No Right Turn by Terry Trueman

Author:Terry Trueman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

I beat it around the far side of the grange building, out of sight of the Corvette, where they can’t see me. I hide among the Modified/Customs, specifically near a 1953 Mercury hot rod, chopped and painted deep burgundy, except for bright red and yellow flames on the fenders and hood. It’s a beautiful car, and it gets my vote in its class, although, to be honest, I’m so nervous that I don’t even look at any of the other cars in that group.

I kill as much time as I can. Finally, maybe half an hour later, I peek around the corner. Becka and her brothers are nowhere in sight. Don’s back in his folding chair, sitting next to the Corvette.

Standing right in front of him, talking, is Wally.

What’s he doing?

I told Wally last night that we were bringing the ’Vette here, but I didn’t really expect him to come by.

First Becka and now Wally? At least Wally knows not to mention anything about my stealing the car.

I approach Don and Wally and say, “Hi, Wal. What’re you doing here?”

Wally laughs. “Nice to see you, too, butt-munch.”

Don laughs too.

Wally says, “I just came by to look at this ’Vette you’ve been telling me about. You’re right—it is beautiful.”

Don smiles and says, “Your buddy showed up about half an hour ago and asked me to look at a couple of the Mustangs with him and answer a few questions.”

Wally says, “Yeah.” Then he adds, “Did you know Becka Thorson was here?”

“Oh yeah?” I act surprised.

“Yeah,” Wally says. “She and a couple little kids.”

I say, “Her brothers.”

Don says, “I thought you didn’t see her.”

I stutter, “I didn’t, but probably … you know … little kids … I don’t know....”

I look at Don. “Did you meet her?”

“No, I was showing Wally the Mustangs.”

I glance over at Wally. His expression is totally obvious, and he might as well be screaming out, “You owe me one!”

“Right,” I say, half smiling.

“Yeah,” Wally says. “Right.”

My palms are sweaty, and my heart pounds in my chest. My throat is dry, and I feel the dampness under my arms as beads of perspiration roll down my sides. I silently promise myself that I’ll never steal the ’Vette again, I’ll tell Becka the truth and come clean and just be thankful that I’ve managed to not get busted. I swear that I’ll be an honest, upright, law-abiding citizen from now on.

Wally saved my ass—how weird is that?

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