People shouting. Dad pulled the car over and went to see if he could help. Mom told me to keep looking forward—not to look. But I did. I saw the frame: metal sheets, peeled back, reflecting the sun. Waves of heat rising from the asphalt. A little later Dad came back to the car and got in. Said there’s nothing he can do.

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After history, I met Dave by the fence to sneak a smoke. Mrs. Ernst gave me hell in class because I’d been ditching more and more. Maybe if she didn’t give me so much hell in general I wouldn’t be ditching in the first place. Mark was pulling his green hatchback—the “Crime Car”—around from the junior parking lot. We are the Disciples of Mayhem.

We still had an eighth from earlier, and that would probably last through the weekend. Mark was pissed though, because I smoked more than they did, but I mean, it’s there—if he wants it, he can have it. Dave was talking about a party tonight in the figs. He was really excited; we could finally go now that Mark had the Crime Car. You could tell Dave was excited at our new freedom. He kept looking around, looking at all the groups of girls walking by as if saying to himself, “Finally…”

He waved to some girls walking by. A blonde girl and two brunettes. Everybody liked Dave; he was easy-going and had a good smile. Having good teeth was important, Mom would say—it shows quality. A lot of people who saw us around school thought it was kind of funny that we would hang out together, the three of us. Mark always looked like he was in a bad mood, and everybody stayed away from him. I was just quiet—I don’t think people thought about me either way. I asked Dave how he gets girls and he said “You gotta say something nice, like ‘Tu tienes una cara muy linda.’”

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On the way home from Las Vegas, after a crazy couple of days celebrating Mark’s return from the Gulf, Dave’s white VW van approached the California border.

I was glad I never went to college, though I didn’t like working, either. Dave was driving and it was getting dark. He said he was tired, and about ready to switch. The sun was glowing red and orange, and seemed to melt across the sky.

“Man, I could never join the army, or even go to school,” Dave said. “I mean, not with my heart in it. I was never even a Boy Scout.”

“It’s better not to,” Mark said, looking straight ahead in the passenger seat. “They have lists of all the people who go to schools.”

Dave rubbed his eyes. “I’m fading, Mark. I need you to take over soon.”

Mark nodded and continued. “I’m telling you, I saw some crazy shit in the army. They keep track of everything—who went where; who got shot here; who got doused with crazy chemicals there—but it’s like they don’t care about any of it. They just keep it to use later.”

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Stabbing…that’s how they describe it, like a knife in the heart. Then it stops. Dad didn’t have time to describe his. Too much mayo and too many Winstons. I’ve been trying to imagine that kind of pain, but I don’t think I can. He was a big man; even when he could only get around by wheelchair he still looked like he could beat you senseless. A life of hard work, and now he’s gone.

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“Do you want to eat out? There’s always IHOP,” Dad says.

“We could do that, I guess,” Mom says. “I don’t want to cook.”

“You don’t have to cook. We can go out.”

Noon feels like someone’s sitting on my chest, I can barely breathe. Fifteen more minutes and I’ll be home or I’ll be dead. I look at the peeling black felt of the headliner. The glue must have melted. You can see the dull silver of the metal underneath, the rust. I’m trying to focus on the hum of the engine.

“I guess it would be nice,” Mom says. “To have a big meal.”

“We can go someplace else,” Dad says.

“Yeah, I don’t know about IHOP,” Mom agreed. “Is there anyplace else?”

“I’m sure there are other places,” Dad says.

There are things that just happen. Always happen. Pastor Sherwood said that what happens in the future is known already. We’re just playing our parts, then, I guess. One row of fig trees after another goes by. The branches look like elbows and snakes.

“But for breakfast? A nice big breakfast?” Mom continues, looking around the car in desperation. I know her gestures: her upturned hands, her rolled eyes.

“We can always try someplace new if you don’t like IHOP,” Dad says.

“I wouldn’t know where. I just want to have a nice, big breakfast. For the occasion.

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It was winter when I took up smoking. The head rushes were stronger than a beerbuzz, but shorter. The good thing, though, was you could have them every day. I’d walk through the neighborhood with my headphones on. Rolling Stones She’s a Rainbow.

All the houses looked warm. Evergreens. Tule fog. Strings of lights. Blue, green, yellow, red all sparkle. Fireplaces burning—the cloudy breath from my cigarette. The lights are on in every house, even hers. She must be home. It’s a school night, and she likes school. She seems happy there. I swear, it seems that if she could just be mine, everything would be alright—nothing left to fear. Still, she is too beautiful.

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