Dumb Luck (12 page)

chapter
twentyfour

On Sunday, I slept in and woke up to find a note on the kitchen table that my parents had
gone for a drive.
I think I knew what that meant.

I ate a sullen breakfast, went for a walk around the block to get the cobwebs out of my head, and then studied my driver's manual. None of this seemed very hard. Mostly traffic laws I was already familiar with, and common sense. It wasn't like that pointless crap they were trying to teach me in school. It got me thinking that pretty soon I'd be able to take the written test. Hell, I could do it this week if I was ready. Then I could drive with anyone who had a license. It was starting to click.

I called Taylor. “What are you doing?”

“It's called sleeping. Perhaps you've
heard of it. What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

“I'm surprised you're up.”

“Yeah. I had fun last night. Get any reports about last night?”

“Reports? Are you kidding? There are photos and videos posted everywhere.”

“Really?”

“Really. It's like you had a date with Paris Hilton. How'd it go?”

“Went okay, I guess.”

“Looked more than okay. Looked awesome. I'm jealous.”

“You were the one who set me up with Chelsea.”

“Yeah, well, it was like you needed ... um ... training wheels.”

I thought about that for a minute. “I don't get it.”

“Training wheels. You know.”

“Weird,” was all I could say.

“Someone posted a video of you two leaving the club. You were kind of cool. But Chelsea looked a little wasted. The video shows you getting in her car and driving away.”

That didn't sound good. “Who took it?”

“Dunno. Just some random person. That's the way it works if you're the center of attention. But you definitely seemed to have risen to the occasion. Did you sleep with her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I paused. “I'm not
sure.” I didn't want to admit that I was a
virgin. And I really wasn't sure why I didn't take Chelsea up on her offer.

“Anyway, that's probably a good thing,” Taylor said matter-of-factly. She yawned. “So, what's on your mind that's so important you felt obliged to wake me up?”

“I need a car,” I said. “You offered to help me pick out a car.”

“Oh, so we're talking about shopping here.” Now she seemed even more animated than usual.

“Well, I think I can ace this written exam and be on the road right away if I have someone to ride shotgun.”

“That would be me. Give me an hour and I'll be over.”

It took an hour and a half, but it gave me time to check out my presence on the Internet. I hadn't done a Google search on my name since the early days of winning the lottery. It was just too weird what people had to say. But I thought I'd see what was out there. In no time at all, I discovered Chelsea's phone photos, video clips taken by strangers in the club, and those clips of us outside on the street and driving away. All very public. And there were postings of people who had opinions on them and on me.
Hot guy
, was my favorite, posted by some girl. But there were others:
He looks gay
, was one.
What an asshole
, was another.

Funny
how the negative ones stuck in my mind and the
positive ones didn't. In the end, I began to think
I might be better off not Googling myself. Let the
world think what it wants to think. All those strangers
out there didn't really know a damn thing about me.

I heard Taylor's car, then her car horn. Taylor wasn't the type to get out of the car and knock on the door. No way.

When I got in her car, she grabbed my head with both hands and gently but comically knocked it against hers. With her face close up to mine, she said, “You are coming along nicely,” and then she laughed.

Once I'd recovered from that close encounter and buckled my seatbelt, I said, “I thought we'd go down to the car lot. It's Sunday and no one is there. You help me pick out the right car and then by tomorrow it will be mine.”

Taylor frowned and then sighed. “I'm disappointed in you,” she said, ever so seriously.

“Why?” I asked. I didn't get it.

“Your father sells used cars. You, Marlon Brando, need a
new
car. An expensive new car. Pick a letter.”

“
A
,” I said.

“
A
is no good.”

“
B
.”

“
B
is better,” and she hit the gas as we drove off down the street.

The
BMW
dealer was open on Sunday, and the salesman, a very sophisticated man wearing a dark suit, seemed to recognize Taylor. At first, I was back to being invisible, until Taylor explained who I was and why we were there.

In no time at all, we were ushered into a dark blue car.

“Take it for a spin,” the man said. “Keep it as long as you like.”

And then we were back on the road. Taylor drove for a half-hour until we were out of town and then she stopped by a field with horses. “Now it's your turn.”

