From What I Remember

I’ve actually read Truman Capote. I loved In Cold Blood. But I’m not going to mention it. That could take up a whole lot of time. Kylie seems a little too eager to talk about books. We don’t need to start bonding all over the place. I’m just here to get the job done.

“So, one more book,” Kylie says. “And then you never have to talk to me again.”

“Promise?” I’m just messing with her.

“Trust me, I’m as psyched about it as you.”

“Infinite Jest,” I say, without pausing to think.

“Okay. Why? I haven’t read it.”

“It’s about addiction, te

“Why would you want to escape life?” Kylie asks.

“No one’s life is perfect,” I say. I want to leave it at that, but Kylie looks like she’s dying to ask me more questions. “I have my stuff, like everyone else. Anyway, those are my books. That’s my deal. Are you still cool with writing both papers?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure…I’ll just do it during study. I should be able to get them both done by class today. I guess…” Kylie doesn’t seem super into it anymore, but it was her idea. I’m sure not writing the paper. I’m already in deeper than I need to be. It’s time to get back to the last day of school.

I stand up, ready to blow out of here, when I see Kylie looking up at me, all puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t you want to know what book had the biggest impact on me?” she asks.

Not really. I thought we were done. I was walking out the door, in my mind. “Uh, sure.” I sit back down, not wanting to be a total dick.

“Well, if I had to choose…” Kylie looks like she’s about to give some kind of major speech. I’m wondering what Charlie and Lily are up to. Doughnuts and coffee on the front steps? Frisbee on the lawn? “It’s a hard choice, but I guess I’d say The Stranger by Camus, because it felt so true to me. It’s about understanding that no one cares, but once you accept that, you can actually move on and be happy.”

“That’s depressing.”

“Right back at you.”

Girl’s got a point. We both like bleak shit. Who’d have thought I’d have anything in common with Kylie Flores?

“And then I loved this book Disgrace, by a South African author named Coetzee. I read it last year. I think it’s the most perfect book ever written. Every single word in that book should be there. It’s so honest. And real. It’s about racial oppression, which I don’t think we ever escape.”

I can’t believe we’re still talking about books. I’ve never talked about books with anyone outside of class. It’s weird. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say next. I don’t really have the time or the interest to get into a whole long thing about literature. I’ve got places to go. People to see.

“Anything else you need from me?” I ask. I’m feeling kind of bad, but what am I going to do, offer to write it myself? Miss out on the last day of school? No thanks.

“I think I have enough,” Kylie says.

I stand up again. “Okay, then, I guess we’re good to go.” I’m about to head out when I realize that Kylie is looking around in a panic. Oh no. Now what?

“What’s up?” I ask her.

“My backpack’s gone.…” Kylie jumps out of her seat and races toward the exit, nearly knocking down two old women in the process.

I rush after her because…well, I’m not really sure why. I feel like I should, somehow.

Kylie bolts out the door and runs down the street. I’m right behind her.

“Where are you going?”

“That guy stole my backpack.” Kylie points to a small figure in a black leather jacket racing down the sidewalk a few feet in front of us.

“Don’t follow him,” I pant as I try to keep pace with Kylie. “He’s a criminal. Why don’t we call the cops?”

“No time. I need my computer.…It has my life in it.” And with that, Kylie sprints around the corner, chasing some thug who most likely has a gun. I stop and watch her go. While death may be part of life, it has no part in mine at the moment.

’m ru

I watch helplessly as he jumps onto a dirt bike parked at the curb, and peels out. He must be one of those street kids who hangs around the beach and spins on his bike all day long. San Diego is crawling with them. I’ve never given them much thought. Now I understand how they afford their designer sweatshirts and tricked-out bikes. I fall back onto the sidewalk, defeated. I am so royally screwed.

“Hey, get in,” a voice calls out.

I lift my head to see a car pulling up to the curb. Max stares at me from inside a sparkling new Beemer.

I don’t respond at first. I’m too stu

“C’mon, Kylie. I’ll take you to school.”

“I’m not going to school. I’ve got to get my computer back. There’s no point to anything without it.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic?”

“No! I need my computer.…” And then I burst into tears. So humiliating.

“Okay. Fine.”

“Fine what?”

Max gets out of the car and helps me up.

“Shit, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scrape.” I take a few deep breaths and try to pull it together.

Max puts his arm around my waist and helps me into the car. I hurt all over from the fall. I’m completely embarrassed from my emotional outburst, and yet the only thing occupying my mind is Max’s proximity. He’s really close. Close enough to make me flush. His touch is soothing—warm and firm. He smells like coconut shampoo and coffee. I can feel the blood rushing up my spine. This is too strange. Max Langston has his arm around me. Even stranger, Max Langston is going to help me.

“For the record, I think this is a terrible idea,” Max says as he gets into the car.

I don’t say anything, because Max is right. Still, the fact remains that I’ve got to get my computer back. There really is no alternative. Max guns the engine and the car shoots forward. I guess it’s a good thing he’s got a Beemer, because my Mom’s old Honda takes about an hour to gather speed.

“Thanks. I really appreciate this,” I say.

“Yeah, well, if we make it out alive, you can buy me a drink or something.”

We power down the street, hugging the road. Before long, we catch sight of the guy on his bike, expertly weaving in and out of traffic. Max is on him in minutes, but he’s elusive. First we see him, then we don’t, as he darts around cars and through lights. He’s obviously done this before. Max is switching lanes like crazy, trying to keep pace.

“So what’s on the computer that’s so important?”

“For one, my valedictorian speech for Saturday…”

“But you backed it up, didn’t you?”