20-Sebastian

Me: You stopping by later? Mom invited the whole crew for a barbeque.

That was the last text I sent Shorty an hour ago, and she hasn't responded. Every time I text her, my mind still can't comprehend that we almost lost her again. The girl must have nine lives because she always comes out of it. I don't know what I would do if she won't make it out alive one day.

The first time I met Shorty was in middle school. She was a tiny little thing with a head full of crazy curls and a smile that lasted for days. That was the first time I saw what her father had done, even though I didn't know then.

What was wrong with this girl?

She looked sad all the time, but today she has been crying.

"Sebastian, why don't you ask Sadie if she wants to help pick the apples?" Miss Dee, our teacher, asked me.

We were on a field trip at the apple orchard. Our teacher split up into teams of two to fill the baskets with apples. The team with the most apples would win. It sucked for me that Sadie was my partner.

Sadie, I guess that was her name, kept to herself. She didn't even go into the field to pick the apples.

I sighed.

I didn't want to talk to her.

"Fine," I muttered as I made my way to the sad little girl.

I walked over to her, trying to avoid the puddles from the rain to protect my awesome Air Jordans.

When I got closer, she was sitting under one of those trees that looked sad like her. I think Miss Dee called them willows or something. I stepped on a branch, and her head snapped up. She gave me a sad smile.

She was really tiny.

She had black curly hair in pigtails with red ribbon tangled within the braid. It looked pretty cool.

"Why are you sitting over here? You're supposed to be picking apples," I told her in annoyance.

She pulled her bruised knees to her chest and rested her crossed arms on top of them. "I don't feel good," she said in a whisper.

I noticed her arms had red and blue marks, just like her knees.

"Are you sick?" I snapped, annoyed with myself for being interested in talking with the sad girl.

Sadie turned her big sad brown eyes toward me, and I felt bad for her for a split second.

She shook her head.

I stepped closer and dropped to my knees in front of her. "Who hurt you?" I said a lot nicer this time.

"No one. I fell."

She was lying. I hated liars.

I stood back on my feet and clenched my hands into fists. "Don't lie!" I yelled. She startled and her lips started to tremble.

"Why are you so mean?" she cried, rubbing her eyes.

"I'm—I'm not mean. I just don't like you looking sad all the time," I said honestly but I wouldn't say that I liked how my tummy flipped whenever she looked at me.

"You don't?" she asked, surprised.

I tucked my hands into my pockets. "Yeah, I don't. You're too pretty to be sad."

She gave me a wide smile.

I tried to be mad at her, but I couldn't. Mom always told me I had to be nice to everyone and treat girls extra special.

"You're my partner, and we need to go pick apples. Do you want to win or not?"

She glanced up at me and wiped her face. "What do we win?"

I rolled my eyes at her.

"Are you coming or what?"

I watched as she stood up and brushed the dirt off her jean shorts with ruffles. She wore red jelly sandals that matched her shirt.

"Ok, let's do this."

I raised my brow.

We walked side by side when she asked me, "What's your name again?"

I glanced at her sideways, and the corners of my lip turned into a smirk. "Sebastian, but you can call me Seb."

"Seb!" my uncle yells from the other side of the garage.

"Yeah!" I shout back.

"Is la Se?orita Valdez's tires ready?"

I pull the rag from my back pocket and wipe my forehead. "Yeah, she can pick it up today."

"Ok. I'll be back. I need to run an errand."

In the past few weeks, business has been picking up. The guys and I have been working every day after school and long hours on the weekends. Two other guys work during the day while we're at school. My uncle opened this shop in the early eighties. The garage is on a busy road with bodegas on the corner, payday loan stores and coffee shops across the street, and a deli shop and tattoo parlor on our side. The building looks like a small house on the outside; the inside has your everyday garage feel. The rich dank smell of motor oil, brake cleaner, and tires fills the space. I practically lived in the garage growing up. I spent more time here than hanging with the guys like any other normal kid would be doing. We would help my uncle with oil changes, rebuild engines, and exterior work on the body of the car.

"What time we leaving?" Gio walks out of the breakroom toward me.

"Pretty soon." We still have another hour to go.

"What about Reina? Is she coming?" I shrug. "I don't know. She hasn't responded to my message."

From the corner of my eye, movement catches my attention—Max swaggers in with a long-ass hot dog in his hand.

"Where the hell have you been?" I ask as he makes his way toward us. He can never resist the Tasty Coney hotdog stand.

"I was hungry," he says nonchalantly with a mouthful of food.

I shake my head.

Max sits on the stool beside the car I've been working on. It's a 1972 burnt orange Datsun 210 with a black vinyl interior. It's got a little over 30,000 miles and is in excellent condition for an older vehicle. Only one owner has kept up with the maintenance and the car's only updates are tinted windows and new tires, which were added today.

Gio leans against the working table, wiping the grease from his hands with a rag, and says, "Dude, we're going to eat at Seb's."

"So?" Max responds. "I'll still be hungry by then."

For the next twenty minutes, we shoot the shit and clean up our work areas. My phone vibrates in my pocket as I lower the car using a hydraulic lift.

Lupe: We're heading over to your mom's now. I'm bringing the drinks. Anything else before we head out?

Me: Nah, we're good. I'll see you in 20.

Lupe: K. Besos. Xo

Loud car alarms go off as I slide my phone back into my pocket, and more cars are honking in the distance. I look up just in time to see a man on a bicycle dressed in black and eyes hidden under a hat. He throws a package through the open garage door.

A message dings on my phone before my head can process what happened.

Unknown: Boom! Say goodbye Motherfuckers.

"Hey, asshole!" I glance up to see Max jog toward the package, but I yank him back by his shirt.

"The fuck, man!" Max shrieks.

"We need to get the fuck out! NOW!" I roar, pushing the guys out the back door. Before our feet pass the back door, a loud booming sound roars through my ears, and I'm suddenly flying mid-air. Everything begins to swirl into darkness as I plunge toward the ground.