How to Steal a Happy Ending

~ Interlude: the magician ~

~~~ the summer before ninth grade ~~~

They say a car changes a man. And going by the way Nate was acting, they were right.

Before he sat in the driver's seat, Nate was the adoring neighborhood kid who helped old ladies cross the street. He never got into fights, he never cursed and he washed the dishes...everyday. Basically, he was the adorable angel every mother wanted to give birth to.

But once he got into Danny's car, he became Danny; selfish, devil-may-care, testosterone driven Danny. He drove like him. He talked like him. Hell, he even gave people the bird like him.

"Yo! Whadda ya think this is, a road or your grandmotha's funeral procession?" He waved his fist at the driver in front of us, "Move it, you asshole!"

I rested my head on the dashboard and sighed. This was definitely not angelic. He honked loudly and cursed again. Or adorable. I let out another sigh and was about to cover my ears when I felt the car slowing down. My head lifted up to face him, "What happened? I thought we were in a mad rush to the Dairy Shack." Nate's logic was that if we got there early, he could talk to Jennifer without any pesky interruptions. You know, like customers or the manager... or more customers. Of course, he could have also just asked her out after her shift.

"Yeah but..." he stuck his head outside the driver's side window to examine something behind us. The Chevy didn't have any glass panes, save for the windshield. I don't know the exact reason for this but I'm guessing it wasn't for better ventilation.

Suddenly fearing the worst, I swiveled in the direction his hazel eyes pointed. "We didn't kill anybody, did we?"

He didn't reply, instead he addressed the next sentence to the something he stopped for, "Man, what are you doing here?"

Okay, if he's talking to it that must mean it isn't dead. I plopped back into my seat, relieved.

I blew my over grown bangs out of my eyes. Unsatisfied with the position they landed in, I started twisting and twirling it, attempting to achieve shampoo commercial hair. And effectively looking like a cross-eyed bimbo. At least, nobody's looking.

"Hey, could you open the door?" I jumped a foot in my seat, immediately dropping my hands into my lap. Slowly, I turned to face the source of that question, almost immediately wishing I hadn't. There was a vague sense of recognition. So vague that, with my terrible memory, his name was basically a needle in a haystack. Of course, it didn't really stop me from trying, or rather staring.

Stupid girl, melt- in- your-shoes voices only ever belong to melt-in-your- shoes boys.

He stood in front of me, leaning slightly inside with his hands placed on the window frame; messy bed head, a pierced ear without an earring and those eyes...Claire, open the door first, drool later. I cleared my throat, "Yeah hold on, I think it's stuck or something."

He cracked a boyish smile, "Sure, take your time." And I would've loved to but Nate quickly reached over me and threw the passenger door open. He was after all on a tight schedule. I stared straight ahead as the guy scooted in next to me.

Nate revved the engine and tore down the road with single-minded determination. I gripped the dusty, brown leather seats for dear life. Danny bought the car off of some amateur street racer. So it didn't have any seat belts or air bags, or even road approval. Basically, we were riding in a death trap at 80 miles per hour on narrow, twisting bylanes.

Maybe all boys are missing the common sense lobe of their brains, because the two sitting next to me didn't seem at all perturbed by the fact that we were on a one-way trip to the graveyard.

In fact, Nate's friend coolly reached past me and started meddling with the radio dials. The distinct smell of that one deodorant every single guy seemed to use wafted past me. I gave him a not-so-subtle once over while I waited for imminent death.

The ends of his black hair were slightly damp and hung just below his ears. He had the beginnings of a mullet which, to be honest, clashed terribly with the bright purple football jersey he was wearing. But fashion disaster or not, this guy was one haircut away from certified sex pot. Because, come on, mullets are for aging rock stars.

The radio finally landed on a station devoid of scratchy background noises. He dropped back into his seat, giving me an undecipherable look on the way. Well, maybe I could've deciphered it if I wasn't so busy drowning in his eyes. That's ridiculous. You know how to swim. Yeah, but those eyes...

I shifted in my seat so that I was leaning more on Nate and less on him. "So what is that? Party at that the back, business in front?" I asked in an attempt to shake off the awkwardness of being caught staring.

He gave me a bemused smile, "What?"

I shifted my gaze to the folded hands I'd placed on my lap and mumbled a small 'never mind'. I should've worn make up today.

"Claire, you know James right?" Nate asked offhandedly. James? As in  Sir Cries-a-lot James?

I coughed vigorously to hide my snort of disbelief. The guy sitting next to me was nothing like the James I knew of. "Um, yeah... I guess" I managed to choke out. Maybe summer makeovers really do exist.

I ventured another look at him and sent a quiet ode to the powers of puberty. Come to think of it, even Nate went through an image overhaul during these past couple of days. His side part and acne had cleared out to give way to a crew cut and an attitude to boot. I was beginning to wish I'd done something more productive with my vacation as well.

"So what school do you go to?" James asked, out of what I guessed was politeness.

"Your school. We've been in the same class since you moved here." I realized from the startled expression on his face that I'd said that out loud.

He ran a hand through his hair and nodded, "Oh."

Just oh.

The white dashed lines along the road jumped up from their pavement beds and rearranged to spell the word LOSER. And all five glorious letters gyrated in front of me. Mortified, I scooted even closer to Nate putting a nice, safe gap between me and the source.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-