Saved By Her Guitar

The next day at school, Morgan fell into her own world. She ignored everyone. She ignored the people who gave her props for maintaining her integrity and she ignored the people who bad mouthed her for losing.
After she’d fallen asleep in class, she was sent to see her dean.
“Having a bad day?” the woman asked.
“Not really.”
“What happened to you?”
“That was a bad day.”
“I’m going to let you off the hook this time.”
“Thank you.”
When she left the dean’s office she went to lunch. She sat alone by the doors.
“Hey, loser.”
Morgan smiled at her, “You’re really proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Of course. And with your hair pulled back like that you put my handy work on display.”
“I pulled my hair back so that everyone will know that there is a difference between this,” she pointed to her face, “and what I’m going to do to you.”
“You talk big.”
“I fight big too.”
“What’s going on over here?”
One of the security guards had noticed the tension and wondered over.
“Nothing, sir. Big Barda was just leaving my majestic presence.”
The girl eyed her then turned on her heels.

After the exchange at lunch, when ever Morgan saw the girl in the hallways, she tried to knock Morgan’s shoulder out of its socket.
“The feeling’s mutual,” Morgan would say under her breath.
When school ended, her phone rang.
“What’s going on, Mel?”
“Nothing. I miss you being here. It’s really quiet.”
“Where’s mom?”
“She’s been sick.”
“What? But two weeks ago-
“I know. It’s weird. Uncle Josh took her to the hospital this morning. She had a fever and she’s been in bed since then.”
“How is she?”
“I don’t know. She’s not looking good.”
“How are you, Mel?’
“I’m a little scared.”
“Just call and talk to me. I’m here.”
“I know.”
Morgan felt useless. Melanie was all he way in California and needing her big sister badly. She’d have to make due with the phone because she knew her father didn’t trust to send her back.
“So how’s dad?”
“He’s living with this model looking chick or should I say she’s living with him. Whatever. I don’t like her and I almost punched her in the face yesterday but dad stopped me and was pissed and yada yada yada.”
Melanie laughed, “I’m glad to hear that New York hasn’t changed you.”
“Oh, no.”
“Any boys?”
“Seriously?” Morgan laughed.
“Yes, seriously. It is you we’re talking about.”
Dillan had parked by Morgan’s car. His green eyes moved over her; over her black leather jacket with a blue strip going down each sleeve, her blue hoodie underneath, black jeans, black tank top and black Nikes. And of course, her matching hair.
He saw her laughing on her phone. When she got to her car she leaned against the side and checked her watch. He knew he would like her from day one. She was enticing. But this carefree, relaxed girl in front of him was something else in itself. She was gorgeous even with her revealed bruised face. He wanted her. He’d have her.
“He seems like a nice guy. We’ll see.”
“Keep me updated.”
“Will do.”
“Two-
“Fingas.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
When he saw her hang up, he was about to get out of his car but he saw the girl that Morgan had been fighting yesterday approach her.
He saw Morgan smile and say something. It must not have been nice because the girl pushed Morgan causing her to laugh harder. Then the girl leaned forward and said something that made Morgan stop laughing. She cocked her head to the left and squinted her eyes in thought. She checked her watch again and looked around the lot. The girl made a what’s-it-gonna-be gesture. Dillan blew his horn so she’d see him. She walked over to his car and he let the window down.
“One hour.”
“For?”
“Yeah, I’m going to end this today. You can come. It’s sure to be entertaining for anyone rooting for me.”
“Where?”
“Follow me.”
Morgan went back to her car and motioned for her opponent to lead the way.
They soon found themselves in an abandoned subway. The crowd stood on both side of Morgan and the girl. Dillan stood at the front on Morgan’s side. She slid the leather jacket and hoodie off her shoulders. The tank top shoed the upper body that none of these kids knew existed. She handed her things to Dillan and pulled on a pair of fingerless motorcycle gloves from her back pocket.
“Are you sure about this?” Dillan asked.
She smiled and turned back to the girl.
“Have faith.”
“You ready, mouse?” the girl taunted.
“Are you, Big Barda?”
“My name is Ashley!”
