From What I Remember by Stacy Kramer Page B

got to get my computer back. There’s no point to anything without it.”
    “Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic?”
    “No! I need my computer.…” And then I burst into tears. So humiliating.
    “Okay. Fine.”
    “Fine what?”
    Max gets out of the car and helps me up.
    “Shit, you’re bleeding.”
    “It’s just a scrape.” I take a few deep breaths and try to pull it together.
    Max puts his arm around my waist and helps me into the car. I hurt all over from the fall. I’m completely embarrassed from my emotional outburst, and yet the only thing occupying my mind is Max’s proximity. He’s really close. Close enough to make me flush. His touch is soothing—warm and firm. He smells like coconut shampoo and coffee. I can feel the blood rushing up my spine. This is too strange. Max Langston has his arm around me. Even stranger, Max Langston is going to help me.
    “For the record, I think this is a terrible idea,” Max says as he gets into the car.
    I don’t say anything, because Max is right. Still, the fact remains that I’ve got to get my computer back. There really is no alternative. Max guns the engine and the car shoots forward. I guess it’s a good thing he’s got a Beemer, because my Mom’s old Honda takes about an hour to gather speed.
    “Thanks. I really appreciate this,” I say.
    “Yeah, well, if we make it out alive, you can buy me a drink or something.”
    We power down the street, hugging the road. Before long, we catch sight of the guy on his bike, expertly weaving in and out of traffic. Max is on him in minutes, but he’s elusive. First we see him, then we don’t, as he darts around cars and through lights. He’s obviously done this before. Max is switching lanes like crazy, trying to keep pace.
    “So what’s on the computer that’s so important?”
    “For one, my valedictorian speech for Saturday…”
    “But you backed it up, didn’t you?”
    “No. I didn’t back it up. I have a ton of stuff on my plate. So, no. I messed up. Okay?” Max is helping me out and I’m yelling at him. What is wrong with me? This is so not the way normal people behave. Then again, I’m a little stressed at the moment. Hopefully, I can chalk it up to that. Though I doubt it. More likely, I can blame it on my extreme lack of social skills.
    Max doesn’t say anything. There’s an awkward silence as we trail the bike for a few blocks. I’ve got to learn to edit myself. If I get my computer back, I vow to try.
    “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off,” I say. It’s the second time I’ve apologized for being a bitch. At a certain point, if it walks like a bitch and talks like a bitch…“It’s just, I spent five months writing my speech, and then I’ve got a screenplay I’ve been working on for two years, and it’s…it’s kind of a big deal—”
    “Also not backed up, I’m guessing.” Max smiles. He’s got a really beautiful smile. Perfect white teeth, dimples. No wonder every girl at Freiburg has a crush on him.
    The bike makes a sudden turn off on Kearney Villa Road, maneuvering through three lanes of cars.
    “Quick, he’s turning,” I cry out.
    “Yeah, I see. It’s gonna be kinda hard to get out of here. There are cars everywhere.”
    There’s a lot of honking as Max snakes his way through five lanes of traffic, nearly colliding with several cars. At one point, I shut my eyes, not wanting to see what I’ve wrought.
    But then, miraculously, we’re on the exit ramp, unscathed.
    “Impressive,” I say.
    “Yeah, I’ve got mad driving skills. Don’t know shit about American history though.”
    Unfortunately, we’re about thirty seconds too late.
    As we turn onto Kearney Villa Road, the bike pulls up to the side of an orange-and-white U-Haul truck. Two guys climb out of the truck and approach the biker. They look exactly like the kind of guys you don’t want to mess with. Muscled up, bald, badass. They almost look like twins except that one is