“I don't know if I'm ready for this. And you know I don't have a license.”

“Believe me, you're ready.”

When I got out, I suddenly recognized where we were. I looked east and could see the tree. The tree I had climbed with Kayla. The one I'd fallen out of and nearly died. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Yes,” she said emphatically. “It's an automatic. No big deal.”

And it wasn't a big deal. I drove.

There were no other cars around and, at first, I was very cautious, but then I speeded up a bit and, before long, it was like I'd been driving all my life. It seemed so natural. Why had I been holding back on getting my license for so long?

The guy in the suit walked out to greet us when we returned.

Before he could say a word, Taylor said, “We'll take it.”

The man smiled and bowed like in an old movie. Inside his office, I wrote out a check for the entire amount and handed it to him. “I'll be back for the car later in the week,” I said.

As we drove off, Taylor explained that her father bought all his cars there and that it would just be a matter of them cashing the check and then some paperwork. “Nothing to concern you,” she said. “What day you gonna take the test?”

“Thursday,” I answered. “I'll be ready by then.” I heard the sound of my own voice and was shocked at the confidence.

chapter
twentyfive

My parents were home by the time I returned. They were in the living room, sitting on the new furniture and looking at sections of the Sunday paper.

“Out having fun with your friends?” my mom asked, as if I was still a little kid out on his bicycle, riding around the block.

“Something like that.” I sensed a tension in the room.

My dad smiled the car salesman smile. “Brandon,” he began. “Your mother and I found the home of our dreams.”

I guess I'd seen that coming. But, somehow, I had hoped this moment was going to be a long way off. And I knew my father. If he made his mind up that it was the dream home, he wouldn't back off. “You went to see it, right?”

“It's perfect.”

I didn't like where this was headed at all. This totally sucked. “Two-car garage, right?”

My dad nodded.

“Pool?”

“In-ground. It's beautiful,” my mom said.

“We put in an offer,” Dad added right away.

Right around then, my day went immediately to crap. “What does that mean?”

“If the owners accept our offer, the place is ours. You won't believe the size of the bedrooms. There's even one with a fireplace. If you want that one, it's yours.”

I was really pissed now. Something about the fireplace really nailed it. “I don't want a freaking fireplace in my bedroom,” I said. And there was so much more to say but, instead, I just stared at my dad and then looked at my mom like she had betrayed me.

And I tromped off to my room, feeling like they'd both abandoned me. Right then, I wished I'd never won the money. I wanted my old life back.

There were family discussions that week and attempts to make everything okay. My mom did a lot of crying. My dad got more stubborn, saying that we were all definitely going to move and that I was too young to understand. I was accused of being selfish and immature. And maybe that was because I was selfish and immature. But it was my life, too.

I went to work on Monday and Tuesday and tried to avoid dealing with my father, but it wasn't working. Late Tuesday afternoon, he watched me put in a lackadaisical performance of trying to sell a red Mustang to a young accountant, and then he blew up at me.

“Brandon, you didn't even try. That guy wanted that car. All you had to do was tell him what he wanted to hear. It was a piece of cake. Snap out of this. Your mother and I want that house. The bank has already approved the mortgage. It's a done deal. I'm getting tired of putting up with your crap.”

So it had finally come
to this. “So what are you going to do? Fire
me?”

He fumed but didn't say anything at first. “You were never like this before,” he said, breathing heavily. “Drop the damn attitude. I'm not gonna take any more of it.”

My dad was pulling one of his famous power trips on me. But it wasn't going to work this time. I'd had enough. “I quit,” I said. “I'm not going to sell any more cars. And I hate the fact you're going to sell our house—the home where I grew up. And I hate the fact that you didn't take me into consideration about moving.”

As I was about to leave the office, I stopped. I wanted to say something to hurt him. “Oh, and one more thing. I'm getting my driver's license after all. And I've already bought my first car. And it sure as hell wasn't from here.”

And with that I left the office. When I was out by the highway, my father screamed something at me, but I couldn't make out the words and I just kept walking. It took me a while to figure out where I was going. I checked my watch: 4
PM
. Yeah, she'd be home.