“Really?” Morgan asked genuinely surprised.
The girl threw herself at Morgan. She let Ashley land a few hits and then she grew bored.
“Here it is.”
She turned and winked at Dillan then dodged Ashley’s punch. She threw three punches at the side of Ashley’s ribs then threw the back of her fist against Ashley’s jaw. She then swung at her throat, stopped short, and then snapped her hand open forcing her fingers into Ashley’s throat. Ashley let out a choking noise and received an uppercut. The kids cheered like wild animals.
Ashley staggered back and Morgan followed. She harshly stepped on the side of Ashley’s knee and there was a loud snap sound that was drowned out by Ashley’s booming shriek. Ashley stood limp and never saw the spinning back kick that landed on the side of her head. The girl fell down, unresponsive.
“And that’s that.”
The crowd was silent. All that could be heard was Morgan’s footsteps as she retrieved her things for Dillan and the Velcro as she removed the gloves.
She and Dillan left and soon other kids began to emerge from the subway more and more.
“What a statement.”
“My specialty.”
She followed him into a nearby coffee house.
“I’m so glad you didn’t pick a Starbucks.”
He smiled at her.
They sat at a window table. A woman walked over to their table.
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” Dillan said.
“And you?”
“Indeed.”
The woman poured the coffee and left them alone.
“So, where’d you learn to fight like that?”
She smiled, suddenly shy, “You know how Jesus was the prodigal son?”
“Yeah.”
“For my father, I was the prodigal daughter.”
“He was happy to have a little girl?”
“Not quite but once he saw that I was taking a tomboy turn, he took much interest. He put me in a karate class and I excelled. My mother didn’t like it. She tried to negate the effects by putting me into music. It helped. But then I got in my first fight and asked him to put me in a boxing class.”
“How old were you?”
“Eight. After a year of that he forced me into kickboxing which I didn’t like at first but then I did. I loved kicking people. My mother noticed that the classes were making me a bit violent. I was fighting more. I was winning more. A kickboxing tournament rolled around.”
“How did your mother feel about that?”
“She was upset with my father. She blamed him for my interest in violence. He said that she should be grateful we’d found a common love. He asked my opinion. I told her I wanted to do the tournament.”
“And?”
“I won. But I saw the strain it put on their marriage and gave it up. My uncle introduced me to cars as a replacement and that was that. My love for cars strengthened my parents’ relationship because they were united against my speeding addiction,” she laughed lightly.
“I guess subconsciously, I’m still speeding in hopes that I can drive them back together. No pun intended.”
She looked up from her coffee and the depths of her dark blue eyes hit him like a tone of bricks.
“I think you’re telling me more than you intended.”
“I think so.”
“So were taken aback or disturbed by my actions?”
He watched her shoulders lift and her face lighten with the change in subject.
“No. Racers tend to have a knack for violence. It’s not shocking. I think I’d be more shocked if you weren’t.”
Her smile made his stomach to flips.
“How do you do that?”
She narrowed her eyes, “What?”
“Turn your feelings off and on. Talking about your parents brought tension and I saw your grief. But then you were suddenly flirtatious and coy.”
“People have always mistaken me for being uncompassionate. I just act accordingly. I’ve always been able to do it. I don’t notice; I never have.”
“But how could they mistake it for apathy when it’s so obvious in your face and voice and especially your eyes? They must be complete idiots to misunderstand.”
She blushed. “I am quite misunderstood.”
“I understand you just fine right now.”
She narrowed her eyes, “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“I didn’t think you were in high school.”
“Not for sometime now. It never was my scene.”
“Mine either.”
“I noticed.” He took a sip from his cup. “So when are you going to grace the shop with your presence?”
“I’m sure it doesn’t need two master workers in the same space. Besides, doesn’t Manson work there, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Remember how I like kicking people?”
He laughed.
“I was serious when I said I didn’t like him.”
“He’s not so bad.”
“Neither are terrorist.”
“I’d really like to see what you could do with a junk car.”
“Why?” she laughed.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’ll give me a better look at the sweat you put into B-Rabbit. I want to measure your creativity to mine.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. I had all the tools and materials at my disposal. I didn’t have to look for anything.”
