Chapter 8

Frozen in shock, I stared dumb-struck at Jake. A thin stream of blood trickled from his nose. He made the sound again. Another laugh. This time, I was sure of it. What the hell was wrong with him?

Again, Jake turned toward Trey. "Yup," Jake said. "He's angry alright."

Still holding out the recorder, Trey gave a quick, happy nod.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" I yelled, not even sure who I was yelling at. Trey? Jake? The maniac outside?

It didn't matter. None of them were paying me the slightest bit of attention. When the guy's fist flew inside the car again, Jake bobbed his head to the side and gave a low chuckle. "Missed me," he said.

With a guttural roar, the guy reached in with two meaty arms. He grabbed Jake's torso, and yanked Jake up upward, like he wanted to rip Jake right out of his seat.

"Stop it!" I screamed. Frantically, I lunged for Jake as he practically flew out the car window and disappeared from sight.

Gasping for breath, I reached for my door handle and pushed. Nothing happened. I pushed harder. I whirled toward Trey. "Why won't it open?" I yelled.

Trey gave a silent shrug.

"What's the matter with you?" I screamed. "Put down that thing and help, will you?"

Trey, video-recorder and all, swiveled in my direction. What the hell? Was he filming me?

"That's not helping!" I yelled.

Something thudded against the driver's side door. I whirled to see Jake's back pressed against the driver's side glass. The other guy, obviously crazed, was swinging wildly – sometimes hitting, sometimes missing as Jake dodged to the right and to the left.

The guy pulled Jake off his feet and slammed his body onto the hood of the car. Jake rolled to the side. The other guy dove on top of him. I watched in stunned disbelief as the guy grabbed Jake by the shirt to lift him up for another impact.

But then, Jake bucked upward. He spread his arms wide. Like lightning, Jake slammed his fists into the guy's ears. The guy struggled backwards, and Jake kneed him in the groin. With a sound that wasn't quite human, the guy slid off the hood and disappeared from sight.

I heard a scuffling sound from somewhere in the back seat. I whirled around to see Trey, still holding out that stupid recorder. Carefully, he climbed over the center console and into the driver's seat.

I glared at him. "What are you doing?"

"Better view up here," he said.

"You dipshit!" I said. "Go help him."

The guy snorted. "Like he needs my help. Now shush, I’m working, alright?"

"Did you just shush me?"

"Shh!" he said.

"Oh for God's sake." Turning, I craned my head to see what was going on outside. Around us, the small crowd had somehow tripled in size. Again, I tried the door. Again, it didn't budge. I whirled toward Trey. "How come the door won't open?" I said.

He put a finger to his lips.

"If you shush me–" I said.

"Shh!"

"Damn it," I muttered.

Like some sort of crazed bird-watcher, Trey kept his camera trained toward the front of the vehicle. Why, I had no idea. We couldn’t see a damn thing from here inside the car.

Still, I knew something had to be happening, because the crowd was going absolutely nuts. Some were cheering, some were hollering encouragement, and a few of them were holding out their phones to capture whatever was going on.

Was I the only sane person in the world?

Craning my neck, I hollered toward the crowd just outside my car window. "What's happening?" I called out to no one in particular.

A tall guy near the front said, "Fight."

"No kidding!" I yelled. "Who's winning?"

The guy shrugged.

With a low curse, I tried the door-handle again. Nothing happened. Frantically, I unbuckled my seat belt and pushed myself up to crawl out my car window. I was maybe halfway out when two bodies thudded against the front bumper.

I ducked back inside and watched in open-mouthed horror as Jake and the big guy faced off. Jake's shirt was torn and splattered with red, but the rest of him looked surprisingly unscathed. In contrast, the stranger's face was a bloody mess. The guy was swinging wildly as Jake bobbed and weaved, avoiding blow after blow.

And then, Jake reached out. He grabbed a handful of the guy's shirt and somehow managed to toss the guy forward, sending him sliding, face down, across the hood of the car.

The guy kicked back, catching Jake in the chest. When Jake reeled backward, the guy crawled forward until his face, leaving a trail of blood across the glass, was mashed against the front windshield mere inches in front of me.

"Oh my God," I said, whirling toward Trey. "Do something!"

Holding the camera-phone steady in his right hand, Trey reached out with his left. He hit a switch near the steering wheel. A stream of water squirted across the windshield's glass. A moment later, the wipers started moving back and forth, whacking the guy in the face.

"That's not what I meant!" I screamed.

In front of me, the wipers were still going strong, leaving a trail of soggy blood as the guy sputtered and tried to swat the wipers aside.

From the driver's seat, Trey started to snicker.

"It's not funny!" I said.

And then, as if my prayers were answered, I saw the flashing of police lights. On the hood, the big guy was still sputtering. Beside me, Trey was still filming. In front of the car, Jake was still standing.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God.

And then, through the blood-smeared glass, Jake's gaze zoomed in on me. When he caught my eye, he gave me that same cocky grin I'd seen a million times in my memories.

Oh yeah. I'd seen that smile before. It did the same thing now as it did back then. God, he was such an ass. But I couldn’t help it. There was a part of me that wanted to smile back.