Chapter 24 : One Finger

Chapter 24: Chapter 24 : One Finger

Ethan picked up the bullhorn and stepped in front of the car.

"Congratulations to our final five," he said. "Now we’re turning up the difficulty."

All five faces fell at once.

"Harder?" number nine groaned. "This arm stopped belonging to me yesterday."

The short-haired girl didn’t say anything. She just pressed her hand a little harder against the door. Gus, on the other hand, perked right up. "Harder how? Do we get to open the hood?" Mac let out a huge yawn. "Long as it’s not a math test, do whatever." Owen didn’t make a sound.

Bob climbed in himself, put it in neutral, and let it creep into the service bay. The five of them shuffled in alongside it, and Hendricks watched the whole way to make sure no hand ever left the car. It came to rest on the lift. The machine hummed to life, and the car rose an inch at a time until the bottom edge of the doors sat about level with a raised arm. Then it stopped.

All five of them had to reach over their heads just to keep in touch with it.

Before long, the clip of the car going up on the lift was on the site. The comments scrolled by fast:

are they INSANE??

little guy on his tiptoes GO GO GO

mac if u win can i borrow it for 1 lap

$5 says the car guy drops first

my roommate hasnt gone to class in 3 days. hes just sitting here hitting refresh

There was a stir in the crowd. Chloe squeezed through with a big bag of iced coffees, her sunglasses pushed up on her head.

"Heard it’s wrapping up today." She swung the bag at Ethan. "I came to cheer you on."

Ethan took the bag and laughed. "Front row’s full. Come sit in the back." He led her around to the rear of the service bay. A few folding chairs were set up beside the monitors, and Maya was sitting in one of them with her laptop balanced on her knees.

"Maya!" Chloe waved at her from a few steps away, then came over and pressed an iced coffee into her hand. "You haven’t slept in two days, have you? Your dark circles are down to your chin. I got you an extra shot. Life support."

Maya took the coffee and nodded. "...Thanks."

She’d crossed paths with Chloe enough times to know she was this warm with everybody. That day under the door-desk, Ethan had said it plain as anything: she’s not my girlfriend. And yet here Chloe was, standing right next to him, brushing dust off his shoulder without even thinking about it, her smile bright enough to squint at.

Maya looked down at the cup in her hands, at the beads of water sliding down its side one by one. Just last night, she’d finally set things straight with him, and he’d said he was in no rush, that he could wait. She couldn’t have said what she was feeling now. A little hollow. A little heavy.

She shook her head and jabbed the straw into the cup. None of her business. She was the one who’d said things were good the way they were.

Within half an hour, number nine’s arm had started to shake. He held on a little longer, gritted out, "I’m done," and let his hand drop. He sat down hard on the concrete, and the sidelines gave him a round of applause.

The short-haired girl lasted longer. Her arm was shaking worse than number nine’s had, and her face had gone bright red. Close to the two-hour mark, she glanced back at the crowd, smiled, and let go. She took the sticky note out of her shirt pocket, went up on her toes to press it onto the car door, and walked away.

Ethan raised the bullhorn again. "One last rule. From now on, you each get one finger."

The service bay erupted. Gus studied his hand and muttered, "Index. Index is the most stable." Owen didn’t say a word, just pressed his index finger to the door. Mac thought about it, then held up his pinky.

"Pinky." He wiggled it at the camera. "For this car? Pinky’s plenty."

Gus’s index finger slipped first. He stood there on his toes for a stunned second, then collapsed onto the floor, tipped his face up toward the car overhead, and wailed, "I’ll miss you!"

Then there were two. One at the front of the car, one at the back, with a BMW hanging in the air between them. Mac was tall enough that his arm reached full length and his pinky sat steady against the bottom of the door. Owen had to stand on his toes, and his calves never stopped trembling.

Mac spoke first, same as ever. "Bro, you’ve been up on your tiptoes for almost an hour. The ballet’s gonna come recruit you."

Owen didn’t answer.

"For real, just let go." Mac waggled his eyebrows at him. "Look at your calves. Any more shaking and they’re gonna cramp. Let go, and I’ll buy you a whole week of granola bars. Chocolate."

"Shut up." Owen’s voice spiked. "Everything’s a joke to you."

Mac raised his free hand. "Whoa, whoa. Just messing with you." He paused, then muttered, "Besides, it’s not like you need this car. You don’t even have a license. What, you gonna park it outside the dorm for decoration?"

The color drained out of Owen’s face.

"What do you know about it?" He was staring at Mac, his voice tight. "You sign a contract, shoot a video, and money just shows up. You have any idea what other people—" He didn’t finish.

"Any idea what?" The grin slid off Mac’s face too. "How am I supposed to know anything? You don’t talk all day. Where am I supposed to find out?"

The two of them faced off with a car hanging in midair between them, and neither one backed down. The air in the service bay pulled tight.