Kayla's mother answered the door and I asked if
Kayla was home.

“She's in her room,” her mom said, looking really happy to see me. “Why don't you go up and knock.”

I did. Kayla, was happy to see me. The shades were down on her windows and it was rather dark in her room. “Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

“You busy?”

“Not really,” she said. “Just watching a documentary
on the Internet.”

“Is it any good?”

“Yeah. It's about quirky people who live and work in a scientific research station in Antarctica. But I can watch it later.”

“Antarctica, huh?” Kayla would watch endless documentaries about
just about anything to do with science or nature or
space. She'd seen every documentary ever made about ants or snakes or fish.

“I'd like to live there,” she said. And she was serious.

“Isn't it, like, really cold and really dark most of the time in the winter?”

“Yeah, but they have penguins there.” As if that made all the dark and cold okay.

“Right, penguins.”

“Brandon, what's wrong?”

I explained about the blowup I had with my father.

“You think they're really going to go through with it?”

“I think they already have,” I said. “We're moving.”

“But you don't want to move.”

“Looks like I don't have much choice.”

Kayla took off her glasses and polished them. I hadn't seen her without the glasses in quite a while. I'd known her for such a long time, and I can't say I'd noticed before how much she had changed. She had a kind of round, pretty face but she didn't look as heavy as I remembered.

“You lost some weight?” I asked.

“Yeah. A bit. I don't eat so much junk food and I stay in my room sometimes and exercise for an hour or so at a time.”

“But you spend way too much time alone in your room here, don't you?”

“I like it here,” she said, putting her glasses back on. That totally transformed her back into the geek that everyone thought she was.

“Kayla, what am I going to do?”

“I don't know. Would it really be that bad to move with your parents to this new house?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It would really be bad. I've lived my whole life in the house that I know and love. I can't imagine another family living there.”

“That sucks,” she said.

“But I don't want to end up hating my parents, and I don't want my dad pissed off at me for the rest of my life. He wrote off his own father, I told you that. I never get to see my only living grandparent.”

“You gonna go back to work tomorrow?”

“No. I knew that wasn't going to last. I just did it to try to keep my old man happy. But nothing I could do there is good enough.”

“But what are you going to do?”

“Damned if I know. I can't just hang around the house all the time.” And then I realized that, pretty soon, the house, my house, would no longer be part of my life.

“Thinking of going back to school?”

“No, I don't think so. School's not for me. Not now, anyway.”

“Mr. Carver was asking me about you.” Kayla rooted around in her schoolbag. “He wanted to give you this.”

It was a piece of paper—school letterhead with Carver's office phone and home phone number written on it. “He said you should call him.”

“He just wants to tell me how stupid I am for quitting school.”

“Maybe not.”

“It doesn't really matter. My life is starting to suck. Things looked good there for a bit but I guess that wasn't going to last.”

“Are you kidding?” she said, now acting more like a cheerleader. “You've got amazing things ahead of you.”

“It doesn't feel like that now.”

“You need to take charge, Brandon. You're letting other people make decisions for you.”

I must have scrunched up my forehead because it made Kayla laugh. The look must have reflected what I was thinking. The girl was dead on. Taylor telling me what clothes to wear, what girl to go out with, and what car to buy. My dad telling me what job to take and where to live.

“You're right,” I said. “I don't really need to let other people make decisions for me all the time.”

“No, you don't. You're eighteen; you have your own money. You're smart ...”

I laughed. “Well, you got two out of three right.”

“I could go on.”

“That's okay. You made your point.” I brushed her hair with my hand. I don't know why. I just wanted to show a sign of affection, wanted to indicate how much I appreciated the kind words. Her hair felt soft and alive.

Kayla blushed, but even as she did, she said this: “Why don't you make one important positive decision for yourself.”

“Here? Right now?”

“Yes.”

I thought about it for a minute. At first my brain was kind of fuzzy. I had never been good at making important decisions. Maybe because I was scared I would be wrong. But maybe the time had come.

And then suddenly the fog in my head cleared. The logic was there. The decision was obvious. “I'm going to buy my house,” I said. “I won't have to move after all.”