Rules of Play (The Script Club 2)

Grr.

Sure enough, I was met by a sea of red taillights when I veered onto the freeway. Thanks, Newton.

A couple of miles in, I figured I might as well make the best of it. Spring had sprung, and the So Cal sunset was spectacular. There was no reason to stress. I cranked the volume on the oldies station and tapped an offbeat rhythm on my steering wheel to an English Beat tune. I could just imagine my mom’s reaction when I told her the music of her youth was featured on the local radio station’s Commute with the Classics hour. She wouldn’t be amused.

And because my brain tended to bounce from topic to topic like a rubber ball on a racquetball court, thinking of Mom made me think of food and dinner and the fact that I probably needed to do some grocery shopping. I was running low on cereal and milk and—

Clunk. Clunk. Hiss.

What was that? I narrowed my gaze and sent up a quick prayer that the noise was part of “Mirror in the Bathroom.” When steam rose from the hood of my ’96 Bronco, cloaking the windshield in a smoky haze a moment later, I knew I was screwed. And if I didn’t maneuver to the side of the road, I’d end up on the fifteen-minute traffic report before this song was over.

I rolled down my window and frantically motioned to the cars in the lane next to me to let me in pronto. The now atomic level of smoke alerted them not to mess with me. I was given wide berth and clear passage to the side of the freeway, where my ancient SUV sputtered, coughed, and died with an undignified last gasp.

Crap.

Do not panic.

There were rules about this kind of shit. Call a tow truck, call a garage, call for a ride. I didn’t have my auto assistance card with me, I didn’t know where the nearest garage was, and my friends were either still on campus or at the lab. I tried Cody and Topher first, then Asher, Tommy, and Holden. No luck. I didn’t want to freak my mom out, and Dad worked until six. That left Simon.

I scrolled for my brother’s number then climbed over the console to exit from the passenger side, careful not to slam my cape in the door when I closed it.

“Hey, Geek Dracula. How’s it—”

“Help! I’m stuck on the 210 at the Arroyo exit. Smoke is billowing, the wind is howling…and if this thing blows up, I’m a goner,” I cried, scrambling over brush weeds to get as far away from oncoming traffic as possible.

“Whoa. Take a deep breath. Are you injured?” Simon asked calmly.

I’d forgotten how good my brother was under pressure. For a guy who could be such a goofball, he had an uncanny ability to focus, assess, and know what to do in a crisis.

Like now.

Okay, maybe this wasn’t a full-blown crisis, but it was a situation. A bad one.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I yelled over the sound of a semitruck. “Are you home? Can you pick me up?”

“I’m in Westwood.”

“What are you doing in Westwood? I thought you were instructing the track team here.”

“Coaching,” he corrected. “I had the day off. I’m grabbing Topher from school, and we’re heading to Malibu for the night.”

I sighed. My brother and my friend Topher had been together for six months now. They were the most unlikely pair—the jock and the nerd—and yet they made sense. Topher’s practical nature balanced out Simon’s impulsive side.

Technically, Toph was still my roommate, but he spent more time with Si these days. And as soon as the renovations on the house Simon bought in Old Town were finished, they planned to move in together. I got it…they were uber in love. And I was happy for them.

Though not so much at the moment.

“On a Wednesday?”

“Yeah, on a Wednesday. But don’t worry. I can get someone to you within ten minutes or less. Be sure to put your hazard lights on. I’ll call him now,” Simon said hurriedly.

I furrowed my brow. Hazard lights? “Wait. Who?”

“Aiden.”

I smacked my palm against my forehead and heaved a sigh. Of course.

When karma came for you, she came in strong. First Newton, then a dead Bronco, and now…Aiden.

I was in no position to argue, and Simon was right. Aiden was a mechanic. Of course he was the logical choice. I hated looking like an idiot in front of my brother’s high school buddy, but it was probably too late for that.

I took a deep breath, climbed in the SUV from the passenger side again, and slipped behind the wheel.

Maybe all this fuss wasn’t necessary. Maybe Willy just needed a rest. I turned the engine on. Nothing. After a few seconds, I tried again. This time old Willy wheezed, coughed, and whimpered before fizzing out, leaving me with a peppy Go-Go’s classic and the ominous sound of moving vehicles at close proximity.