“You can all watch it!”

Jake demonstrated how well Baby Blue could scoot, taking us out the back way from his neighborhood and joining the highway partway up the long straight climb north of town that led to a series of switchbacks. The noise from the open windows became a roar as Jake accelerated up the long pull.

We probably hit eighty on the straightaway, but I felt relaxed. Jake was a driver I could trust. I could feel and hear that the car still had top left when Jake eased the throttle to take the first switchback. We both knew this road well—three hairpins, then a wide curve and three more. Then Jake took the turnout to Lookaway Point, easing into the parking slot with all of Star Valley below us.

Jake pulled the parking brake, and we got out of the car, approaching the rugged old telescope with the too-narrow field of view that was there just for tourists. Jake tossed me the keys, and I pocketed them, still feeling a thrill of ownership. We walked right to the edge of the paved part, where Jake leaned on the four-foot retaining wall, his long arms making a tripod.

I stood there staring at him—I’m not sure why.

“We’re gonna miss this view when we go away to college,” Jake commented flatly.

“Yeah, I guess.” Would I be going to college? Best not think about that—but it was unlikely that Jake and I would go to the same school. Especially now, with what had happened to me.

“You been up here with Megan?” he asked.

“Couple of times,” I said.

“Joanna likes to come up and make out with her round butt sitting on the wall,” he said with a quirk of a smile.

I considered that. The other side of the wall was a drop of about eight feet to a steep slope that wasn’t quite a cliff. Brush and chaparral and small trees would stop you from rolling very far if you fell, but getting back up to the Point would be a job. It sounded like a risk Joanna would enjoy.

“If the light is good,” Jake continued, “practically the whole town can see who’s up here by which cars are in the lot.”

Another attraction for Joanna, I decided—an audience. I glanced at Baby Blue. The Capri was not a car that would be recognized yet, so no one down in the Valley could tell who we were that way. Jake’s big red truck and Joanna’s jaundiced Beetle were well-known, though.

I looked down at the valley again, picking out landmarks: the Ford shop at the east end of town, the Medical Center off the south road, Megan’s trailer park near the airport to the west—and of course, the high school football field in the middle of the town. Almost directly below us were the parking half-rings for the El Tesoro Drive-In, one of Friendly’s two places to see movies.

I could trace the route I took last night from Megan’s up another spur of the mountains, almost to the old logging camp—just out of sight around a curve of the highlands. The gravel pit was in another canyon off in that direction, and I couldn’t even find the road to it. Less thought sent that direction, the better, I knew.

“Are you crying?” Jake asked suddenly.

I shrugged, feeling my lip tremble. I was looking at Baby Blue now, and something in my chest just ached.

“What the hell are you crying about?” Jake wanted to know. He sounded like he wanted to tuck his tail between his legs and run.

The wind whipped at us, and I might have been able to blame it for my tears, but instead, I blurted out, “My daddy gave me a car, and it’s beautiful!”

* * *

We couldn’t get off that mountain fast enough. We loaded up, me in the driver’s seat this time, and headed back down the long hill. Neither of us said a word after my outburst. I could still feel my face burning, and Jake looked as if he were chewing on nails and hadn’t decided whether he liked the taste.

I felt lightheaded. Friendly sits almost a mile high, and we had been up another thousand feet or so, short of the crest of the Rim by two thousand, at least. But the thin air didn’t explain my feelings. Something else was going on.

I glanced at Jake and had to suppress laughter now. He looked so pissed off. I knew he wouldn’t appreciate it if I giggled, though. What new curse had I been afflicted with? My emotions were running wildly around the landscape like a hunting dog on too long of a lead.

“Let’s just go straight to the Barn for the meeting. Joanna’s gonna pick me up there.”

“‘Kay,” I agreed.

The lot was crowded behind Barn o’Pizza because we had managed to arrive a few minutes late, and I had to park across the alley, which actually suited me. No need to find a safe place for Baby Blue in the crowd of jalopies, jeeps and junkyard pick-ups. This was different from parking the Mom Wagon. Baby was mine!

The rowdy bunch of Friendly Lions had claimed the back room, and big pans of pizza were already being distributed. A pause in the noise as we entered allowed me to overhear someone ask, “Who’s that with Jake?”

I didn’t hear if anyone answered.

Leland Frick and Coach Wilson were at the front of the wide room, setting up the big whiteboard to serve as a screen for Lee’s home movies and Coach’s chalk talk. But no one wastes time trying to get the attention of the animals until they’ve been fed. Jake and I made our way to the table we usually sat at, semi-reserved for us by the protocol of teams. Jake and I were star players, so we sat near Coach.

Jake had claimed a pitcher of root beer, and I had snagged the cheese and pepper shakers we needed. The food smelled spicy and inviting, and soon I had eaten my third slice. I had my eye on a bacon and pineapple pie that had just landed on our table when someone yelled out, “Hey! It’s Pete!”

And soon, I was hearing congratulations and cheers, mostly for the way I had variously kicked, stomped, or otherwise messed up the Bulldog running back.

“But I didn’t!” I protested. I had actually begun to think of Ginger, who wore #17 like I did, as sort of a friend—or at least a friendly competitor. But the Lions’ blood was up, and they reveled in recounting to each other how I had viciously broken Ginger’s ankle or stove in his ribs. Four different people claimed to have seen me turn savage—all of it made up, because it just didn’t happen.

I don’t know what my face might have looked like, but Jake suddenly grabbed my chin and turned me to face him. I really couldn’t hear him in the hubbub, but I could sort of read his lips. “Don’t you start crying now!” he was saying.

He let go, and I shook my head. “Meatheads!” I yelled back at him, and he nodded.

I debated a retreat to the bathroom but decided that was the last place I wanted to go. We’d been in there when Jake had pulled the damfool stunt that left him with an almost broken hand.

But Lee climbed onto a chair and brought relative quiet to the mob by promising, loudly, “I’ve got the hit Pete put on the running ‘Dog on film. You can all watch it!”

The Beast roared its approval, and Lee moved to the controls of the projector, sitting almost behind me and to my left. “Someone get the light,” Lee called out, and it got dark, (or at least darkish, since the sun still shone through a high bank of windows on one wall).

And suddenly there I was on the screen, running down the field after our kickoff, angling toward the corner where Ginger waited to take the kick and try to run it back.

“When did my ass get so round?” I wondered. But there it was, center screen in tight satin-blue football pants, the obvious focus of Lee’s filming.

Laughter filled the room, and someone yelled, “Nice buns!”

I would have died if I could take Lee with me.

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