Freaky in Fresno Read online

  Aunt May stops struggling with the dogs and gives Wes a genuine smile. He grins back, and for the first time I notice Wes looks different. Less covered in drive-in dust than usual. Like maybe he took a moment to comb his hair and put on a brand-new Magic Under the Stars T-shirt before leaving his office inside the snack building.

  He holds up the hot dogs like he expects Aunt May’s wolves to sit neatly and wait for him to hand out the wieners one at a time. Instead, Wes is surprised by a three-way furry tackle-hug.

  Aunt May lunges to help Wes and giggles as they both struggle to stay standing.

  “They’re not exactly what you’d call trained,” she says as they feed hot dogs to the wagging pups. Between accepting wolf kisses, Wes introduces himself.

  “I’ve been working here at the Starlight for over thirty-five years,” he says. “Started helping out at thirteen, and I’ve been the owner for going on twelve years now.”

  “That’s amazing,” Aunt May says as she wrestles one of her wolves to the ground. “Most people don’t stick to one thing that long.”

  “What can I say? I love movies.” Wes stiff-arms a pup who’s trying to steal the last hot dog.

  “Now, Wulf,” Aunt May scolds the pup mildly, “say please to the nice man.”

  Wulf leaps up and places a paw on each of Wes’s shoulders, nuzzling his face until Wes is laughing so hard he hands over the final hot dog.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so affectionate with a stranger.” Aunt May’s bracelets jingle as she runs a hand through her hair.

  Wes grins at her. “And all it took was a pack of old hot dogs.”

  Aunt May moves her hand to rest on his arm and I squint at Wes, trying to see him through a forty-five-year-old woman’s eyes. But I can’t do it. He’s still just Drive-in Wes.

  Lana looks at me from behind the wheel and widens her eyes as if to ask, Are you seeing this?

  I nod and cover my mouth with my hand.

  Just then, Jake gives a loud, “Oh!”

  Aunt May grabs at empty air as Wes is knocked facedown and instantly buried alive under all three dogs.

  “I’m okay!” he insists while blocking the thank yous from the pups grateful for their hot dog party.

  “Dang, I missed recording that,” Lana says, pulling out her phone.

  “Not everything needs video documentation, Lana.” I wave Aunt May over and say, “Can I have a quick word with you about the car?”

  Aunt May calls out, “Come on, Lana, it’s Ricki’s turn in the driver’s seat now.”

  Which makes me realize it’s actually pretty silly for me to pass up the chance to at least drive the pink Skylark with the top down. I mean, it’s only fair.

  “That’s right, Lana.” I climb out and walk around the front of the car. “It’s time for me to take my proper place behind the wheel.”

  Grudgingly, Lana slides across the bench seat to the passenger side and starts scrolling on her phone.

  The second I slip my body behind the wheel of the Skylark I feel something shift inside me. This seems familiar. I allow my hands to trace both sides of the steering wheel. A thick stripe of chrome runs the full length of the dashboard, and the round gauges are spread wide like expectant eyes watching us.

  The emblem in the center of the steering wheel inexplicably blurs.

  For a surreal moment, I am a child again, playing pretend driver in Nona’s old car while Nona gives a full-bellied laugh beside me at the way my feet don’t reach the pedals. I blink, and now my knees are back to being crammed against the dashboard and Nona is gone. Lana and I have to work together to move the bench seat backward to make room for my long legs. Once it locks into a perfect fit, I give the engine a rev.

  My heart races as I slide the beautiful chrome gear shift into the drive position.

  Almost before I know what’s happening, the pink convertible is peeling out of the drive-in so fast Wes hollers for me to slow down. I wave to him in the rearview mirror and laugh as we roar down the wide center aisle, making a sharp turn at the playground in front.

  I drive the convertible through the exit and underneath the Starlight marquee. The wind immediately grabs my hair and whips it above my head. Like it’s telling me, “Wake up!”

  I look over at Lana with her swirling blonde hair, and for a moment I am transported back to a sunny grass field in our shared Barbie Jeep as we crown over the peak of a too-steep hill and gleefully lose all control.