Ethan walked over and stepped in between them. "Okay, okay." He clapped his hands once and waved Noah over. "While you two are still conscious, I’ve got a question. Say you win this car. What are you gonna do with it?"

He turned to Mac first.

Mac was still steamed, his chest rising and falling, but he faced the camera and actually thought about it. "Sell it," he said. "Half the money goes to fixing my grandma’s roof. It’s been leaking two years now. The other half..." He cracked a grin. "A lifetime supply of donuts."

The camera swung to Owen.

Owen didn’t answer right away.

"For my mom," he said.

Then, slowly, he kept going.

"She waits tables at a diner during the day. At night she cleans office buildings. Saving up for my tuition."

"She hurt her knee at a factory when she was young. It aches every time it rains. She goes in anyway. A day off is a day without pay."

"After the night shift, it’s a twenty-minute walk to the bus stop. Some nights she misses the last bus, so she just sits at the stop till morning and goes straight to the diner for the breakfast shift."

"She never tells me any of this. I only found out because one night I went looking for her, and there she was, alone on the bench at the bus stop, one hand still on her knee. She’d fallen asleep like that."

He was up on his toes, and the finger against the door wouldn’t stop shaking, but his voice was strangely steady.

"I want her to have a ride home after work," he said. "That’s all."

The service bay went quiet.

Ethan raised an eyebrow and looked over at Mac.

Mac lowered his head.

After that, Mac didn’t say another word.

Twenty minutes later, Owen was shaking and couldn’t stop. His toes couldn’t hold him anymore, and his whole body swayed. The finger pressed to the door kept skidding, and he kept pushing it back, again and again. He was biting his lip, his eyes red, tears welling up that he refused to let fall.

Nobody on the sidelines was talking anymore. Some people turned away, unable to watch. Others had their fists clenched, whispering, Hang on, hang on. Sierra had her face pressed into Dylan’s shoulder. Chloe had a hand over her mouth, her coffee forgotten.

On the other side, Mac was still rock steady, his pinky planted against the door without a tremor. It was just that at some point, nobody could have said when, he’d stopped making a sound.

No one was paying him any attention.

Then Mac’s pinky slipped.

"NOOO!" He let out a wail, toppled backward, and landed on his butt on the concrete. He held the pinky up in front of his face, utterly betrayed. "You! After nineteen years! I fed you, I clothed you—" He threw his hands up at the camera. "Sorry, Grandma. Roof’s gonna have to wait till next year!"

For two seconds, the service bay was silent. Everyone just stood there, not understanding. Owen was still on his toes with his finger still pressed to the door, staring blankly at Mac sprawled on the floor.

Ethan was the first to react.

"A camera on Owen! B, close-up on Mac! C, pull wide and don’t stop rolling!" He fired it off under his breath, and Noah and Sam’s students practically dove for their positions.

He stood behind the monitors himself and watched Owen on screen slowly lower his hand, crouch down, and bury his face in his arms. He watched Mac on the floor, still wailing, lift a hand and swipe at his eyes. His heart was pounding hard and fast. That was it. The last piece of this video had just dropped into place all on its own.

Hendricks raised a hand. "Owen Price wins!"

Only then did the sidelines erupt. Cheers and whistles flooded into the service bay. Tyler sprang up out of his sleeping bag, and Gus grabbed number nine and the two of them jumped up and down yelling. At the very back of the crowd, a woman in a diner uniform was limping her way toward the front.

Noah ran over with the camera on his shoulder, so excited his voice cracked. "That’s a wrap! That’s a wrap! Ethan, who do we interview first? Owen? I think his mom’s here too—"

Before he could finish, the growl of an engine came from outside.

Every head turned. A silver BMW rolled in through the front gate. It was identical to the one on the lift. Front bumper to back, you couldn’t have told them apart, right down to the wheels.

The BMW didn’t stop at the gate. It drove straight into the crowd without so much as a tap of the horn, and people scrambled to get out of its way. The caution tape stretched taut across the bumper and snapped. The car didn’t stop until it was right under the lift, its nose barely two steps from Owen’s mother.

A black sedan pulled in right behind it. A man with a camera around his neck hopped out first and aimed it at the car on the lift, his flash popping again and again.

The cheering in the service bay died off a piece at a time.

The BMW’s door opened. A man stepped out without any hurry and took off his sunglasses. He looked up at the M3 hanging in midair, then let his eyes travel over the banner on the wall, the sleeping bags on the floor, the long column of crossed-out names on the whiteboard. Then he raised his hands and began to clap. Slowly. One clap, then another.

The sound knocked back and forth off the bare walls. The smile was still on Ethan’s face. He hadn’t had time to take it off.

"Quite a show," the man said. He didn’t raise his voice, but every word dropped onto the concrete, hard and heavy. "Too bad it’s all fake."

It was Preston.