but if you ask me, the dark gray cinder-block tomb still screams out:
Hunker down and pray for daylight!
A heavily made-up gaggle of girls whip out cigarettes the minute they’re on the other side of the metal doors and strut toward the hot-rod section at the back of the parking lot. The reason they’re able to light up so easily is because they’re not carrying any books or folders. I spot my sister Louise right smack in the center of the group, waving her smoke as if it’s a sparkler on the Fourth of July. Not that I have anything big against smoking. But it definitely contributes to her aura of a soon-to-be dropout.
“Hey, Louise,” I yell out the car window.
She swivels her head to seek out the owner of the voice, giving her long shiny hair a sexy toss in the process. But as soon as she sees me and my decidedly uncool cherry red Buick Park Avenue she quickly turns
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