Tom may be old and cranky, but he is tough. After all, he made it through last night’s shenanigans unscathed, just a little muddy. The rust hole in the passenger door looks like Willie Nelson’s guitar, and I love him. When Mom and Carole gave him to me for my sixteenth birthday, the first place I drove him, of course, was to Mags’ house. She met me in the driveway as I pulled in.
“It’s a boy, and his name is Tom,” she said.
I agreed the Honda was a boy, but Tom? Really?
“Come on, Mags, he’s at least an Atticus or Bilbo.”
“Nope! His name is Tom. Mags has spoken.”
She got in the car, and we drove to Neel’s house. He was zero help, and Mags had the last word, as usual. It’s easier to let Mags make decisions for us. Board games or video games? Thai food or pizza? What movie to watch? What to name a car?
Mags doesn’t drive. Neel’s overprotective parents rarely let him drive. So that left me as the friend with the car. It gave me a role in the trio, and I like to feel needed. I wish I were picking up my friends right now and driving us to what should have been the first day of our senior year together. It’s the best and last of the school years! I want to be with my friends.
I slide behind the wheel, and instinctively reach for the photo of Mags, Neel, and me. It’s pockmarked and wrinkled from last night’s rain, but the joy on our faces still shows through. I kiss the photo and safely tuck it away in the visor. I pull up my favorite playlist and crank the music. Tom’s rusty frame rattles with R.E.M.’s “(Don’t Go Back To) Rockville.” With one hand, I dig through my backpack for a granola bar when I remember the texts from Mags. I pause the music and call my friend.
“It’s about time, Mr. Bugg! OMG! How quickly you forget about me! When you didn’t text me back, I thought you were dead in some new school hazing ritual gone horribly wrong.”
“It’s public school, not Brakebills! Besides, school hasn’t even started yet.”
“I still don’t understand why you had to change schools. I know, tuition. Blah, blah, blah. It’s only an hour away, and you have Tom now. Are you sure you can’t get your moms to change their minds?”
“I swear to God, Mags, you have the nagging skills of a middle-aged Jewish mother.”
“Fine! Make fun of the weird girl! Who just happens to be worried about you! Also, you should know better than to bring up this old feud. You know very well that your Jewish family guilt has nothing on my Taiwanese family guilt. My mother’s guilt, and her mother before her, and her mother before her, and so on and so on, is steeped in a long lineage. It’s basically science. How many times are we going to have this argument?”
“I’m sorry, Mags. I still love you. I’m just running late. I had a teeny tiny accident last night coming home from Neel’s—nothing to worry about—and I slept through my alarm this morning. It was actually your texts that woke me up. Mags to my rescue!”
“So, let me get this straight. You sleep through that obnoxious old-person’s alarm clock of yours, but a little text beep wakes you up? You’re weirder than I thought. Well, I guess it’s a good thing. You know the rules, Bug Boy, no normals allowed.”
If Mags only knew how abnormal I am. How many people think they’re going to die at exactly 11:22 p.m.? Despite sharing some personal secrets with Mags over the years, this is one, and there are others, I will have to keep to myself.
“Wait, did you say you were in an accident?”
“Correction. A tiny accident. But as much as I would like to chat with you, Mags, I gotta go. I’m pulling into my new school.”
“Accident? OMG! Tom! Is Tom okay? I’m sure you’re fine, right? But is Tom okay? I need to know!”
“Tom is fine. I just swerved into a ditch. I’ve got to go…”
“I’m standing outside school too. I don’t know where Neel is, though. He was supposed to meet me here by the flagpole. The bell is about to ring. I swear everyone is abandoning me these days. My future is going to get ugly, Simon. Like Jabba the Hutt ugly. I’ll die a lonely spinster! Abandoned and bitter with a house full of cats, books, and balls of yarn. Oh wait, here comes Neel. You’re coming over after school to decompress, right? It’s our tradition.”
“It’s gonna take a lot longer to get there…”
“Simon, we’ve been doing this every year since the seventh grade. Don’t break tradition. Is your mom giving you grief about the long drive?”
“Don’t worry, Mags. I’ll be there, and I’m pretty sure Mom doesn’t even remember we do this every year. She’s forgetting everything these days. Her new job is all encompassing. She’ll be working late again, and Carole…”
I climb out of my car and look around for the front door, but all I can see are kids. Hundreds of kids. Kids everywhere.
“Whatevs. Come hungry. My dad is cooking a feast tonight. There will be dumplings and steamed buns. Steamed buns.”
I halt my walk toward the door, stopping instead to sit on a low, brick wall, and drop my backpack in the grass.
“Wait! What? Oh…Neel says hello. Hold on, let me tell Neel you tried to kill our Tom.”
“I did not try to kill Tom! Mags, I gotta go. Say hi to Neel for me. See you both after school. Bye.”
She starts to say something more, but I end the call before she gets it out. Knowing Mags, she would keep talking while both our school bells ring, making all three of us late. Oh shit! There it is. That’s the bell for real. Now I am late.
