Temptation

At 2 am, the world feels uninhabited. The street light ahead flickers undecided if its staying on. The road ahead stretches into the dark, empty and unobserved. No witnesses. I push the accelerator down hard. The MINI lurches forward reluctantly, like it’s dragging something heavy behind it. The engine whines an unhappy sound, and the surge never comes. I press even harder. But the speed doesn’t match the effort. The steering wheel vibrates beneath my hands. The cars like it’s been deliberately held back, shackled. I glance down at the dashboard. The check engine light is on. I move off to the side of the road and pull the handbrake up hard. I switch into neutral. I press the accelerator, just a little. The revs rise, then hesitate. I try again, but I receive the same response. This is really bad. Even if I can limp the car home, Dad will know I snuck out as soon as he turns the car on. But if I don’t get it home working and it needs a tow, then he’ll definitely know. There’s no way out of this. My hands feel clumsy as I grab my phone out of the cup tray. I flip it open and move to my contacts. Dad is the first one at the top. If I call him now, he’ll be angry. But even if I call him, what’s he to do? This is the only car we have. He can’t exactly get here without calling a taxi. I close the phone and toss it onto the passenger seat. lean over and start digging through the glove compartment, pushing aside registration papers and whatever other crap Dad stores in there. My fingers catch on a silky cardboard paper. I pull it out. Roadside assistance could probably get me out of this mess. I type the digits in slowly, double-checking each one. When I finish, the number sits there on the screen, complete. All that’s left is to press call. I hover my thumb over the button. Won’t they charge this to Dad’s account? The car’s in his name. Everything is. Even if they don’t tell him tonight, he’ll be notified somehow. And what if they want payment on the spot? I only have a twenty on me. I look out through the windshield. The road is still empty. The streetlight overhead switches off. The MINI idles unevenly, like it’s struggling to breathe. I go back to my contact list and scroll all the way to the bottom. It wasn’t a very long scroll. My thumb stops on Keiko’s name. I don’t really want to call her but she’s the only option I’ve got. The phone rings out. “Hello, Lilliya.” Hearing her say my name makes my stomach drop. For a second, I don’t say anything. The engine idling unevenly beside me fills the silence. “Hey, I was wondering if you could help me with something?” “Sure.” She says without hesitation. “I’m at the Nasho,” I realise I’m talking too fast, trying to get everything out at once. “And it feels like my car isn’t running properly. I don’t really know what to do.” Her voice muffles suddenly, like she’s covering the microphone. I hear the faint sound of other voices overlapping. I sit there, phone pressed to my ear, waiting. “Okay,” Keiko says. “I’ll be there soon. Where exactly are you?” “I just crossed a bridge that has water underneath, it’s very low to the water—” “Got it.” The call ends before I can respond. I lower the phone slowly and rest it in my lap. The inside of my car feels very small, like it’s closing in around me. I switch the engine off. The sudden silence leaves room for everything else to flood into my head. I open the door and step out. The night air is sharp enough to make me suck in a breath. I close the door behind me and sit on a rocky ledge overlooking the river that ran under the bridge. The water glistens faintly under the moonlight, rippling in slow, delicate movements. All of this would have been avoided if I’d just stayed home. I should have just prepared for the party like Natalie told me to. I still have no idea what to wear, or how to act. Instead, I’m sitting on a rock at two in the morning, waiting for help like a child who can’t be trusted with anything. Do I even belong at a party with them? They’re all so fun, extroverted, effortless. I’m not like them, and I don’t think I ever will be. They’ll all be there because Christina wants them there. Their presence is assumed, expected. But I’m only invited because of Natalie. Without her, I’m not even a consideration. And without me, nothing would change. There’s no empty gap where I should have been. No absence anyone except Natalie would notice. But I’m sure even she would forget after a few drinks. I don’t know where I belong, and I don’t know why I don’t. I feel like I missed something crucial. Something to tell me how to fit into this world. Now I’m here, at the age where you’re supposed to know how to do this, and I don’t. The whole world seems fluent in something that is a complete mystery to me. And I don’t know how, or when, it’s my time to learn. A whine cuts through the quiet before I see the source of it. Headlights flood all over the road. Keiko’s sky-blue RX-7 hauls over the bridge and comes to a confident stop in front of me. “I had a feeling you would call,” she says. “But I had no idea it would be like this.” “Yeah. Me neither.” “Okay, let’s see what’s wrong with it.” She’s already moving towards the car. Keiko opens the driver’s door and crouches down, reaching just above the pedals. I watch her hands disappear under the steering column. She pulls out a small device from her pocket, black and plugs it into a slot. “This reader should tell us what’s wrong,” she says. “Get in and turn the car on.” I hesitate for half a second. Then slide back into the driver’s seat. I turn the key, the engine starts, uneven as before. The dashboard lights flare on, and the check engine light stays steady. Keiko takes her phone out, taps a few times. “It looks like some of the ignition coils have failed,” she says. “Oh.” the word slips out of me, useless. She motions for me to pop the hood. I lean over and pull the lever. When she lifts the hood, the engine bay opens up in front of us. “I think we’ll have to replace all the ignition coils,” she says. “And probably the spark plugs too. It’s throwing a lot of error codes.” “All of them?” I ask. She nods. “Yeah. Looks like it’s not just one.” Keiko closes the hood gently, like she doesn’t want to scare it. “Stay put here,” she says. “I’ll see what I can do.”