Blind Curve Read online

  Why are you and Toua always spying on me? I complain in Hmong. Then I switch back to English. “I already come straight home from school every day, can’t have a job, can’t do extracurriculars without fighting with Mom. Can’t you just let me have a life at school?” I surprise myself with how mad I sound.

  Bee looks surprised too. I’m just looking out for you. I’m your brother.

  I mutter something about Hmong guys. Bee snorts.

  “You sound like Song’s friends. I’m not marrying any fourteen-year-old girls, so don’t get mad at me. It’s not wrong to want your little sister to stay away from gang members. Go start the car again.”

  As I rev the engine, I wonder why he doesn’t stay away from gang members.

  Bee is already working on the Teg when I get home from school on Friday. I look over his shoulder. He’s got a turbo kit half installed. “Whoa! Where’d that come from?” I ask.

  “Steve Thao—we’re borrowing it for now. Just wanted to see how it works. I should have the money for it on Monday, though.”

  I feel the knot in my stomach again.

  “Monday?” is all I can say.

  Bee grunts. I wimp out. How can I ask about the race on Monday? Never mind what happened yesterday on Lexington Avenue. Today in school rumors were flying about the kid who got hit, how bad he was hurt, if he was going to live. Cops were interviewing kids who saw it happen, everyone said. Pakou was super scared they’d want to talk to her. I knew I didn’t have to tell her not to say anything about the Teg—she’s had a crush on Bee forever. Besides, it wasn’t our Teg anyway, right?

  “I really will have more money once the market opens,” I say, dumping my bag in the car. “You don’t have to worry about it. I can pay Steve then. We’re family, right? I’m sure he’d let us wait. Or we can give the turbo back until then—”

  Bee interrupts. “Just because his cousin is married to our sister doesn’t mean he’s going to hold this for three weeks for us. He’s already offering a good price. Don’t worry about it. Like I said, I got you covered.”

  I watch him work for a minute, thinking about how long I heard him on the phone last night. Laughing softly and speaking more Hmong than he usually does in a week. I know it’s that girl in California.

  For a while now Toua’s been teasing Bee about Fresno and “General VP’s granddaughter.” I really wasn’t snooping—I just borrowed Bee’s phone because my battery was dead, and he left the texts right there, like he wanted me to see them. I only glanced at them, but this girl wanted to know when Bee was moving to California.

  Of course, I don’t think she’s really Vang Pao’s granddaughter. General Vang Pao is, like, the most famous Hmong person ever. But there is some girl Bee’s talking to and she isn’t from around here or I would have heard about it. Somebody here probably introduced them, though—lots of Minnesota Hmong have family in California.

  I wish Bee would like Pakou. Because she’s my friend and because then he wouldn’t be thinking about leaving after he graduates this year. Most people we know stay after high school. They go to college nearby or get a job. Another reason why I’m not in a rush to finish the Teg—anything I can do to keep him interested in stuff here. Maybe then he’ll sign up for some community college classes

  Bee breaks into my thoughts. “We should look at the list. See what you want to do next with all that money you’re going to make soon.” He’s teasing, but it’s a perfect chance.

  I grab the notebook out of the glove compartment. There’s a page for performance, one for sound, and one for looks. There are lots of drawings of cars and parts all over the covers. When Toua and Bee were younger, before they got cars, they loved drawing cars. Most of my friends were obsessed with learning how to draw girlie stuff and manga, but like my brothers, I spent most of my time trying to draw cars. We don’t draw so much now, but sometimes it helps to picture a mod we’re deciding about.

  Bee’s walking around the car, listing things on his fingers, just like our dad does.

  “It’s as low as it can go, the tires are tucking, the tires are pretty good—you might want to upgrade sometime, but—”

  I interrupt. “I saw some Pirellis on another Teg. They were sweet. I want to get some soon.”

  Bee looks surprised as I write it on the list. But he keeps going.

  “We just upgraded to LED headlights last year—”

  “Toua said I needed JDM stuff—he knows someone with headlights, but I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.

