From What I Remember (46 page)

I gulp air. I feel light-headed from holding my breath.

We pass through the extensive border area, and then we’re in California, heading onto the 405 Freeway. The long slog is over, and we instantly speed up as if shot out of a cannon. We all let out a huge sigh of relief. Will and Lily high-five, which ranks fairly close to the top of all the strange things that have happened today.

“You just might make it,” Juan shouts from the back. Juan? I forgot about him.

And all of a sudden the dark cloud that had settled over the car lifts. Lily has opened her eyes and come out of hibernation. Will is perched forward like an alert puppy.

Lily’s phone, still clutched in my hand, buzzes with an incoming text from Mom.

WHERE ARE YOU? I KNOW YOU’RE NOT WITH WILL. I TALKED TO HIS MOM LAST NIGHT. I CALLED THE POLICE AND PUT OUT A MISSING PERSON’S REPORT. WHY HAVEN’T YOU TEXTED UNTIL NOW?

Uh-oh! I’m in trouble six ways to Sunday.

“My mom knows I didn’t spend the night at your house,” I say to Will. “She talked to your mom.”

“Shit!”

“Tell me about it.” Jesus. A missing person’s report?

KYLIE:
IT’S A LONG STORY. I’M FINE. ON MY WAY BACK FROM ENSENADA.

MOM:
ENSENADA?! MEXICO? HOW COULD YOU JEOPARDIZE GRADUATION?

KYLIE:
I DIDN’T DO IT ON PURPOSE. UR GOING TO HAV TO TRUST ME ON THIS. I MADE A MISTAKE. BUT I’M FINE AND I’LL MEET U AT GRADUATION.

MOM:
YOU’VE GOT A LOT OF EXPLAINING TO DO. AND YOU’RE GROUNDED.

I can’t believe Mom and I are having this discussion right now, via text message. But for once, I don’t feel like backing down. I always back down with Mom.

KYLIE:
I KNOW. BUT U HAV TO BELIEVE I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING. OTHERWISE, HOW CAN U TRUST ME TO GO ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE COUNTRY IN 2 MONTHS?

MOM:
I THOUGHT YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE DOING BUT NOW I’M NOT SO SURE. YOU RAN OFF TO MEXICO.

KYLIE:
THINGS R GOING TO HAPPEN N I’M GOING TO DEAL W THEM THE BEST I CAN. U CAN’T GROUND ME IN NYC.

MOM:
WE’LL TALK ABOUT THIS AFTER GRADUATION.

KYLIE: I LOVE U. TELL JAKE I’M ALMOST THERE.

MOM:
I LOVE YOU TOO. GOOD LUCK.

Now wasn’t the time to tell my mom that I may not make graduation. She was already pissed enough. Charlie has been going ninety, as promised, for the past several minutes. He’s looking nervous and his hands have a death grip on the wheel. I kind of wish I were driving. I’m definitely better at it. But this is hardly the time to switch drivers.

Everyone is calling and texting their parents to let them know they’ll meet them at school. It’s still kind of unlikely we’ll make it anytime soon. But at least we’ll make it. And then I hear a loud, wailing police siren fast approaching. I look out my window and see a police car directly behind us.

“Shit, we’re getting pulled over for speeding,” Charlie says.

Naturally, my good luck has run out. It lasted for a whole five minutes.

harlie pulls over to the side, and the police car pulls up behind us. The cop gets out of his car and takes what feels like ten years to get to us. I can feel the car empty out of air as we all suck in a deep breath, waiting. As the cop approaches, Charlie feels around in the glove compartment for everything he knows he will need. Charlie and I have been here before—last year, to be exact. Charlie got a speeding ticket. We must have been going eighty-five in a forty mph zone. His dad had it expunged from his record, but he was beyond pissed and threatened to take Charlie’s car away if he got another one. Looks like that’s about to happen.

“Goddamnit,” Charlie says, loud enough for us all to hear.

He’s freaking, thinking this could mean no more car. I feel for him. Everyone else is freaking, thinking this means no graduation as the minutes tick away. I can see Kylie in the front seat, chewing on her thumb, staring blankly at her closed computer. This is her big day and it’s all gone horribly wrong. I feel for her. Lily’s big blue eyes fill with tears as she looks out the window and into the nothingness of the San Diego landscape. I feel for her too. Man, I’m feeling a little too much. I liked it better when I was shutting out the world.

“What are we going to do?” Will asks.

“Dunno; what we can do?” Kylie says.

“We’re sort of screwed,” Lily says. “It’s eleven forty-five. There’s no way we’re getting to graduation at this point.”

“Are you aware you were going eighty-seven?” the cop asks Charlie.

“Uh, I’m not aware of the exact speed, but I know it was pretty fast,” Charlie offers.

“Can I see your license and registration?” Before he’s even done asking for it, Charlie hands the papers to him through the window.

The silence in the car is oppressive. Even Will doesn’t have a snarky comment. I look around and realize that everyone has given up. So this is the way we spend graduation? Waiting for a cop to write out a speeding ticket? This blows. I can’t let it happen. I suddenly feel responsible, like I’ve got to do something. I don’t really have a solid plan when I open the door and jump out of the car.

“Excuse me, sir,” I say to the cop. I’m winging it here.

