Overdrive by Eric Walters Page B

would be such an advantage!”
    â€œYeah, that’s why I did it—so I’d be the oldest kid in grade nine,” I said. “This was all part of my master plan.”
    â€œAnd a great master plan it was.”
    â€œAnd I want to thank you for all your help in reminding me I flunked out last year,” I said.
    â€œWhat?” Mickey asked. “Is this some sort of secret or something?”
    â€œThe only secret is why I don’t just pound you out.”
    â€œTouchy, touchy.”
    He was right. I was touchy about it. It had been hard to stay in grade nine while everybody I knew—everybody who’d been in my class since kindergarten—moved on. At first I didn’t know anybody in any of my classes, until I met Mickey. I guess I shouldn’t have been so hard on him. He helped me feel at least like I was part of the grade and helped me make new friends. I still saw some of my old friends. I did take tech and gym with them. But it was different. Some of themtreated me okay, but most treated me like I wasn’t one of them anymore.
    And then there were those kids—those jerks—who had never treated me well to begin with. You know the type. The kids with parents who had a little more money, or those kids who had better clothes or did well in school without trying hard. Why was it that some kids who had everything already always needed to point out how much better they were than you? It was a couple of those goofs who never missed a chance to remind me that I wasn’t as smart as they were. If it wasn’t for the fact that I couldn’t afford to get suspended, I would have let them know that giving me a hard time wasn’t a sign of brains—unless they wanted to wear those brains on the outside of their skulls. I would have just loved to smack them right in the—
    â€œLook at that car!” Mickey exclaimed as a beautiful silver Acura glided by in the other direction. “That is one fantastic looking car!”
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said, trying not to sound too impressed.
    â€œIt could probably blow the doors off this thing!” he said.
    â€œCould not,” I said. “Just because it looks good doesn’t mean it has any guts under the hood.”
    â€œDoesn’t mean that it doesn’t,” Mickey said.
    â€œTake my word for it. I don’t need to know what’s under their hood because I know what’s under our hood. This car can move.”
    â€œAre you saying this is the fastest thing on the road?” Mickey asked.
    â€œOf course not. We’re going to see some cars tonight that are out of this world. Just try not to be impressed by things that aren’t impressive.”
    â€œYou make it sound like I don’t know nothing about cars,” Mickey said defensively.
    â€œWell…you don’t.”
    â€œI don’t know cars like you do, but I know cars,” Mickey said. Up ahead of us the light turned red and I brought us to a stop.
    â€œLike, look at the two cars across the way,” Mickey said, motioning to the other side of the intersection. There were two cars—another Acura and a Camaro—sitting there side by side. They both revved their engines. I looked over at the lights in the other direction. The green gave way to a yellow and then a red. It would just be a couple of seconds and…the light turned to green and the two cars squealed away, leaving patches of rubber and smoke. The Camaro pulled away as they shot past. In my side-view mirror, the brake lights on both cars glowed as they closed down the race part-way down the block.
    â€œThat one went to the Camaro,” I said.
    â€œI’d like to see that car up close,” Mickey said.
    â€œYou’ll probably have a chance. Everybody always ends up in the parking lot of the Burger Barn sooner or later.”
    â€œAre we going there now?” Mickey asked.
    â€œLater. I just want to cruise a