“Come see the car. Make a list and I’ll make sure you have it all.”
She sighed, “When?”
“We’re not doing anything right now.”
“He paid and tipped and they both got into their cars. He led the way to a garage in Queens.
“It’s not going to be easy to kill me.”
“I have no doubt. Pull in behind me.”
When they got inside she got out. The room was massive. There were all thypes of machines and tool drawers strategically placed. There were four cars placed almost like a timeline; the one furthest away was mostly fixed up and the closest was totally broken down.
“Here she is.”
Morgan looked at the car then back at him.
“Here who is?”
“The car.”
“This is not a car. This is scrap metal.”
“Can you restore her?”
She walked around the car and looked under the hood.

From the back room Caleb and a girl watched Dillan and Morgan.
“Who is she?” the girl asked, her harsh brown eyes boring into Morgan.
“Her name’s Morgan. She’s Dillan’s girlfriend.”
The girl watched their reactions toward each other. The way he adjusted himself so that he was always facing her, the playful eye contact, the low intimate chatter and most of all, the way they both allowed the unintentional physical contact.
“Girlfriend?”
“Not officially but he’s definitely into her.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“You won’t. She’s got you beat.”
“We’ll see.”

“She’s not totally gone under the hood, I guess.”
“I think you can appreciate her. She’s a-
“2001 Mitsubishi Lancer, I know.”
He smiled, “Okay.”
He grabbed a pen and pad while Morgan went to work inspecting with her hands.
“Couldn’t wait, huh?”
“Nope.”
“Make the list.”
“Dillan!”
Morgan took the paper and stuck the pen over her ear.
“Hey, Zaria.”
“Who’s your friend?”
“Morgan.”
“What’s she doing with my car?”
“It was never established that it would go to you. I’m giving it to her.”
“But-
“I found it, it’s mine to give.”
“Have you seen her work before?”
“She hooked that up.” He pointed to the VW.
“From scratch, I mean.”
“That’s what I’m hoping to see.”
He silently watched her turning knobs and checking things. She’d stop every now and then to write something down then get back to it.
“She’ll do it and it’ll be great.”
“Hey! Isn’t that-
“Calm down, guys.”
“He gave her the car.”
“No one was talking to Zaria,” the middle boy said.
The girl rolled her eyes.
“She pulled a gun on us, man. Are you crazy?”
“She’s cute,” Dillan reasoned.
“She fine and all but-
“If you have a look under her hood-
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“She did it.”
The boy stared at his two companions reluctantly.
“Here’s my list,” Morgan interrupted with a smudge of grease on her neck. The paper was all covered in grease as well.
“Sorry about the mess.”
“No problem.”
He looked over the list with the three boys reading over his shoulder.
“An Ls2 engine?!” the middle boy shouted.
“Hey, I remember you,” Morgan exclaimed smiling.
“I’ll bet but where do you expect somebody’s s’posed to find this?”
She looked at Dillan, “That’s not my problem.”
“I will have a look under her hood after all.”
They walked over to her car.
“First the inside. Start him up,” Dillan told Morgan.
Seeing the interior, the boys and Zaria gave her the benefit of the doubt. When they saw what was under the hood…
“She did this?”
“Yup.”
The boy walked around to the driver’s side.
“Welcome to the team, sweetheart. What’s your name?”
She laughed, “Morgan.”
“I’m Martin and I think your car might be faster than mine.”
“I’m James,” the slightly taller hazel eyed boy introduced.
“And I’m Terrance,” the muscled one offered.
“I’m definitely impressed,” James complimented.
“How did you get your hands on this engine?”
“Illegal activities that eventually landed me in New York.”
“So what’re your plans?” Zaria asked.
“To make it fast.”
Everyone laughed.
“Specifically,” Zaria pressed.
Morgan narrowed her eyes and set her jaw. “Do you have a problem with me because I’d like to know beforehand if you do?”
Zaria held Morgan’s suspicious glare.
“Is someone throwing a party?”
Everyone turned but Morgan and Zaria.
