Stars Of Our Lives

Hey One Question: What The Hell

The next incident didn't happen for three days.

Krel had been tinkering with Varvatos's old car since we'd come to Arcadia. Varvatos claimed he'd had it since before his "glorious battle days" in the Vietnam war. So the thing was probably ancient. Krel had been working on the engine to try and fix it up, just making sure it wouldn't stall on the highway or something like that.

"It's the closest thing we have to a getaway car," He said. "We need to make sure we can actually get away in it."

Though I was pretty sure he'd spent more time tweaking the radio than under the hood.

We were test driving it that day, late in the afternoon. Varvatos had needed to get groceries, and he'd taken us with him so we wouldn't be home alone. Krel and I had laid down on the floor of the car while he was in the store, making sure no one could see us in the car.

It was unseasonably hot for a spring evening, so we were cramped and sweating, sprawled out on the floor of the car.

"Could you move?" Krel began wiping a hand down his arm. "You're getting your nastiness all over me."

"It's called sweat," I said. "And you're getting yours all over me too."

"All the more reason for you to scoot."

"Scoot where?" I threw up a hand. "There's no room!"

"Just get up on one of the seats," He said.

I lowered my eyebrows. "Do you want to get caught?"

"No one's even around," He rolled his eyes. "And they won't see you anyway if you keep your head down."

"That's not what Varvatos said."

"What does he know? He's just being paranoid. There are tons of kids in this town that aren't dead yet, and none of them are disappearing. Why couldn't he have left us home?"

"He's trying to protect us," I said.

Krel groaned. "It's not protection, it's paranoia. And now we're gonna be stuck in a hot car for the next half hour."

"Oh relax," I said. "It could be worse."

"You're right," Krel snapped. "We could be miles from home, without our parents, living under the control of a paranoid geezer, and lying on the floor in a dirty car!"

"Keep your voice down!"

"You keep yours down!"

"Ugh, fine!" I kicked my heels against the carpet, scooting myself up between the front seats. "I'll scoot."

"That's not exactly 'scooting'."

"Could you move your head?" I shifted again, Krel's head now pressing into my ribs instead of my shoulder. "I can't breathe."

"And where exactly am I supposed to move it?"

"Somewhere that's not crushing me!"

"That's it, I'm sitting up."

"No!"

I caught his arm just as he started going up. He'd worn long sleeves that day, but he'd rolled them up once we'd gotten in the car. So when I grabbed his arm, I'd grabbed his bare elbow.

And that was all it took.

Suddenly all I could see was the old bedroom Krel and I used to share, back when we were barely starting to walk. I could smell the marinara sauce Papa used to make, the kind that was Krel's favorite. I saw the time I knocked over the DVD player and Krel had managed to take it apart, fix it, and put it back together before our parents even noticed. I could see my five year-old self watching him, knocking it over again to see if he could fix it a second time.