  But I can’t allow myself to get sucked into all of this. After all the rejection, I can’t let myself be overcome by nostalgia and give Lana a free pass to drive away in this amazing car she does not deserve.

  Because if I give in now, it will definitely become Lana’s car.

  “Unless I get to keep the Skylark for opening night,” I say, “I’m telling Aunt May that this can’t work and she should just return the car.”

  Lana looks at me though her dancing hair. “I can’t believe you’d be that spiteful.”

  “Try me,” I say, and start working up the strength to resist the liberty coursing through my limbs right now. Am I nuts to not just play along? I mean, semi-part-time use of a cotton-candy pink convertible is much better than no cotton-candy pink convertible, right?

  As I slow the car to make the turn back into the Starlight, Lana pulls down the sun visor and leans forward to check her face. Her makeup is perfect, of course, but she cringes at her reflection. In one smooth motion, she opens the archaic ashtray in the middle of the dashboard, pulls a pink lipstick out from underneath the built-in cigarette lighter, and holds back her hair so she can trace her pout.

  And that’s what does it.

  Lana has already started moving herself into the car. Like a dog marking its territory, that pink lipstick in the ashtray is her way of claiming full ownership.

  She’s still looking in the mirror, watching herself glide the lipstick around her mouth for a second time, when I slam on the brake. Lana’s head nods forward from the force, and her lipstick leaves a wide pink streak across her cheek.

  “Ricki!” she wails like I’ve just stabbed her.

  “I’m not kidding, Lana,” I snap. “I get the car tomorrow night or neither one of us does.”

  She turns and grins at me, her eyes crazy-wide. “Yeah, but see the thing is . . .” She runs her fingers down her cheek, smearing the lipstick into streaks. “I’m betting you don’t really have the willpower to give back this car.”

  Before I can move, she grabs my face and wipes matching pink streaks on my cheek like war paint.

  I don’t flinch. “Just watch me.” I hit the gas and the Skylark peels out, kicking up gravel as we fly across the wide-open lot toward Aunt May’s pickup. I can’t wait to give Aunt May a speech about what a selfish liar Lana has become.

  Except that as soon as we get close to Aunt May’s pickup, I see that the dogs are already loaded into the back and she’s sitting in the driver’s seat with a big grin on her face. Wes is sitting next to her with a double-big grin.

  “Wes is showing me his old-fashioned candy supplier,” our aunt says out the window as she pulls her truck forward. “I can’t believe they carry Bottle Caps and wax lips!”

  “I can’t believe your aunt never tasted a Zagnut bar,” Wes says from the passenger seat and she shoves him playfully.

  “Bye, girls. Love you,” Aunt May says. “Ricki, I’ll see you here tomorrow night for the grand reopening. I’m trusting the Skylark will draw you two together, closer than ever. Drive it mindfully.”

  “Keep an eye on Gwen and Brad,” Wes calls out to Jake, who’s walking toward us now. “I’ll be back before they’re done. Probably long before they’re done . . .”

  “Aunt May! Wait!” I call, but she and Wes are already pulling away. “This isn’t going to work!”

  May slows her truck. “What’s that, Ricki?”

  Lana covers my mouth with both hands and calls after our aunt, “She says she’s so happy she could twerk!”

>   “You girls and your crazy dance moves,” Aunt May says with a chuckle. “Oh, hey, looks like you both got something on your faces.” She points to her cheek and gestures to ours. “Pink taffy or something.”

  She turns to Wes and we hear her squeal, “Oooh, do you think they’ll have Laffy Taffy?”

  Wes nods as she pulls forward, and with three sharp barks and one long, low cloud of dust, they’re gone. Leaving Lana and me on our own to war over the pink convertible.

  chapter 5

  I crank the gearshift into park as the dust settles, and Lana and I simultaneously turn in our seats to face each other. Our eyes lock and the two of us embark on the most intense stare down of our lives.

  “Terrific car,” Jake says, reminding me he’s here. I just nod slowly in response without breaking eye contact with Lana. We stay focused on our no-blinking stare for so long that I can feel the lipstick on my cheek begin to melt and run liquid down my face.

