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“TO BE WITH YOU” by Mr. Big blared from the car radio. “. . . so come on over, come on over . . .” Peter belted out, singing into a high-torque ratchet wrench. “Let me be the one to show you.”
His own personal music video playing in his mind, he flung himself dramatically onto the Durango’s hood and squeezed his eyes shut as he sang, “I’m the one who wants to be with you.”
“You’re gonna run your battery down.”
Heart skyrocketing out of his chest, Peter swallowed his Adam’s apple and jerked himself upright. The ratchet wrench slipped from his hand, clanked against the hood, and landed on the cement floor as his eyes found her. “Brice,” he whispered, unable to master his voice.
She stood in the driveway a few steps from the open garage door, holding the high handlebars of her BMX bike. Her windblown hair stood up in places like pale flames, her blue jacket hung half off one shoulder, and her eyes held a look of mirth—yeah, she’d totally caught him singing.
“Hey, you came over.” Peter kicked himself for stating the obvious. He was glad for the bit of breeze that made it into the garage and reached his burning neck, but his heart raced like mad.
Brice moved her bike to the grass just off the driveway, dropped the kickstand, and sauntered into the garage inspecting the Durango. “Looks nice.”
Peter took a deep breath, calming a bit. Proud of his work, he stood with his hands on his hips. “Cleaned the inside too.”
“What about the engine?”
“Huh?” Peter glanced at the hood. “Didn’t think about that.”
“Why not?” She rested a hand on the door frame of the open driver-side window and peered inside as the last bars of “To Be With You” played. “And I’m serious about running the battery down. Do you know how old it is?”
“Uh, no.” Eager for any excuse to get close to her, Peter took two steps and reached for the driver-side door handle.
Brice backed out of the way, but as Peter swung the door open, she leaned inside and yanked the hood release.
Finding a strange sort of satisfaction in this turn-taking, Peter strutted to the front of the SUV and lifted the hood. As he reached for the hood prop rod, he half-expected Brice to beat him to it. But she didn’t.
“You got a multimeter?” She came up next to him and stood with her thumbs in the back pockets of her jeans.
Peter lifted his gaze from the dirty battery to her. He stared for a second, thrilled by her question. “Words cannot express how exciting it is to hear a girl ask that question.”
Brice’s lip curled. Then she punched his arm. “You’re such a dork.”
“I know.” He caressed his arm, a bit sore from where she’d punched him but happy for the physical contact, and he turned to a workbench to find the analog multimeter. “The good one’s up in my room.”
“Nice place for it.”
“Hey, I need it for my projects. I’ve got a bunch of electronic things I’m working on. You wanna see them?”
“No, thanks.” She leaned over the engine, resting a hand on the top of a fender. “Battery looks old anyway. You know they don’t last forever.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it could use a new one.” He gave up searching for the old multimeter and stood beside her, studying the engine and hoping she didn’t take his invitation the wrong way. “And, you’re right, the engine’s filthy. We should take a drive to the auto parts store. Get some engine cleaner, degreaser stuff.”
“And a battery.”
“Yeah.” Joy sparked inside, and he couldn’t help smiling. Man, oh man, this was great! She was gonna go with him to the auto parts store. They were gonna take his Durango. Of course, . . . she’d have to drive. “You got your license on you?”
She slapped her back pocket, her gaze connecting with his. “Let’s go.”
“Okay.” He reached for the hood prop rod.
She grabbed the hood and together they closed it.
“I just gotta tell . . .” Thumb up, pointing in the direction of the house, Peter froze. Would it seem childish to say he had to tell—?
“Your mom?” She yanked open the driver-side door. “So, go tell her. And hurry up.”
Concentrating on his style, Peter strode from the garage. Out of Brice’s view, he raced into the house, gave Mom the lowdown, and raced back. Just before reaching the garage, he slowed, ran a hand through his hair, and tucked in his old button-front mustard yellow shirt. If he’d known she was coming over, he’d have put on something nicer. But they were working in the garage. And she probably didn’t care. Or even notice. Any chance she was starting to like him as more than just a friend?
Uncomfortable with the button-front tucked in, Peter tugged it back out of his jeans and stepped into the garage.
Brice sat behind the steering wheel, adjusting the rearview mirror. As Peter opened the passenger-side door and jumped in, she glanced and revved the engine. With the slightest grin, she shifted into reverse and twisted around, peering over her shoulder as she backed out.
Another good song came on the radio. With a sideways glance at Brice to see if she minded, Peter cranked the volume.
With the windows rolled down and music blaring, they drove down Forest Road and into town. At some point, Brice had lowered her guard. They strolled through the aisles of the auto parts store, taking turns making snide remarks and lame jokes, and spending an incredible amount of time picking out an air-freshener. Over half an hour later, they emerged with a new battery, engine degreaser, and a Star Wars Yoda vanilla air freshener two-pack. On the ride home, “We Will Rock You” came on the radio and they both belted out the refrain because—well, who could resist singing along to that song? As they neared the house, Peter even talked Brice into coming inside for something to eat before they cleaned the engine.
Peter followed Brice into the house, and his heart skidded to a halt, the amazing rush ending and dread replacing it.
Dominic sat on the couch in the living room, his tan lanky arms stretched out along the back and his jet-black hair hanging over his forehead.
Toby paced in front of the living room window, holding a pocket notebook and talking to himself. He’d probably been trying to talk to Dominic, saying his standard questions and comments over and over. “Today is Saturday.” “I’m going bowling.” “Do you like bowling?”
