On My Way To Mr. Right

Chapter 36

“Come on, you wussy!” Beatrice chants, whisper-shouting at Charles.

We had moved forward with our plan for movies and milkshakes. But it took Charles forever to climb down from the ladder he supposedly carried from the janitor’s closet to the parking lot.

“Stop shouting at me. It’s higher than it looks,” Charles tries to shush her up.

James was the first to climb over, making sure no one was around on the other side to catch us in the act. I followed, and then, B. Charles, on the other hand, climbed quickly but couldn’t find the courage to climb down.

His legs were frozen, or so he said.

“We’re gonna get caught!” James yells at him.

“Well, you could have found an easier plan, you moron!” Charles yelled back.

What a life, indeed.

Here we were, a group of freshmen, trying to climb out of school to go watch a movie before the winter break.

“Charles, I heard the movie starts in fifteen minutes. Is it okay if we just picked you up after?” Beatrice began the mockery.

“I’m not sure Charles can watch it, anyways. It’s rated pg. He’s a child who can’t climb,” James adds.

“I heard the movie was about a chicken. Do you mind sharing with us the life of one, Charles?” I teased, adding my entry.

Still, Charles did not budge from his seat on the wall. If anything, it only infuriated him, turning his cheeks a beet red in color.

“Honestly, just jump it off,” James sighed, exasperated.

They had orchestrated this flawless plan, anticipated every guard’s schedule, only to be stopped by Charles’ fear of height.

“What movie is showing nowadays, anyway?” I asked James, who had given up on encouraging Charles and started taking pictures on his phone instead.

“I heard the third Spiderman is on show. So is that movie, the one with the really long title,” He lifts his finger to his chin, thinking.

“The girl across the street from your house?” B suggested, joining into the conversation.

“No, but it sounded like that. They said it was chilling and fascinating.”

“Who said so?” I asked.

James was, uniquely, a man fascinated with movies. He had a deep obsession with movies that I always found quirky and cute.

In a time when most people are entertained by fifteen-second video clips and idle gossip on social media, he collected movies in VHS form. He had a VHS player which used to be his dad’s before he died. He was five years old when he passed away. I knew all this because James had taken me to various video stores to collect or transfer specific movies to VHS.

But to contradict his quirkiness for movies, he was also a fanatic of Grey’s Anatomy, which has aired for a decade, I think. I do not understand his interest in that series. It was wildly overrated.

Out of nowhere, we hear a loud thump. We turned around to see Charles on the ground, lying flat on the ground.

Immediately, we advanced to his side, determining his damage, thinking he had hurt his head on the jump.

“Charles,” James calls out. His expression was blank, eyes closed, and his breath lacking.

We went into a state of silent panic, not knowing what to do. Until, seconds later, Charles burst out laughing, sitting upon the ground.

I was about to have a heart attack!

“You jerk,” I scoffed, leaving him on the ground and heading for James’ vehicle, instantly hitting a pang of realization.

“How are we supposed to go to the cinema?” I asked, immediately turning to James.

“My truck-“ He stopped midsentence with the same thought of realization in mind.

“You brought your motorcycle?” Charles groaned out, taking the hint of our remorse and dismay.

“You i***t,” B muttered under her breath. “Well, I’m going back inside. Charles, you walk on home.”

“Beatrice, stop,” I grabbed her arm, making her stand beside me as we brainstormed in the parking lot.

Here we were, four freshmen, standing in the parking lot of their school, thinking of another way out to the thirty-minute drive cinema. And how my boyfriend was mostly responsible for our lack of transportation and current predicament.

“My brother took my dad’s car this morning, and I have a duplicate set of keys,” Charles suggested.

We share a look and nod.

“Good enough,” I muttered. At least we weren’t left to walk home.

“I will be dead once he finds out, though.” He announces as we begin finding his father’s car.

“You have the rest of the winter break to worry about that,” James chuckles. “Ahh, here we go. A modern Chevrolet Corvette, is it?” He points to a dark red car with a long hood and no roof.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Charles shouts to answer from the other side of the parking lot.

We rushed to the vehicle to try to make it on time. It was an hour before lunchtime, but guessing by our unusually large appetite whenever we ate together, we’d probably eat before going anywhere.