  Bee frowns, rubbing his face. “He’s right,” he says slowly. “The Teg won’t be perfect without some JDM parts …” He stares at the car. “Put it on the list—I got to think about it.”

  “How about nitrous?” I say casually.

  Now Bee looks really surprised. “You want to put in nitrous? Why?”

  I shrug, doodling on the notebook. “It’s cool.” And it would take forever to install.

  Bee stands in front of me. “Penny, I thought we were working hard to have you a sweet ride by the time you turn eighteen and get your license. But the Teg will be for getting you to school and stuff, letting you get out without having to rely on Mom and Dad. You’re not going to be racing it … are you?”

  He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “No, you can’t race. Who’s going to teach you? And there aren’t any tracks in town. And—no. Besides, you know what nitrous can do to an engine. Toua won’t even put in nitrous and he—” Bee stopped.

  “Toua races?” I ask, my voice getting squeaky.

  Bee shrugs. “Just sometimes, with his friends. Not a big deal.”

  “Couldn’t you guys teach me how to race?” I beg, even though I’ve never wanted to race. “After I get my license and I’m legal?”

  Bee shook his head. “We’re—” He stopped, his face still. “We’re not those kind of brothers,” he said, his voice sounding funny.

  My heart was beating so hard, I could feel it in my hands. I just knew what he had been about to say: we’re leaving.

  The more I thought about it over the weekend, the more it made sense that if Bee moved to California, Toua would go with him. When you come from a really close community where few people leave their families, it’s scary to think about going someplace else alone. There’s a Hmong saying that each person is a drop of water in a bucket—if the drop falls out of the bucket, it soon dries up.

  Besides, Toua’s just taking classes at Metro State, trying to get into the U, but he hasn’t gotten in yet. There’s nothing to hold him here either … except the rest of us.

  I thought about screwing up Bee’s homework so he wouldn’t graduate, but that would be so low. It probably wouldn’t work anyway since he usually doesn’t have trouble passing tests. He’s smart and knows enough of what’s happening in class to get by. Besides, even if I did keep him from graduating, I can’t see him repeating next year with me. He has his pride. He’d take the GED or just leave without a diploma and how would he ever get a good job? I could never do that to him.

  My best hope is the Teg. Like I said, a car is never done. I could come up with projects for it and keep him busy over the summer. I could talk him into signing up for Metro State classes. Better still, the rest of the family could do that. My parents are big into education. And maybe the California girl would find someone else.

  “You know,” I say to Bee on Sunday. “I’m not going to get my license right on my birthday. I don’t think the Teg will be close to done this summer, and there’s no rush. Even if it’s not done for school starting, that’s OK. I like taking the bus with Pakou. You know Pakou, the cute one?”

  Bee stares at me, wiping his hands on a rag and then automatically wiping the engine. “Of course I know Pakou, the skinny one—she’s been your best friend since Jackson. She’s annoying. Talks too much.”

  I think sourly about all the time he spent talking to California girl. She’s the one who talks too much.

  “And it will be done for your birthday in June,�
� Bee continues grimly. “And you’re taking your test then too. Don’t worry, I’ll take you out to practice before that.”

  “Well, it’s not a big deal to me,” I say carefully. “And I’ve been adding onto the list. We haven’t really done much with the stereo. Oh, and I got a great idea—I want a five-point belt and I’m going to embroider it.”

  Bee looks confused by all these new ideas. I’ve been going through the magazines in the garage all weekend making my list. Except for the embroidery one. That’s all mine, and I’m actually kind of excited about it.

  “Embroider—what?” Bee asks.

  “Well, I could just do a pattern with something traditional like elephant’s foot, or I could do like a story cloth.”

  “You mean, like the story of the Hmong leaving Laos and the war and refugee camps and stuff?” Bee frowns.

  I pick at a hangnail. “Umm, actually I was thinking the story of this car, the story of how we’ve worked on it.”