A man stepped into the garage. He stood about six feet two inches, copper skinned and his dreads hung past his shoulders. He walked with confidence but the way he held himself seemed to be accidently carefree. He had a firm face for more serious situations but the current smile canceled any seriousness.
“No party,” Terrance replied.
The man caught sight of Morgan and Zaria who were still having their staring contest.
“New girl?”
“I brought her in. she’s trustworthy and great with cars.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, Dillan. Your word is good as gold. Zaria?”
She didn’t answer him.
“Zaria, look at me.”
She reluctantly met the man’s clear, steady brown eyes.
“Is this any way to treat a new recruit?”
“No.”
“Now, what is the problem?”
“I thought the car was going to me. I had—I have plans for this car.”
“Who found it, Zaria?” he asked pointedly.
“Dillan, but he said-
“I hadn’t made any promises,” Dillan argued.
“Besides-
Everyone turned to see Caleb emerge from the backroom. Morgan instinctively balled up her fists and Dillan stepped in front of her.
“you’re just jealous,” Caleb said. “Dillan’s never noticed you like that and if this girl’s in the picture he never will.”
“Alright, Caleb,” Dillan said quietly.
The silence that followed lingered in the air like smoke after a big fire.
“Follow me, little one,” the man said.
He turned and led the way.
“That’s you,” Dillan prompted Morgan.
“Oh.”
She followed him up stairs and into a room. She left the door open. He put his hand out, motioning for her to sit down.
It was a medium sized room with an oak desk to the right. The left wall was plastered with a giant map of New York. Pictures were pinned to specific areas. Then she noticed papers and pictures on his desk. Some were flipped over with handwriting on the other side and a work in a different color in the bottom right hand corner.
“Morgan.”
“Right.”
“You have beautiful eyes.”
She smiled sarcastically.
He chuckled.
“I never got your name.”
“I never gave it.”
“Better late than never.”
“Wesley.”
“Morgan.”
He laughed.
“You’re quite spirited.”
“Apparently too spirited; according to some people.”
“We don’t dial down who we are here.”
She shrugged.
“Now to business. How do I know I can trust you?”
“I could ask you the same question. I know exactly what you’ve got running here. I’ve seen this setup. But one thing I’m not is a snitch. Never have been, never will be.”
“The fact that Dillan is vouching for you says a lot. He’s my second hand, my right hand.”
“Then I’ll sit at your left.”
He smiled, “That says a lot about you and what you could mean for me and this team. Do you want to be apart of this team?”
“What exactly does that detail?”
“It means you scout. Sometimes you’ll help take it apart. You’ll get paid, you’ll get parts, you’ll get cars.”
“Where do I sign?”
“Just make sure you’re here after school. I’ll need your cell. Do you already have a car?”
“Do I ever.”
“This is an on call job. We scout cars and when we get our openings we go get’em. That opening could be at two a.m.”
“I understand.”
“You can start as soon as tonight.”
You stood, “I understand, boss,” she said suavely.
She bent down and wrote her number on the nearest piece of paper.
“So, are you and Dillan-
“No.”
“Are you going to be-
“We’ll see.”
She left the room and went downstairs.
Dillan was leaning on his car when she came skipping down the stairs. Ever so slightly, he held his hand out to her in hopes that she would take it; testing to see where her mind was.
She took his hand and leaned up against him. He stuck his other hand in her back pocket, pleased with himself.
“How’d it go?”
“I think he’s going to test my seriousness by calling me at two in the morning and telling me we have a car to go get.”
“What about your dad?”
“What about him? He deserves all he stress I’m about to drop on him for what he’s doing to my mom.”
Her phone rang.
“Speak of the devil. Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“I’ll be back.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“I’m out,” she said impatiently. “I don’t call and ask where you are when you’re late.”
“You shouldn’t. You’re the child.”
“And you’re the adult. Why don’t you start acting like it?”
She hung up.
“I better go; if I’m going to be sneaking out later.”
“I’ll probably see you later then.”
“Okay.”
He let her loose.
“And hey,” she added, “I noticed.”
“Hm?”
“What you did when Caleb came into the room.”
“Oh.”
She leaned in and brushed her lips against his ever so gently.
“Thanks.”
She got in her car and drove away.