The gravel spits under Ruby's tires, my beat-up '86 Honda Prelude, as we peel away from the old man's yard, his shouts lost in the Iowa night.
My heart's racing, the thrill of swiping a real estate sign and planting it in someone else's yard is setting my pulse on fire.
Our windows down. The summer air tangles our hair, the cassette player crackling with a boy band beat.
Mandy's cackling upfront, Whitney and Angela scheming another dare in the back, and I'm all in, riding the high of this reckless night.
"You nearly bolted!" Mandy laughs, wiping her eyes. "That guy was gonna grab a shotgun!"
"Was not," I mutter, clutching the stick shift as we hit the highway, Ruby's muffler growling loud enough to wake nearby towns.
My car is as old as me. Rust holes show the road through the back floorboard, and once, an axle snapped on 14th Street. It made me swerve and felt like I'd hit a deer. Dad's driving lessons kept me steady, pulling her to the side as she fought me. He towed Ruby home, grumbling but fixing her, like always. I'm Daddy's girl. He spoils me. I have the biggest room in our house with a sunroom closet, two vanities, and a car that limps on love, even when I'm too bratty to say thanks.
Mom pushes pageants, borrowed dresses, and dance, scraping pennies for chances we don't have. We're not rich; our Washington trailer felt cozy till kids sneered. In class, bored or dodging queen bee Beth's barbs, I doodle faces in my notebooks, dreaming of a secret passcode, a nickname to whisper to myself when Mom's mood shifts and I'm left flinchy, a secret I bury. I'm that weirdo artist, overachieving but never top dog, chasing a fighter pilot dream or college, torn between goody-two-shoes and rebel. Defying Beth got me these girls, my FFA crew, this night.
I have crushes on boys who don't like the real me like Tyler, short and athletic; Nathan, our neighbor, too far out of reach; Brandon, the sports star who constantly teases me and not in a cute way. I dated his cousin, who used me, I thought he liked me.
"Hey snap out of it!" On of the girls shout!
"We've decided where to head next. Tyler from FAA just texted he's having a small party at his parents. Let's go!" Says Ang.
I flip around. Just as it's my turn again on the game.
His house is nearby. Music spills from the house, cars crowd the lawn. "Dare," I say to Angela's grin.
"Talk to someone new," she challenges.
My stomach flips as I spot Tyler by the bonfire, his laugh warm. I step forward, doodling courage, praying I won't chase another spark that burns.