  This was what I really want to do, but I don’t want Bee to think it was stupid. The Hmong have always saved our stories in the pictures in our sewing. I’m going to do everything I could to keep Bee here, but even if he doesn’t move, I know that things wouldn’t be the same as we get older. I want to remember the time we’d had together and put it down in thread.

  But Bee doesn’t laugh. He clears his throat. “That would make the Teg more awesome and unique than anything we can buy.” Then he does laugh. “Plus, I really want to see you do car parts in reverse appliqué or whatever that stuff is you do.”

  “If I can draw it, I can sew it,” I say.

  “Hey, are you sure you haven’t been listening to Mom? This kind of sewing might have Hmong guys lining up around the house to marry you.”

  I smack him on the arm.

  I’m tense all day Monday, waiting for night. I don’t run into Bee at school, not even lunch, which is weird. But he’s home after school. I show him some sketches I did during class of my ideas for the harness, and he says they’re cool.

  “The harness with parts will be about a hundred bucks,” says Bee. “I’ve got that hundred bucks now I said I’d have today—do you want to go get one?”

  “You’ve got it now?” I say, taken aback. I thought the hundred bucks was coming from the race tonight. Mon 10 the note had said.

  “Yeah,” says Bee looking at me funny and looking a little nervous too. “I don’t think this turbo of Steve’s is going to work anyway. If we get the harness now, you can be working on it while I’m working on other stuff for the Teg to have it ready in time.”

  My mind’s spinning with other thoughts, but it snags on the last part he said.

  “In time?” I say, raising my voice. “In time for what?! I keep telling you I don’t care about my birthday and I don’t want to rush it. I just want things to be perfect. Whose car is it, anyway? Mine or yours?”

  Bee’s mouth hangs open. I’ve probably only yelled at him a few times ever and not since we were a lot younger. Then his face gets tight.

  “I’m just trying to do something nice for your birthday,” he says stiffly. “Forget it.” He walks toward the house door. I grab his arm.

  “OK, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I babble. I can’t stand to fight with him. It’s not like I can tell him what I’m really mad about: that he’s thinking about leaving. That he’s racing. That he might have killed someone. Me being a witch isn’t going to fix any of that.

  “Let’s go look at harnesses now,” I say. “I’ll pay you back.”

  He flips his hand like don’t worry about it and pulls out his keys.

  Bee wants to check out a new shop he heard about in Hopkins. It’s only a few blocks from our house to 94, but before we even get there he’s pushing fifty on the city streets.

  “God, slow down!” I yell, grabbing my door. Bee just laughs.

  As soon as we’re on the highway, the Teg is flying. As Bee swerves around another sad commuter like he’s standing still, I hear an exhaust as loud as ours coming up from behind.

  A Civic pulls up on our left. Some Asian guys inside are gesturing at us. Bee throws them the finger and slams down on the gas.

  “Who was that?” I ask, my hands clenched.

  “Losers,” he answers as we get off at our exit.

  On the way home, fingering the cherry-red harness in my lap, I get suspicious.

  “You didn’t get this to make sure I was busy with women’s work so you could do all the fun stuff on the car, did you?” I ask.

  Bee laughs. “I know you can swing a wrench better than a lot of guys. Didn’t Toua and I teach you? You can work on whatever you want. It’s your car, after all.”

  That night I keep track of where Bee is in the house so he can’t sneak out without me knowing. At nine thirty he’s in the garage on the phone. I’m sitting in the kitchen, looking out the window at his car on the street. Everyone will hear if he opens the garage door to take the Teg or Honda. The minivan’s parked on the street too, right now, but he’s hardly taking that.

  Ten o’clock and I can still hear him in the garage.

  “School night,” my mom says.

  “I still have homework,” I mumble, picking up a book.

  At ten thirty my parents go to bed, telling me I need to sleep soon.

  “And tell Bee to go to bed too,” Dad says.

  I can hear Bee laughing. Then he comes in the house. He’s surprised to see me.

  “If it’s my homework, forget it,” he says. “Go to bed.”

  “Soon,” I say.

