Page 2 of Challenge Me

Every night, without fail, Fox was chosen.

I hated how much I noticed it. There was no hesitation, no shameful little excuses. Al arrived. Fox unlocked. They left. It was that simple.

The weekend came and went.

I sat beside Fox, polished and waiting and silent, while he and Al’s routine played out day after day, each one more painful to witness than the last, until Fox noticed my silence.

“Hey, Ghost.”

I looked down at him from where I was sitting on my hood. I had to force myself not to lash out at the sound of my name on his lips, the pitying tone, the worry in it. The last thing I needed was sympathy from a Ford.

Fox was stretched over his own hood, completely at ease, his Game Boy chirping repetitive music that was grating enough to chip paint. “You okay?” He asked, leaning in closer to me.

I frowned at that. I am a Dodge Challenger. We are not easily broken. Not by time, not by bad roads, not by rust, and certainly not by something as minor as waiting for one stubborn man to stop avoiding the thing he clearly wanted.

Fox, by sheer virtue of being a Mustang, was relentless and impatient. Ignoring my silence, he prodded, poked. He asked if it was the sticker on my rear that was bothering me. Asked if my engine was making a funny noise. He pretended not to be worried while staring at me with his high beams. I tried ignoring him, but it didn’t work. Fox seemed to interpret silence as an invitation to continue.

“Ghost?”

“I’m fine,” I hissed.

Fox blinked slowly. “You said that like somebody who is absolutely not fine.”

I felt guilt on top of my irritation. “I said I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s avoiding me!” I finally snapped, folding my arms and looking away, pretending the confession had cost me nothing. “There. Are you satisfied?”

I fully expected Fox to laugh, to tease. Instead, he shifted closer and reached out to touch my hand. The gesture was awkward, but not unkind.

“Lai’s probably just, you know…”

I did not know. Was there some obvious fact I was oblivious to? The thought irritated me. “He’s what?”

Fox shrugged, stretching out over his hood to reach my fingers with his. “He’s probably intimidated by you.”

I’m glad my engine wasn’t running right then, because the shock of what Fox was suggesting would have caused a rather humiliating stall. I shifted closer to the edge of my long hood, leaning toward Fox. Demanding answers. “Explain.”

Fox chuckled, taking his hand back and picking up his Game Boy again, mercifully flicking off the sound. “I mean, look at her.”

I followed his finger to the dark corner of the garage, knowing what I’d see without having to look.

Lai’s first car–his only car before me, as I understood–was an old Toyota Corolla. Once a victim of neglect, she was rather pleased with herself now; she had a new wide-body kit freshly installed and painted, her heavy seats removed and replaced with race seats, and expensive tools arranged around her like offerings at an altar. Students came to work on her every day. You made it an “extra credit” activity. Whatever that meant. I suspected it meant free labor disguised as education.

“What about her?” I muttered.

“Look at her!” Fox laughed. “She’s a tiny wee thing, only taking up one parking space. Now look at you.”

I stared at the lines around me. Two on either side, one underneath. But it wasn’t my fault that this park was stenciled to fit bikes at best! Maybe those Japanese imports were too timid to take up space.

I sat back with a frown, and realization hit me like an eighteen-wheeler truck.

You were like me.

You and I were not meant to tuck ourselves neatly between painted lines and apologize for the extra room we needed. We were not built for quiet corners. We were not made to be practical, convenient, sensible little things.

You were not avoiding me because I was too different.