When Blake realized I didn't feel like talking anymore, especially about the game, or our coach, or the supplements, he got in his car and drove off, leaving me sitting in my truck with my hands on the wheel, window down. I couldn't help but take in the way the diner looked on the outside. It was a white rectangular building with a flat roof, trimmed with red and orange glowing lights. The sign simply read: POP's Diner, in an arts deco style font, but it too had the red and orange themed fluorescents. I was in a daze for a few minutes, mesmerized by the lights, when I noticed a white piece of paper stuck under my windshield wiper. I reached around and snatched it up, quickly realizing it was a business card that read:

John Smith
Special Agent, BSA
321-555-9000

I flipped it over and saw where the person had written on the back. It said: Call me when you're ready.

Immediately, I realized who had left the card on my truck. It had to be the man who came into the diner earlier, the one with the staring problem and the mustache he'd trimmed so that it didn't connect with his beard. It had to be him. Question was, what did he want with me, and what in the world did BSA mean? Was he an insurance agent or a government agent? Maybe some sort of policeman? I didn't have a clue.

As I sat there pondering who this guy was, a sputtering car engine shattered my concentration. Someone's engine wouldn't crank. That's when I looked over and saw Layla lay her head on the steering wheel.

I tucked the business card down into my jeans and got out. By the time I reached her, she had tried to crank the engine several more times, but the ignition would only click.

"Battery trouble?" I said.

"Unfortunately. Pop jumped me off the other night." She released the hood, and I raised it for her as she got out of the car. She leaned over the battery and wiggled the cables leading to the positive and negative posts. "It might be shot."

"Maybe, but I'll get my jumper cables and we'll give it a try."

After I parked my truck next to her vehicle and got out, she said, "I know my way around a car. I'm working on that '76 Trans Am at home." She sighed, tucked her hair behind her ear. I noticed she had a habit of doing that, especially around me. "Well, I'm not doing it alone. My dad's helping me restore it."

"I bet it's going to be awesome."

She nodded, a slight smile surfacing. I could tell by her demeanor that something was bothering her besides her car trouble. I had my suspicions, but I didn't have time to think about stuff like that right now. I had a game tomorrow. A big one. And there was that decision I had already made my mind up on.

Given my silence, Layla hooked up the jumper cables to both vehicles and then got into her car to try the engine. After several attempts to crank it, the ignition only clicked like before.

"Your battery's deader than dead." I looked this way and that. Shrugged. "I guess I could give you a ride home and your dad could see about your car tomorrow."

Layla's cheeks brightened. Her eyes too. "I wouldn't wanna inconvenience you."

"Are you kidding?" My face grew warm with a smile. "You're my friend, Layla. It's no problem at all. Besides, your house is on the way to mine. And as my mom always says, no act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted."

"Your mom is a smart woman."

I left that compliment hanging in the air as she followed me to my truck. Once we climbed into the cab, we started the drive to her house, which was about a ten-minute trip. "So," I said. "You almost got the Trans Am ready to burn rubber?"

"Sort of. Dad's been busy lately." She sighed. "Which has slowed our progress. We've already rebuilt the transmission and given it a new paint job. Now we're replacing the rotors and brake pads. And after that, we're gonna replace the carburetor. Then it'll be ready to hit the streets."

I drove with both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, listening intently. Truth was, Layla had been my friend for years, and I never thought of her as anything other than that... "I bet it's gonna turn out great, with the T-tops and all."

"I can't wait to feel the wind through my hair." I heard the giddiness in her voice and when I looked her way, she was smiling. She chose that moment to lift her long hair up, gathering it from her neck and the base of her head, simply to allow it to fall behind her shoulders again. Not sure what that accomplished, aside from cooling her neck, but it drew my attention.

"I can imagine you driving that hot rod... and the wind... blowing through your hair." As soon as the words left my mouth, an awkward feeling swept over me.

Her cheeks turned red again like earlier at the diner, but this time, the hue was a softer pink, and her eyes had a sweet innocence about them that made me think of a field of flowers for some strange reason. As I pulled into her driveway and stopped, my heart patted in my chest, a feeling I couldn't quite describe. It was like discovering a pleasant surprise that you didn't know existed until the exact moment that you stumbled across it.

After I put the truck in park and switched off the ignition, she turned to me and said, "You wanna see it? It's been a while since you've seen the car."

"Sure."

Before I knew it, I was following her to the detached building next to her house. Using a keypad, she raised the garage door and cut on the lights. The fluorescents shined down on the Trans Am's sparkling cobalt blue body.

A floor-jack held the driver's side front end up off the concrete slab, the tire leaning against the side of the interior wall. They had removed the brake pads and rotor, exposing the axle.

"You're much more than a soon-to-be valedictorian," I said, admiring her handiwork.

She shrugged a shoulder and removed her glasses, then looked at me. My breath hitched. I had never seen her without those black frames on her face, unless her eyes were irritated, and she couldn't stop rubbing them. At times like that, she looked tired, or maybe frustrated. Now she looked different, in a good way.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

I raised a jittery hand toward the car, grasping for an answer on the fly. "When you said you were fixing up this Trans Am, I didn't understand how much work you were putting into it."

"Me and my dad work on it every chance we get, especially after school when I'm not at the diner and he's not on patrol or at the station."

"You're pretty amaz—I mean your car, and what you've done to it is pretty amazing."

She smiled, peering at me sidelong out of the corner of her eye. "Thanks."

"But you need to get another floor-jack. That one doesn't look too good."

"I've got a backup. But believe it or not, that one's held up well enough."

I grimaced. "If you say so."

"So," she said. "About homecoming..."

I opened my mouth to reply, but my phone buzzed in my pocket, grabbing my attention.

It was the coach. The text message read, Before the game. In my office.

The interruption sent my mind in another direction. I blew out a puff of air. "I gotta go. It's getting late and my mom will be checking my location on her phone. If I don't get home, she'll start blowing my phone up with messages." I nodded. "See ya tomorrow at school." And just like that, my mind spinning about my meeting with the coach, I turned and paced back to my truck.

"Thanks for the ride," Layla called out.

"You bet." I waved goodbye as I backed out of her driveway.

Tomorrow wouldn't come soon enough. Wolfpack fans would pack out our small stadium as I prepared for the biggest game of my life. I was ready to do whatever it took to win, anything to keep the streak alive.

I couldn't allow us to lose, not on my watch.

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Chapter 6: 1,447 Words
Story: 10,751 Words