Rather than say, “Hola, vato,” as Dominic always did, he stared at Brice through wide eyes, his lips forming a perfect letter “o,” the gears of his gossip-hungry brain obviously turning.
Stopping by the coat hooks on the wall, just inside the door, Brice visibly tensed. Rather than take off and hang her jacket, she zipped it up. Then she looked toward the kitchen, where Mom and Aunt Lotti talked over a steaming casserole dish on the counter.
A sudden rush of irrational anger rose up in Peter. He took a breath, fighting like mad to push it back down. “What’cha doing here, Dominic?”
“Oh, I . . .” Dominic’s gaze shifted from Brice to Peter. “. . . need a ride to Fire Starters.”
“Yeah?” Peter took another breath and moved to the back of the loveseat that separated the foyer from the living room. “No ride today, huh?”
“No. Six people with driver’s licenses in my house and three cars, you think I’d always have a ride.” Dominic smiled. “I had to get dropped over here a bit early. Your madre invited me to have dinner. Smells good, no?”
Peter took another breath, this time recognizing the tomato, garlic, and basil of whatever Italian food Mom had made. But he’d only taken the breath to calm himself. What was Dominic thinking now? What would he say at school tomorrow? What was Brice thinking?
“Come sit down.” Dominic swung an arm off the back of the couch. “Dinner won’t be ready for ten minutes, your Aunt Lotti said.”
Peter looked at Brice to see what she wanted to do, and he read her answer in her eyes. She no longer wanted to be here.
“Ten minutes,” Peter said, his voice low. “We’ll talk about cars.”
She almost smiled. Then she stiffened. “Yeah, whatever.” She strode around the loveseat and slumped down in the rocker recliner.
Toby stopped pacing and cocked his head to one side, looking at Brice sideways. He lifted his notebook and crayon.
Peter swung a leg over the back of the loveseat and flumped down into it. He had to control the conversation before Dominic—
“So how are you liking River Run High?” Dominic said to Brice.
Brice shrugged then slouched into the recliner, crossing one ankle over her knee.
“You are probably too new to form an opinion, huh? It’s not a bad school,” Dominic said. “You will see after you are here a while. Where did you move from?”
“So, Dominic,” Peter interrupted to keep Brice from having to answer, “you think we’re ready for camping?”
Dominic jerked his face to Peter. “Camping? I am always ready for camping.” He spun his head back to Brice. “What about you? You like camping? You should come too.”
“No, thanks.” She gave him a cursory glance and turned toward the kitchen.
“Why not?” Peter blurted, wishing he’d asked her in private. But he wanted her to go.
“Are you coming to Fire Starters tonight?” Dominic said.
Still watching the activity in the kitchen, Brice huffed. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
Dominic titled his head the way Toby had when Brice had first stepped into the living room. “I hope you do not believe the rumors around school.”
“Oh, Dominic . . .” Peter flopped his head back. “Don’t.”
“No, I am serious.” Dominic scooted forward on the couch and angled his body toward Brice, who now peered at him through narrowed eyes. “I know some are blaming the Fire Starters for what happened to your house. But you have to know it wasn’t us.”
“I have to know that, huh?”
“We came out to help. And we are still helping.”
“Oh, no.” Please, God, just make him shut his mouth. A rush of panic forcing him to his feet, Peter raised his voice. “Dominic, would you just quit?”
“Why wouldn’t you want her to know, man?”
“Wow.” Peter shoved a hand in his hair and turned in a circle, stopping to face Brice. “Brice, let’s skip dinner and go hose down the engine.”
Brice stood, her jaw clenched. “What’s he talking about?”
Dominic stood too. “People care about you, muchacha. We weren’t the ones who did that to your house, but we cleaned it up. And we’re trying to find out, especially Peter here.”
“Find out what?” she spit, shooting Peter with a glare. “What are you doing?”
Unable to believe that his worst nightmare was coming to life, Peter shook his head. “Nothing. Dominic just says things.” Facing Dominic, he added in a harsh tone, “He talks too much.”
Brice crossed the room to Peter and folded her arms, her eyes narrowing to slits.
While he loved standing close to her, this time he squirmed. He did not want that hostile gaze directed at him.
“Is that what this has been about?”
“What—no!” His neck and cheeks burned.
“You wanted help with your SUV, huh?”
“Yes, I did. I totally did. This has nothing to do with whatever happened to your house.”
“You’re snooping around, trying to figure out who did that to my foster family’s house? Why? I didn’t ask you to. I don’t want you to.” One hand shot out. She jabbed a finger at his chest. “You. Need to stop. If I cared, I’d find out myself.” She stomped around the loveseat and to the door. As she tore from the house, the screen door slammed in her wake.
“Man, Dominic.” A firestorm of angry words ripped through his mind, and he could picture himself punching Dominic in the face. “Way to ruin a guy’s life.” Peter went after Brice, storming out onto the porch.
Brice whipped her bike onto the road and pedaled standing up.
Peter’s heart dropped to his feet, watching her race away. Then a mess of emotions welled up. He wanted to hop on his bike and take off after her, make things right. And he wanted to punch something, preferably Dominic. Instead, he jumped into the Durango and pulled it into the garage to be alone. The radio blasted a song by the Goo Goo Dolls. “When everything’s made to be broken . . . I just want you to know who I am . . .”
Peter shut off the engine, reclined the seat, and let the music play.
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