“1967 model, is it?” James inquires, admiring the beauty of the vintage vehicle. This was another one of his quirks. Insane love for cars and vehicles, especially vintage ones. He shared that fascination with Charles and his father. It was honestly impossible for anyone to spew hatred at James. He had got on with every single person he met, even our parents. He was inherently charming and I just don’t know how he does it.

“Yes, but obviously remodeled a dozen times already,” Charles answered, climbing onto the driver’s seat. “Dad got it last year from an auction someplace south.”

“Wow, the effort your dad put in,” B observes. “He must have loved this car more than he loved you.” She attempts a c***k at Charles’ father's skills but it misses the target as Charles laughs in response.

“He does. So do I. Dad and Butch will kill me if anything happens to this beaut.”

“I’m telling you, Butch is never going to find out. The school gates open at five, right? So, we return it before then. Just enough time to get the girls’ hair and nails done. We can go and get one of those corsage or corset, was it?”

I stifled a laugh. James gave me a scornful look.

“It’s a corsage, and why do you know where to get one?” Charles corrected him.

“I’ve taken lots of girls to dance. I know how to look and pretend like a gentleman,” he responds.

Maybe it was supposed to be a dig or playful joke aimed at me or his personality, but it was a low blow. We had just gotten together and I had doubts going into this relationship, given his Casanova behavior. The last thing I needed was a reminder that he was and always might be the same person.

He notices my expression shift from smiling to a literal frown into the wind and reaches for my hand, which I deliberately dodge. I turned my attention to the breezy drive out of school.

“So, where are we headed?”

B and I sat in the backseat, while James sat beside him in front. The wind was fresh against my cheek. Maybeck High was placed uphill, which meant passing through a series of grassy fields on the drive. The sun hid behind the clouds as the weather suggested a rainy afternoon.

“The King’s Man is showing,” James proposed. “But it doesn’t show for another hour and a half.”

Countless times, James has grabbed our asses from whatever we had going on to watch a movie. After that, we’d grab a VHS copy of it.

“Sure, whatever,” B replies, showing disinterest and stifling a yawn.

“You’re sleepy? It’s literally the middle of the day.”

“I slept late. Your recital took forever,” She retaliated.

“I think you girls are just hangry,” he muttered under his breath, turning back to the road, taking out his phone.

Wow, way to put the blame on our appetite.

The drive was silent as B fell asleep, and I refrained from speaking to James. Charles was focused on driving as he wasn’t an experienced driver, and this was an immensely valuable car. He emphasized multiple times to no distractions and no stunts pulled while he was driving.

“The interior must be freshly made. It’s very soft but rigid.” He observes, shifting in his seat.

“Yeah, Butch convinced Dad to change it last summer. His jock friends hated the leather fabric that came with it.”

“Genuine leather? Butch traded that for this cheap-ass faux?” He exclaims, bewildered.

“Dad was pissed but he had given it to Butch. So he had no say about it, really.”

“ It must be nice to have a dad that shares the same interests as you,” he remarks.

“It’s nice until your interests collide and create conflict. I hated fixing this old Rolls-Royce Dawn Drophead with my father-“

“You had a Rolls-Royce Dawn Drophead?!” He shrieked in delight. It wasn’t noticeable how much he adored vintage vehicles.

“No, dad’s employer, it was, I think, owned it. It was an original and retired 1954 model. The owner had left it to rot in his garage for twenty years, at least. Lent it to dad so long as he gets it fixed. Dad called me for help and, man, did we have contradicting ideas for it. You don’t fix a nail with a wrench, he always told me.” Charles articulates, shaking his head. “But he saw a nail, I saw a screw. We clashed and fought over that beast for over a week. Mom couldn’t take the tension being put on our shoulders and asked Mr. Dungray to fetch his Rolls Royce.”

“Man, to drive that Rolls Royce would have been heaven,” James’ eye twinkled in admiration, looking up at the grayish clouds above, probably recreating the Rolls Royce in his mind.

“Quite literally, actually,” Charles continued his tale. “Mr. Dungray died a month after fetching his car. Apparently, dad was set to own the Rolls Royce we failed to fix. The second mom heard of this, she had it sold and shipped off to the Cayman Islands or God knows where.”