The Drive

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“Sweet ride.” Gracie walks around my newly acquired minivan checking it out. Her tone sounds serious, but I know it’s a piece of junk. Because it’s every sixteen-year-old girl’s dream to drive a ten-year-old Kia Sedona.

I shrug. “It runs, anyway.”

“No,” Gracie continues, pressing her face to the passenger side glass. “This is awesome. We can take all our equipment in here. Or we can haul a bunch of stuff to the beach. Can you imagine the parties we can have in this thing?”

Parties? My mom would kill me. And there’s no way she’ll allow me to drive all the way to the shore.

“Come on now,” Alyssa says to Gracie. “Can’t you see Jackie’s freaking out? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She goes to Gracie’s side and peeks in. “But hey, I agree that this is pretty sweet. We can all fit comfortably, and it’s my favorite color.”

The color is the one saving grace of having to drive this minivan, and it matches the light blue tips I added to my now short black hair. I got it cut and dyed the week before, never expecting I’d buy a vehicle in the same color. All this change is making me feel like a whole new person.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to become your chauffeur. I saved up all my babysitting money to get this beast, and I’m using it to get a real job.”

“What?” Gracie asks, her face all twisted. “What about Trumpethead?”

I cross my arms. “We’ve had two gigs in six months, and I totally ruined one of them. If something comes up, I’ll ask for time off.”

Gracie and Alyssa share a look. I know they’re remembering how I ran off after Jax that one time. Both of them were scared when I hid in my room for a full week after that, but I needed a mourning period.

I always assumed Take5 would reunite. It was a hope that got me through most of my days, but after Jax told me not to look for him, my hope was gone. It’s been five months since the incident, and I’m over it. Mostly.

I clap my hands together, hating the sudden mood change. “Who’s ready to go for a drive?”

“Shotgun!” Alyssa grabs the passenger handle before Gracie can make a move.

Gracie narrows her eyes. “I’m only letting you sit there because I believe in the rules of shotgun. But next time, it’s my turn, no switchies.” She points two fingers at her eyes, then at Alyssa’s eyes, as if making a point.

“Do I need to make you two a seating chart?” I say, crossing over to the driver’s side and unlocking the van with my key button thingy.

Alyssa opens the door and hops in, doing a little dance in the seat. Gracie slides the back panel open, sits, then grunts as she pushes it closed.

“Do we really have to open the door, every time?” Gracie asks. “I thought we were past the dinosaur age. Doesn’t every minivan have automatic ones these days?”

I scoff. “Didn’t you just say this ride was sweet?”

Gracie pouts. “It is, except for that.”

Alyssa laughs, and I suppress a smile. Our Gracie has such strong opinions, and they waver so quickly.

I start the engine, shifting into gear, then head down my quiet suburban street. We get to the main road, and I pause, fingers over the blinker.

“Where should we take this thing on its maiden voyage?” I ask.

“First,” Gracie says from the back seat, “you have to name it, then we can know where to take it.”

I nod. That sounds reasonable to me. “Maybe we should call her Old Blue.”

Alyssa giggles. “That’s perfect. It’s like you’re Paul Bunyan, and she’s your ox.”

I swat at Alyssa, but she dodges.

“You can’t be so literal with a car name,” Gracie says. “What if we called it something more mystical like...Azure?”

“That’s still the color,” I point out.

“Guys,” Alyssa says, “I just came up with the best thing. Wonderful Adventure Travel Machine or WATM for short.”

Both Gracie and I bust up.

“WATM it is,” I declare, finally deciding which way to turn. It’s left, because going right is easier, and Wonderful Adventure Travel Machine doesn’t settle.

“Time for some tunes,” Alyssa flips on the radio, finding a station.

A pop song plays, and all of us start belting at the top of our lungs. We keep singing even when the station flips to commercials, eventually turning the radio off and singing whatever we want.

“Stop!” Gracie yells.

I slam the brakes. “What the crap? You’re lucky there was no one behind us. We could’ve been hit!”

“But,” Gracie says, pointing, “there’s a new music shop!”

“You can’t kill us over that!” Alyssa shouts.

I look in the direction Gracie is pointing and crank the wheel, hard. Not because it’s a music shop, but because of the Now Hiring words at the bottom of the banner.

“Music to My Ears,” Alyssa reads off the sign as I park. “That’s fun.”

“I’m going to apply for a job,” I tell them. Honestly, I’ve always wanted to work in music and if I could get a job here that would be the first step. If I really love it, it won’t feel like work. That sounded way better than flipping burgers.

“Yes!” Gracie shouts. “Then you can get us discounts on stuff!”

I turn around and face her. “Do I need to leave you in the car?”

She cowers, jutting her bottom lip out. “No, Mommy, I promise I’ll be so good inside.”

I put on my fake mom face. “Fine, but if you break anything, you’re grounded.”

We all laugh as we get out of the van and walk inside. I’ve never applied for a job before and sudden butterflies flit through my stomach. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves flattening out my smile to look more professional.

There’s an old Asian man behind the counter with a friendly smile.

“Hello,” I say, walking up to him. “I saw your sign outside.”

He points to a stack of applications, mumbling something I can’t quite understand.

I pick one up, as well as the pen next to it. “Thank you!”

Gracie and Alyssa look around the tiny shop while I fill out the information. Honestly, there’s not much to enter since I have no prior work experience, and there doesn’t seem to be a place to indicate my passion for music.

I take the form back to the old man and hand it to him. He nods as he looks it over, then sets it down on a pile of papers where it’s sure to get lost.

There’s nothing else to do, so I make to leave with my head hung. Gracie and Alyssa head out first as I hold the door open for them. Before I go, I decide to take one last look at the job that will never be. The old man struggles to stand, then crosses the room. His back is hunched, and he shuffles more than walks. He opens a box, pulling out books of sheet music.

“Hang on a second,” I call to my friends.

Gracie and Alyssa look at each other, shrugging.

I rush inside, taking the stack of books from him. “Let me help you with that.”

He mumbles something that sounds a lot like “Okay,” but I can’t really be sure.

“Where do I put these?”

He points to a shelf that’s way too high for him, anyway. Even I need to pull over a stepstool.

“I really like this shop,” I say, looking to make conversation. “It’s a place that reeks of inspiration.”

I get more books, still talking to myself. “I’d like to write my own music some day, and this feels like a place where ideas are born.”

The old man points at the guitars like he’s asking if that’s what I play.

All the books are on the shelf, so I step down and pick up a trumpet instead. The old man gestures like he wants me to show him, and I put the mouthpiece to my lips. I don’t know what makes me do it, but I sound off a portion of Miles Davis’s “So What,” a difficult jazz classic piece I spent a lot of time learning.

The old man’s sweet smile takes up so much of his face his eyes almost disappear.

“Thank you,” I say with a little curtsey. I grab a wipe and clean the trumpet, then hang it back up.

“Anything else you need help with?” I ask, first looking at him, then glancing out the window. Alyssa and Gracie aren’t there anymore, and I hope they’re not mad I’ve been away for so long, but they have phones if they really need me.

The old man takes my hand in both of his and pats it, all his lovely smile lines scrunching. “Good job,” he says, clear as day.

I return the gesture, glad I could at least make him happy.

“Fine,” a voice says from the back. “We can hire her.”

I glance to see where the sound is coming from and Jax steps out from a room behind the front desk, making direct eye contact with me.