The Truth About Faking

the road!”
    “Yes, sir. I just noticed that used car lot, and I need a new car…”
    “More like you need driver’s ed,” Bender barks. “Gimmie your license.”
    The boy drops his hands and starts digging in his back pocket. I see the flashing lights pull up behind his duck-billed destroyer, and sure enough, Pete climbs out and starts slowly heading our way, silver-metal clipboard in hand. He spots Bender and immediately looks tired.
    “We need to move these vehicles from the lanes of traffic,” he says, beginning to write. “You okay, Harley?”
    I nod. Pete’s been friends with my parents since they were all at State College together in Glennville, the college town right across the river from us.
     “Got your license, son?” Pete asks the guy.
    Bender hands it over. He’s just finished writing down all the information for himself, and I figure he’ll be calling the poor guy’s parents in a few hours.
    “It’s all my fault…” the guy starts again, but Pete puts a hand up. “Harley, you got yours?”
    I slowly climb onto the running board and reach into my bag, still feeling a little off-balance.
    “Tom, I’m going to need yours as well,” Pete says.
    “I’m not at fault here…” Mr. Bender starts. “I was sitting at the light, obeying the rules of the road, when Harley was shoved into my backside by this… menace.”
    The menace looks down, and I feel sorry for him. He seems embarrassed.
    “I still need to fill out the report, so I’ll need your license,” Pete’s voice sounds weary. It’s the sound most people’s voices get when dealing with Mr. Bender.
    Bender huffs some more and digs into his back pocket, producing a sleek leather trifold from which he pulls his license. Then he stalks back to his Towncar and gets on one knee to examine his bumper. That leaves me standing in the median with the menace.
    He shoves a hand at me. “I’m Jason.”
    Skinny. Shaggy brown hair and dark brown eyes. Not really my type, but a friendly enough smile. I reach out and briefly touch his hand before crossing my arms again.
    “So, Harley?” He smiles and fumbles his hand into his pocket. He’s a little shaky, too, I notice. “Your parents bikers?”
    “No.” I pull my hair back in a band, ignoring a slight twinge as I do so.
    “That a family name?”
    I shake my head. “My mom thinks it’s pretty.”
    I leave off the part where I’ve always been annoyed at being named after a motorcycle. Mom’s also a little eccentric.
    “Yeah,” he nods and seems surprised. “She’s right.”
    I look at him a second longer. He’s not bad looking. Not that I’m interested or anything.
    “We just moved here from Los Lunas,” he says. “So I’m still learning my way around. You go to Creekside?”
    I nod. “Everybody does.”
    “Then I’ll say hey when I see you at school!”
    “You don’t have to.” There’s only one guy I want saying hey to me at school, and it isn’t Teen Menace-Crash boy.
    “Look, I’m sorry I hit your giant truck here.” He pats Mom’s Denali and makes an apologetic face. “But you’ll be surprised what those body shop guys can do. It’ll be back to normal in a week.”
    I slant my eyes. “You do this a lot?”
    “No,” he laughs. “I just like fixing up old cars. It’s kind of a hobby.”
    “Well, this is my mom’s truck, and she needs it for work. And I don’t really know you—”
    “Sure you do,” he jumps in. “I’m Jason James. Just moved here from New Mexico, and you’re Harley…?”
    “Andrews.”
    He does a little finger-gun. “And I was going to guess Davidson.”
    “That’s original,” I say, looking around.
    I need to get home and get started. Tomorrow’s an important day. It’s the culmination of Operation Luau, my big plan. The whole reason I was out here in the first place buying a dress, and everything has to be perfect.
    “I guess not,” Jason shrugs. “But I really am sorry.”
    I try giving him a warm smile and hope he’ll take it as me letting him off the hook. Then I walk to the back of Mom’s SUV. The doors are only pushed in a little, but when I pull the handle, they won’t budge. I bite my lip. Mom needs the Denali to haul her massage table and equipment around, and she’ll be pissed if she has to cancel appointments. I look impatiently in Pete’s direction.
    “I need to go,” I say to myself.
    “I’ve got my phone if you want to use it.” Jason’s followed me.
    I glance up at him.