“Everything but reverse and uphill,” the owner said. “Are you interested in buying this piece of junk? Because I’ve got much better options in the—”
“I’ll give you a thousand bucks if you let me take it for a test-drive.”
The next thing the others knew, the junkyard owner led Cash through the fence and up close to the car of his dreams. The actor petted the hood of the Porsche like it was an animal and whispered sweet nothings into its side-view mirror.
“He’s not actually going to drive that thing, is he?” Topher asked.
“Is he even okay to drive?” Sam pointed out.
Cash slid into the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel like a ship captain clutching the helm on his maiden voyage. A cloud of dust erupted from the back of the Porsche as its engine roared to life for the first time in a very long while. It was a shaky start and the engine didn’t seem like it would last long, but Cash willed it to work. He drove the Porsche out of the junkyard and pulled up alongside the station wagon.
“I’m going to take this thing out for a quick spin,” he announced. “You guys stay here—I’m using you as collateral.”
“Cash, we’re all really anxious to get to Amarillo and take a shower,” Topher said.
“I’ll only be a couple minutes. Sorry, but I have to do this or I’ll regret it forever. It’s on my bucket list.”
The actor hit the accelerator and zoomed down highway 83, leaving a trail of smog behind him like a snail. The others could hear him cheering all the way down the road until he disappeared in the distance. Twenty minutes later, Cash returned with an enormous smile stretched across his rosy, wind-beaten cheeks.
“You guys gotta try this!” he said. “There’s only room for one passenger but you can take turns. Somebody hop in!”
“We’re not getting in that thing,” Joey said.
“It looks like it’s one speed bump away from imploding,” Sam said.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Cash said. “Cars were built to last in the old days. You gotta hear the engine when it gets going—it purrs like a kitten.”
Mo raised an eyebrow. “A kitten with bronchitis, maybe.”
“Come hear it for yourself, Mo!” Cash egged her on. “I promise when the wind hits your hair you’ll feel just like a Bond girl!”
Mo had the strongest reservations out of all her friends—but Cash knew the exact button to push. Her hesitation crumbled at the thought of feeling like a Hollywood starlet.
“Weeeeeeeell, I suppose just a mile or two wouldn’t hurt,” she said, to her friends’ amazement. “Don’t look at me like that—you all smoked pot last night!”
Mo sat in the passenger seat beside Cash and they rocketed down the highway. The Porsche rattled more and more as it gained speed. The open air hit Mo’s face and her dark hair flickered behind her ears like a flag in a tropical storm. The ride felt like a roller coaster compared to the station wagon they’d grown accustomed to.
“Isn’t this great?” Cash called out—but it was hard to hear each other with all the wind in their faces.
“It’s fantastic!” Mo said. “I feel like Marilyn Monroe!”
“What?” Cash asked. “You want to see how fast this thing can go?”
“No!” Mo said. “I said I feel like Marilyn Monroe!”
“Okay, let’s see how fast this baby can go!” he said.
Cash punched the gas even harder and the Porsche flew down the highway at a reckless pace. They were moving so fast Mo could barely breathe let alone tell him to slow down.
“Cash, that’s fast enough!” she said.
The actor tapped the brake but nothing happened. He turned to his concerned passenger with unmistakable terror in his eyes.
“The brakes aren’t working!” he said.
“WHAT?” she said. “What about the emergency brake?”
“There is no emergency brake!” Cash said. “The accelerator is stuck, too! I can’t get the car to slow down!”
Mo couldn’t believe she had been so easily lured into a death trap. She had a panic attack and images of everything she held dear—her cat, her father, her friends, the positive comments on her fanfiction—flashed before her eyes.
“Do something!”she yelled. “I can’t die in a car crash with you! I don’t want my death to get second billing!”
“Don’t worry—I promise you’ll live to see the halls of Stanford!”
“Fuck Stanford!” she cried, and the truth spilled out of her like lava from a volcano. “I’m only going there because my dad is making me! I don’t want to study economics, I want to study creative writing! But none of that matters now because I’m about to be roadkill!”
Cash abruptly hit the brakes and the Porsche came to a stop. Mo’s crying turned into laughter once she realized they were safe. She hugged the actor in celebration.
“The brakes worked!” she said. “It’s a miracle!”
“Of course the brakes worked, I was just fucking with you,” Cash said.