  Bee goes to his and Toua’s room. I turn off the light and stay in the kitchen. No one can leave the house without me seeing. I stare out the window at Bee’s car. Eleven, twelve. I put my head down on my notebook. The race, it must have been today during school. Monday 10 A.M.

  For the next week I watch Bee and work on my harness embroidery. Bee’s acting mostly normal, and my harness is starting to look really awesome. Bee laughs when he sees how I put him in with the hat he likes to wear and his orange shoes.

  I’m feeling better too, because the kid who got hit is getting better, people say. Might be going home soon.

  But Bee hasn’t been at school every day. Or not all of every day. By Sunday I’ve decided I need to know where he’s going and what’s going on. Is he racing more? Why? To get money to go to California?

  If he’s racing, sooner or later he’ll get in trouble. If he’s doing something stupid like racing because of that girl, it makes me even madder. I want Bee to stay in Minnesota, but staying here because he’s in jail isn’t the way I planned it. I need to see for myself if he’s racing.

  On Monday, I ask Bee to give me a ride to school. After I say good-bye to him and act like I’m going to my locker, I walk right out the back door of the school. I’m hoping Bee will stay at school for at least first period so he won’t get marked absent right away. I walk to a bus stop away from school and go home.

  I hold my breath as I open the garage door. No one’s cars are there, but I’m still scared that my mom or dad will pop out of the house door. It’s quiet.

  I close the hood of the Integra. Last night I made sure we took the Integra for a test drive so she would be drivable today. I’m pretty sure I could fix anything Bee might have taken apart, but I don’t have the time today.

  There’s no way to drive the Teg quietly. I find the grum, grum exhaust noise soothing. It’s a good thing that lots of people around here want their cars to sound loud. No one notices me.

  I can see Bee’s car in the lot still so I park on the street by the school. I shove all my hair up into a plain black winter hat. I settle in.

  I wait a long, long time. I wish I had brought something to read. I can hear any cars leaving the lot, and I know I’ll hear Bee’s car—it’s loud too.

  I’ve closed my eyes and am dozing when I hear it. My eyes flip open, and I slouch down in the seat. Bee turns the other direction so I start the Teg. I’m panicking about how to follow him.
I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want to be stopped too close to him at a light, either. I hear him turn onto Lexington, so I gun it and just make the light.

  There are a bunch of cars between us, so I feel safe. Bee gets on the highway, and I wonder where he’s going. All the racing I’ve heard about is in the city. He drives a long way out.

  When he exits the highway, I hang way back. I start to get nervous that the Teg will be noticeable. I let him get far ahead of me … and I lose him. He turned somewhere into one of the suburban subdivisions and I missed it.

  I drive around a little bit, looking. There’s hardly anyone on the streets around here. I get to a section of county highway that’s going through empty land with some farmland. I realize that this is the first time I’ve been out in the Teg by myself. Seeing the open and empty road in front of me, I have a sudden desire to floor it.

  The speed wipes my mind clean of all my worries. I even forget why I’m out in the Teg. All that time spent working on the Teg and tinkering with the engine, I never thought a lot about speed in a real way. Bee and Toua must have. They take the Teg out without me sometimes, maybe they’ve even raced it, though until recently I didn’t think they did that. Now I’m racing all alone and it’s awesome. Racing doesn’t seem so stupid anymore.

  I look at the clock. It’s almost lunch at school. I’m not finding Bee today, so I should get back to school with the late excuse I wrote and signed my mom’s name to.

  I make it back home in almost half the time it took to get out to wherever Bee’s going. The highway traffic is light in the middle of the day, and every chance I get, I let the Teg rip. It’s like the good girl part of me is back at school. The Teg has a fuzz buster, but that only tells you if a cop is using a radar gun to check your speed. If a cop is on the highway, I’m done since I don’t have a license. That does scare me a little but not enough to stop me.

  I put the Teg in the garage, pop the hood, run to catch the bus, and make it back to school after lunch. The secretary takes my note, and I slide into math class.