The next morning, Dani tried not to pout as she navigated through sophomores, freshmen, and middle school kids to take a seat near the back of the bus.
Bet I'm the only senior. Probably the only person over sixteen.
The route differed from her ten-minute drive to school. She couldn't imagine a longer way to get from point A to point B. And it was loud. Feeling a headache coming on, she slipped on Walkman headphones and cranked the volume.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Stoner. Okay, so there's at least one other senior.
"See your dad didn't kill you," he said as she lifted an earphone.
"He's busy fighting the war."
She tried to ignore him. He didn't seem to notice.
"Grass, right? How'd you get in Inferno if you don't smoke weed?"
"Grassigli. And I'm not in Inferno, Stoner." Don't call names. You're better than that.
"They usually just let chicks shake a tambourine or something." Stoner laughed long, stopping abruptly as if he'd forgotten what was funny. "Show sucked till you got there."
Dani looked around for another open seat. Nada.
"It true? Y'know?" He snickered. "You and Jon Ryder?"
Dani felt her cheeks tingle.
"We played."
Another snicker.
"Music. And just twice."
"Not what I heard."
Dani started down the aisle as the bus turned the corner and the school came into view.
"Stay seated until the bus comes to a complete stop!"
Dani retreated. Did the driver have to yell?
"What's your hurry?" Stoner slid over to make room for her.
Dani sat in her own seat and turned toward the window.
"See you at the next show?"
As soon as the driver braked, Dani hit the aisle, first out the door and ran straight into Shelly. Arms folded. Waiting. Scowling. Makeup heavier than normal.
***
The rest of the week dragged by. No call from Daddy. Dani thought of him night and day, praying he was safe. Most of the news about the war showed American jets blowing the Iraqi army to bits, but she knew war was, as Daddy put it, "a dangerous game of subtraction." The Trans Am parked in the garage was an ever-present reminder that some don't come back.
To make matters worse, all efforts to reason with Vic about her car fell on deaf ears. She'd have to wait for Daddy's phone call. Knowing she'd have to bring that up when he was finally able to call killed her. Nothing in this world ate her insides like the sound of Daddy's voice when he was disappointed in her.
She felt wrong about the whole plan Shelly had cooked up. Vic may be a pain, but he had put a lot on hold so she could stay in Rio Flaco to finish her senior year. Otherwise, it would have been off to their grandparents' farm in Iowa, where she had no friends.
Dani put that out of her mind, half hoping Daddy wouldn't call too soon. It would only make it harder for her to do what she had to do this Friday. Shelly was counting on her.
***
Greg ran his hands along the lines of the '57 Chevys, prattling on about the work Dani had done on them. Vic couldn't disagree. Mr. Wilkins had given them free rein on the paint and design, asking only that the interior be kept as close to original as possible.
Dani ran wild with one—yellow flames spilling over the hood and side panels, fading into orange as they licked the fins, all overlaying a custom deep ocean-blue, just a shade lighter than the classic Harbor Blue. The other was Matador Red and India Ivory. Safer. Classic. Pristine. A real textbook restoration.
"Parts should be in Monday," Greg said. "Gimme a day or two, barring disaster, and they'll purr like kittens."
"Ahead of schedule for a change," Vic said, his mind elsewhere. He buried himself in paperwork as Greg got back to work.
Should probably call Shelly's mother. Maybe she's cooled off by now. Then again, maybe she was right. It occurred to him for the first time Dani could be the ringleader. Either way, Dani didn't make friends easily. Neither of them did. Hard to make lasting friendships when you move all the time.
He buried his head in his hands. "The last thing in the world I want is to send her away."
Greg chuckled. Vic wondered how long he'd been standing in the doorway.
"As if you could run this shop without her."
Vic looked out the window. Was that snow? It had been cold lately. Record lows, he'd heard. But this was still California. He hadn't seen snow since the family moved out here. He thought how cold it had been all week and had a fleeting moment of guilt about leaving Bobby on the side of the road. Probably should have left him his shirt.