  Eventually Jake mumbles some excuse about checking on Gwen and Brad and says, “A dark screen tomorrow night will mean everything we’ve worked for has been in vain.”

  I nod again, feeling like I’m already throwing everything away. But my deep anger toward Lana keeps me glued in place. Locked into our stare.

  Once Jake’s gone I swear I hear a low growl emitting from my cousin’s throat.

  But I’m still the one in the driver’s seat.

  Cherishing the control I wield, I narrow my eyes at Lana and dance my fingers mockingly across the top of the steering wheel. I’m surprised to find it’s covered with a fine layer of powder. Rubbing my fingers together, I feel the abrasion of grit and break eye contact to look around the inside of the car.

  Not only is the entire interior of the car covered with drive-in dust, I realize Lana and I are both blanketed in a thin layer of the shining powder. Tiny silver particles gleam in the sunshine. It’s as if the Starlight is laying claim to the vintage car. I’m emboldened by the thought.

  “I’m not moving,” I say. “I’ll just hold the car hostage here until tomorrow night.”

  Lana says, “My mom already texted me back and this convertible is now a crucial part of my epic appearance at Digifest tomorrow night. There’s no way you will deny me this.”

  “Your fans are not going to remember you a year from now. Or even six months!” I say. “They’re like goldfish with tiny little attention spans. What are you going to do to keep them clicking, Lana? How do you plan to keep gaining more and more followers?”

  Apparently, I’ve made a direct hit on a nerve because Lana’s left eye twitches as she springs across the seat, lunging at me with both hands. Before I can react, she’s grabbed both my wrists and is trying to wrestle my grip off the steering wheel.

  I’m impressed by her strength, but I refuse to let go.

  Lana shoves her small body against me so hard, the two of us are both in the driver’s seat. All four of our fists clutch the thin steering wheel as we sit tightly together as one. Lana digs the spike of her high heel into the top of my foot, making the engine rev loudly.

  If I popped the gear from park to drive right now the Skylark would speed straight for the playground, launch off the slide, and send Lana and me flying right through the towering white movie screen.

  In frustration, I start honking the horn with my elbow. Jake comes running out of the projector room, followed by Gwen and Brad in their overalls. They all watch us, trying to figure out what on earth is going on between the two of us in the front seat of this convertible.

  “I am keeping this car for our Friday night reopening!” I screech at Lana. “This drive-in means everything to me and it is so much more important than some stupid Digiwidgifestivalcon.”

  “You know it’s Digifest,” Lana screams back. “And my whole future is hinging on attracting more followers tomorrow! This car is perfectly on-brand for me!”

  “You think your fleeting fame is all that matters,” I say. “This amazing drive-in could close down forever.”

  At the exact same time, we both yell at each other, “You are so selfish!”

  Ahead of us, the giant movie screen spontaneously flashes to life.

  A bright light projects onto the screen and begins to strobe, while Brad releases a Wilhelm scream to our left.

  Jake puts a protective arm around both him and Gwen while Lana and I continue wrestling for the Skylark’s steering wheel, using our elbow bones as weapons.

  Suddenly, it’s as if the steering wheel gives us both a huge electric shock. With a loud crackle, the convertible fires off tiny sparks in every direction.

  Lana and I both shriek in pain and surprise, but neither one of us lets go of the wheel. In fact, I squeeze my fists around it even tighter.

  The movie screen in front of us continues flashing and snippets of short movie clips begin to play. Despite the sunlight making it difficult to recognize the picture, I swear I see the image of a grown woman wearing bell-bottoms and riding a skateboard as she blows a giant bubblegum bubble.

  Lana and I finally stop elbowing each other and stare straight ahead as the screen flashes with a spiky-haired Jamie Lee Curtis confidently walking toward us in heels and an amazing black dress. I can’t help but feel soothed by her image.

  “JLC,” I say out loud.

  “What?” Lana says.

  “The ultimate scream queen.” I gesture to the screen, but it’s now showing Lindsay Lohan yelling at a little kid. “Not her,” I say. “Jamie Lee.”

