The Key to the Golden Firebird by Maureen Johnson Page B

know you were working.”
    â€œYeah, I am,” he said, running the back of his hand over his forehead. “I work for this place in New Hope that rents theatrical equipment. Lights and stuff. I only help out when they’re busy or behind, so it’s really off and on. I need something more regular for the summer. More hours.”
    They stopped talking for a minute to lean out their windows and catch a breath of air.
    â€œSo, that’s your uniform?” Pete asked, glancing over.
    May looked down at the mass of maroon that was herself. She was so used to wearing her uniform now that she forgothow strange it had to look to other people. It was kind of severe—a plain, straight skirt with a single pleat, a white oxford-cloth shirt, maroon kneesocks, and loafers. The blazer, which she had tossed into the backseat, completed the look, which was kind of a cross between a stewardess and Thelma from Scooby-Doo.
    â€œIt’s ugly,” she said.
    â€œNo. It’s…I’ve just never seen you in it,” he said. “It says academy , you know? It’s kind of serious looking.”
    â€œIt’s kind of polyester.”
    â€œOkay…”
    â€œSorry. I’m just irritated. And hot.” She leaned out and took another breath of air. “Is it ever legal to kill your sister? If you had a really good reason?”
    â€œI guess it depends. What’s the reason?”
    â€œForget it. It’s too annoying to even discuss.”
    â€œBrooks or Palmer?”
    â€œReally, forget it.”
    â€œI’m guessing Brooks.”
    â€œCamper…”
    â€œVe can fix zees problems, you know. Ve hav ways of fixing ze peoples.”
    â€œCamper,” she said sharply, “forget it. Where are we going anyway?”
    â€œI’m psyched. I found the perfect place.”
    The perfect place turned out to be a deserted housing development still under construction. The roads were just laid, there were backhoes and cement trucks parked against the shiny new white curbs, and the streetlights weren’t on.
    â€œIt’s dark,” May said, squinting.
    â€œThere’s some light.”
    â€œFrom the moon.”
    â€œDriver’s ed by moonlight.” He grinned. “Come on—that’s cool.”
    â€œI guess. It’s your car.”
    May spent about fifteen minutes going over all of the controls in Pete’s car. It wasn’t that they were hard to understand, but she was nervous about practicing with his most valuable possession. She tried to relax and get the news about Brooks out of her head, but that didn’t really work.
    â€œSo,” Pete said, rubbing his hands together, “I guess you should just start driving around.”
    â€œYou want me to just…drive? Around? What, in circles?”
    â€œNo, just normally. Like this was a real street. Just for practice. Let’s see what you need to work on. We’ll try the three-point turn, parking, all of that.”
    The first discovery they made was that May only seemed able to drive at five miles an hour or fifty—and she usually alternated between the two rather abruptly. The second was that she seemed to think things were much closer than they actually were. As a result, she drove down the center of the road.
    â€œA little closer to the curb,” Pete said, looking out the window.
    â€œI’m going to hit it.”
    â€œNo, you’re not. Ease it in a little.”
    Pete watched for another minute.
    â€œA little closer, May,” he repeated.
    â€œI just moved it closer!”
    â€œWe’re still in the middle of the street. A little more.”
    May pushed harder on the gas.
    â€œNot faster,” Pete said. “Closer.”
    In frustration she slammed on the brakes, sending them both pitching forward. She ran her hands through her hair and grabbed two big handfuls.
    â€œOkay,” Pete said, pushing himself back off the dashboard.