"I definitely can't do the detail work." Greg seemed eager to change the subject. "And we've seen your handiwork. Face it, until Gunny gets back…"
Vic massaged his wrist, making a fist and loosening it. It still hurt from tossing Bobby out of Dani's car. "Some things are more important than the shop. Besides, we won't have to wait long. Saddam's crazy if he doesn't surrender before we're doing anything that puts Dad in danger."
"You do know what he does, right? I mean, I know he doesn't tell Dani, but…" Greg seemed to think better of saying more.
"He fixes Jeeps."
"Humvees nowadays, but where exactly do you think Jeeps break down during a war, Skippy?" Greg sat opposite the desk. "Anyway, you want me to run those guys off?"
Limp or no limp, Vic knew Greg could make good on his offer. But what did he know about the guys Dani hung out with?
Greg locked eyes. "Got my kid with me this weekend, but just say the word, Brother. I'll go have a talk with 'em Monday. They'll stay away."
Vic fingered his mother's Bible on the desk corner, right where Dad had set it five years ago. He knew if he opened to the ribbon bookmark, it would take him to the Sermon on the Mount. "Blessed are the peacemakers" and all that. He let his gaze fall on the family pictures taped to the window. Dani, a toddler then, in Sergeant Grassigli's arms, her head buried in his shoulder. It was the day Dad got his third stripe.
"What would Gunny do?" Vic said, returning Greg's stare.
***
"What do I need this for?" Dani repeated, looking over both sides of the fake ID.
"You said you'd play the show," Shelly said.
"Not if it's someplace I'm gonna need that. Playing that kind of music's bad enough. You know I promised my parents I'd only play godly music when they got me my guitar."
Shelly tucked the ID into Dani's blouse pocket. "You've got to do this. Look, I can't be seen with you."
"Afraid you'll be influenced?"
Shelly rolled her eyes and headed to class, Dani on her heels.
"C'mon, Shel."
"They can't cancel this show," Shelly said as they approached her class. "It means everything to Bobby."
"They can find someone else."
"By tonight?"
"I'm grounded."
"No kidding. At least you're not grounded from your boyfriend."
"How am I supposed to get there without my car?"
"This is Vic we're talking about." Shelly smirked. "The keys…"
"… are in the cookie jar," they said together, giggling.
"And we both know he'll be asleep by ten," Shelly said.
"I'll try, but if I get caught, I might as well join a convent." A convent in Iowa. Wonder what that even looks like. Sacred Sisters of the Corn.
"Pick me up around the block quarter after ten. Show starts at eleven." Shelly slipped into the classroom under her teacher's disapproving look as the bell rang.
Great. Third tardy. One more thing for Vic to read about.
***
Ed Wilkins fingered the steering wheel in the blue Chevy, leaning out the window. "How's your dad?"
"Good as can be in a war zone." Vic didn't want to think about it.
"Left the business in good hands," Wilkins said, admiring the detailing.
"I'll tell Dani when she's home from school. Make her day."
"Say, hop in. Let's go to your place."
Vic couldn't imagine what for, but if the shop's best customer wanted to visit the house, he wasn't going to argue. He just hoped Dani hadn't left a mess in the kitchen.
As soon as Wilkins turned into the driveway, he insisted, "Show me the T.A."
Nothing too unusual about that. Dad showed off his car once in a while.
Wilkins took a few seconds to compliment Dani's GTO before turning his attention to the Pontiac. He took his time, examining every inch. Sat in the driver's seat. Sat in the passenger seat. Fiddled with the radio dial. Popped the hood.
"You the man in charge now?"
Vic saluted. "Sergeant's orders."
Wilkins ran his finger along the blue racing stripe down to the air intake on the Firebird's hood. "Gotta have it. Name your price."
"Mr. Wilkins, I don't think you understand."
"Half a million."
"Dad's turned that down before."
"Give me a number." Wilkins flourished his checkbook.
"Might as well ask Dad to sell Dani." Vic recounted the car's story.
"Thought you were in charge? Maybe just a drive?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Wilkins, but it only comes out for shows. And only Dad drives it. Ever. Written in stone. Wish I could."
Mr. Wilkins studied him. "Sell me the GOAT, then."