  The heavy metal music that was playing earlier begins to speed up and get louder. It almost sounds like we’re on a carnival ride, and I instinctively let go of the steering wheel and grab for the door handle. But when I pull on it nothing happens.

  My stomach gives a lurch and I feel an inexplicable panic rising in my throat. “My door’s locked.”

  Lana leans over and pulls on the passenger-side handle. “Mine too!”

  “What’s going on?” I say. “It’s like the car is going all ‘Stephen King Christine’ out of nowhere.”

  “It looks like the movie projector is possessed too.” Lana points to the kaleidoscope of twisting colors now dancing onscreen. “It’s making me dizzy!”

  I shake my head but can’t look away. “I guess the new equipment must be malfunctioning.”

  As we watch, Jamie Lee Curtis reappears to rock out on an electric guitar for just a blip before the screen switches back to strobing colors. Next, we see a clip of a teenaged Jodie Foster riding on the top of a waterskiing pyramid. Or rather, a very obvious green screen shot of Jodie Foster pretending to water-ski. That image switches to Lindsay Lohan angry-kissing a guy and shoving him behind a tree before the skateboard mom reappears, now dealing with a washing machine overflowing with a giant heap of bubbles.

  The images begin to flip by faster and faster until a flash of pink light and a blast of music explodes so bright and so loud that Lana covers her face and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  screech

  whoock

  zzzap

  My scream is loud enough that I can barely hear Lana’s scream beside me. But when I stop she continues her unrestrained shriek for a full thirty seconds. Finally, she gives a few stammering, “What the—what the—what the—?” and I hear her dissolve into a long, high-pitched whine.

  I keep my eyes squeezed shut as I try to catch my breath. Everything goes quiet.

  When I dare to look again I see that the screen in front of us has stopped flashing and both Gwen and Brad are clinging to Jake. Brad’s blond head is tucked tightly into Jake’s armpit and Gwen announces at the top of her lungs, “This drive-in has a poltergeist!”

  “Are you girls okay?” Jake calls. “It looked like the convertible was covered in static electricity just now.”

  Brad yells out from his position in Jake’s armpit. “How did movie clips play without the projector hooked up?”

  Gwen wails, “It’s not even plugged in!”

  I lean back and rest my hands on the
steering wheel, and Lana slides along the bench seat away from me. When I look over, I can feel the shock on my face mirroring hers. For a moment, I’m just happy to be okay and I’m glad that Lana seems to be fine too.

  I ask loudly, “Are you all right?”

  “My ears are ringing,” Lana yells, covering her ears with her manicured hands.

  “Mine too,” I call. “Guess you wish you’d captured that on your phone, huh?”

  Lana drops her hands from her ears and I can see by the set of her mouth that the shock is already wearing off. Her eyes dart around, as if she’s scheming how she can get me out of the driver’s seat and claim the convertible as her own.

  As if to confirm my thoughts, she reaches over, turns off the ignition, and takes the key.

  Cupping her small hands together to hide the car’s pom-pom key chain inside, she says, “I don’t know how you did that, Ricki, but nice try. This car is mine.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I say loudly. “I don’t even know what just happened.”

  Lana says, “Okay, cuz, but answer me this: What are you going to do with no key?”

  I sigh. “Well, cuz, I could just unhook the battery and leave the car parked exactly where it is until tomorrow night.”

  Lana looks perplexed, like she hadn’t thought of this possibility.

  “But I don’t really feel like camping in a convertible overnight just because you are the most stubborn and selfish person on the planet.” I give up.

  “I am not the most . . . But wait, does this mean I win? I get the car for tomorrow night?”

  To answer her, I reach around to pull up the lock. I swipe at the lipstick on my face as I open the door and climb out of the pink Skylark.

  “We’ve wasted enough time,” I say and then call out to Jake, “Let’s get to work on that old popcorn machine.”

  I don’t even look back when I hear Lana restart the car.

  She lets the engine idle a few moments before putting the Skylark in gear, but I just keep walking and don’t turn around to watch her pull out. By the time she zooms past I’ve reached Jake and the others.