Which is probably a terrible idea when you’re trying to sweet-talk a police officer.

“Please remain in the vehicle,” the cop tells me. I know the drill. I should just get back in the “vehicle.” But I don’t.

“Can I just have one minute of your time to explain, sir?” I am determined, in a way I rarely am, to make one last attempt to get us to graduation. Not even really for me, because I’ve lost all interest. But I know Kylie hasn’t. And Lily hasn’t. And my dad hasn’t.

“Let me see your license,” the cop says to me. “If you don’t get back in the car, I could take you in for obstruction.”

Shit. I’m in over my head here.

“Dude, what are you doing? Get back in the car,” Charlie pleads.

I hand over my license. I should just calmly climb back into the Jeep. But a force beyond my control is pushing me forward. Yeah, it was definitely better when I didn’t give a shit.

The cop looks to be in his forties or fifties. I see a wedding ring on his finger.

“Do you have kids, sir?” I ask the cop.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just, if you have kids, then you know how important high school graduation is. To them and to you.”

“Yeah, I’ve got three kids.” That’s all he says.

“Today’s our graduation. Right now, in fact. And we’re late. We went to Mexico last night and now we’re on our way back to school, but we got stuck at the border. Our parents are waiting there for us. Our relatives. Our whole class. See that girl in the front seat?” I point to Kylie. I’m whipping through sentences, keeping my fingers crossed. I have no idea what I’m doing. “She’s the valedictorian. She’s supposed to be speaking right now. That’s why we were speeding—”

“That doesn’t mean you can break the law,” he says.

“I know, sir.”

“Everyone always has a good excuse for speeding. But there’s an enforced speed limit for a reason. You weren’t driving at a safe speed. It’s not safe for you or other people on the road. Graduation or no graduation, I can’t let you get away with it.”

“I know,” I say. At this point, I’m giving up. I’m not getting the sense I’m making any progress with this guy. He’s had a million people try to talk their way out of a speeding ticket. Why did I think this was going to work? I’m not even doing a good job.

The cop stares me down, “Can you get back in the car, son?”

“Yes, sir,” I say. I climb back into the Jeep. I shouldn’t have gotten out in the first place.

The cop begins to write up our ticket, which is when Lily pops open the door and jumps out. Oh, no. Bad idea.

“We’re late because we were doing our civic duty,” Lily announces to the cop.

“Get back in the vehicle, miss,” the cop says.

Lily doesn’t move. “We helped catch some thieves in Ensenada.”

“Sure you did. Could you get back in the vehicle?” The officer rolls his eyes; he’s heard it all before.

“Seriously. We helped the police arrest two dangerous criminals. Juan, could you get out here?” Lily demands.

“As I’ve already explained to your friend, I can’t make any exceptions here.”

Juan scrambles out of the rear seat, dives over the middle row, and clambers out of the car, like he’s at Lily’s service or something. She has that effect on people.

“Can you get your friend, the police chief of Ensenada on the phone?” Lily asks Juan. “And could you have him tell”—Lily leans in and reads the officer’s name tag. The officer scowls at her, not pleased with whatever her game is—“Officer Kwan, here, how we helped catch the criminals, the ones who stole thousands of dollars of merchandise from your jurisdiction, actually, from the San Diego area.” Lily looks at Officer Kwan with a knowing nod, like she’s happy to be so informative.

“I’m going to ask you one last time to get back in the vehicle. Or I’m going to have to take you all in to the station.”

Lily crosses her arms and stands her ground. Shit. We’re all going to end up in jail. Juan takes out his phone and dials. He says a few words in Spanish and then hands the phone over to Officer Kwan.

Officer Kwan looks at the phone like he’s being handed a dead pigeon. He doesn’t dare take it.

“Please, sir. It’s the police chief from Ensenada. Will you just talk to him for a minute?” Juan pleads, pushing the phone on him. “He’ll explain everything.”

Officer Kwan stares down at Juan. There’s a long beat where we all wait anxiously to see what Officer Kwan will do. Slowly, reluctantly, he takes the phone and dubiously puts it to his ear. He turns away from us, walks a few feet down the road, and listens for what seems like hours. Time moves in slow motion as we all keep our eyes on the officer, wondering what happens next. Finally, Officer Kwan heads back our way, talking on his radio.

“I need a Suburban. Now. Any in the area?” Officer Kwan says. “Okay, send it.”

He walks back over, hands the phone to Juan, and approaches Charlie, who’s still sitting in the driver’s seat.

“So what time is graduation?” he asks Charlie.

“It’s at noon, sir,” Charlie says. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Charlie use the word “sir.”

“Where is it?”

“Freiburg Academy. La Jolla,” Lily answers.

“You kids are in a real pickle, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” Charlie responds.

“Okay, it’s gonna be tight, but we’ll see what we can do.”

And just at that moment, a huge black-and-white police van screeches to the curb right behind us, and stops. With caged windows and massive bolt locks on the back doors, it’s like an armored vehicle. Scratch that—it
is
an armored vehicle. It’s the kind of van police use to transport large numbers of prisoners to jail. I remember Mr. Dewhurst calling it a paddy wagon in history class. Shit. Is this the way we’re going to arrive at graduation?