The morning after, Victor got up groggy and ill-tempered. Not only had he not been able to fall back asleep, but at some point during the night before, some culprit (he strongly suspected Bianca), had tossed around the room the contents of his sock drawer, probably looking for his handheld videogame console, which was, in fact, hidden under the loose floorboard in his closet, next to an old, leather wallet containing the fifty-seven dollars and thirteen cents (his life savings), a pack of unopened cigarettes which he had pocketed from a shipment to Mr. Singh's store and a pornographic magazine that he and Benny had found under a bench at the Pondesora Skate park.

His sisters would have gone through an entire interrogation, including a good cop/bad cop routine, if he hadn't been so distracted, thinking about the kid that had now twice made an appearance in a highly unfortunate time. As a result, he got out of bed with just enough time to change into a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans that had gone three weeks without washing, fix his perpetually worsening case of bed head as best as he could manage and grab a ripe apple for the road.

Artesia High School was two and a half miles away from his house, which to Victor usually meant a fifteen-minute bike ride, just to barely make it in time for first period Calculus. Luckily, at the start of their senior year, Benny's dad had gotten himself a brand new pickup truck and passed down to his son his ancient, 1990 Ford F-150, so that he could drive them both to school.

Calling Benny's truck a piece of crap, would be doing a disservice to all the thousands of pounds of excrement out there in the world. Half of the time, even when Benny had used up all his savings on a new battery, it needed to be jump-started just so it could pull out of their driveway. Aside from that, the cabin was always stuffy, as neither one of the windows could be rolled down, and hence it also reeked of motor oil and whatever fast food item its driver had last consumed (and possibly spilled). None of the dashboard indicators worked either, not even the gasometer, which meant that Benny had to constantly be filling up the tank, in order to not be left stranded, and instead of a working stereo, the truck had an old radio and cassette player, which had been outdated even when it was brand new.

Victor would often joke that the engine, which could be heard from practically a mile away, sounded like high-pinched, pleading wails for a final, one-way trip to the junk yard. Benny, who had almost instantly fallen out of love with his truck after his initial excitement over it, couldn't disagree. He had even, after giving it some thought, christened it Gunk Gears.

Benny was already waiting outside when Victor walked out. He had the engine off, to save gas, was playing with his keys and had the passenger door open. Victor climbed into the truck, high-fived Benny, closed the passenger door and placed his backpack between his legs, just as he always did.

"Dude, what's with the nails?" Benny asked.

Victor sat, puzzled for a moment, then looked at his hands; he was still wearing the aqua-blue nail polish that Ana had applied on him the evening before.

"Shit! I forgot," he exclaimed. "Ana put it on me yesterday."

"Hold on," Benny told him, before reaching under his seat. "Put these on."

He handed Victor a pair of knitted, orange gloves, which he strongly suspected had been under his seat since the previous winter.

"Can't I just run in and get this shit removed?"

"We're running late already. Now, put them on."

Victor did as he was told. He could have stopped to argue, but he recognized that their delay had been his fault and he didn't wanted to ruin Benny's non-tardiness record.

"What took you so long, anyway?" Benny asked.

"Sorry. I didn't sleep very well," he said. "Shit has been very strange this last couple of days."

Benny nodded and inserted his keys back in the ignition. "Is this heat, bro. I heard this morning that we're reaching record high temperatures next week." As he turned the key, Gunk Gears trembled violently and started making a noise reminiscent of continuous dry heaving, before shutting down again. "Last few days I've been sleeping in the nude, with the windows wide open."

"Tmi, bro," Victor said, as Benny once again tried to bring the truck to life.

He turned the key inside the ignition for a third time, then a fourth, this time ramming his balled-up fist into the dash panel and shouting out a curse word for good measure. Still, Gunk Gears refused to start its engine.

"Could you get out and push?"

"uh huh," Victor said.

He placed his backpack under the seat, got out and walked to the back of the 8,000-pound pickup truck. He placed both hands on the tailgate and started pushing, first laboriously and then with ease, through the downward slope. Inside the cabin, Benny turned the key again. Gunk Gears shook once, then started its usual, blood-curling screeches.

"It always starts working the moment you push," Benny told Victor, once he had climbed back into the cabin. "You should consider being a mechanic, man. You have the magic touch."

"My mom would freak. She doesn't think mechanics make a good living. She wants me to be a doctor or a banker or something."

They drove down Artesia avenue, passing by the other kids on their way to school. Victor hoped that his magic touch would last until they arrived, so he wouldn't have to get out and push again, should the engine die on them at a stoplight.

"But isn't Diego a mechanic?" Benny asked.

Victor grunted under his breath, but this was drowned by the truck. "He's an electrician. And what does that matter, anyway?"

"Just asking," Benny said, shrugging. Beneath them, Gunk Gears started rattling just after they went through a speed bump.

"This truck is begging to be sold for scraps," Victor said. "It is such a piece of garbage."

"It's such a piece of garbage," Benny echoed. "My dad keeps saying that your first car has to be a crappy one. That way, once you have a good one, you'll appreciate it even more."

"That sounds like the shit parents will say to to avoid admitting they can't pay for a better car."

Benny nodded in agreement. "Once I swap out this piece of garbage, I'm getting a Cadillac."

Victor sighed pleasantly at the idea, however far off he knew it was. Even when Benny lived in a two-income house with half the children, they weren't doing much better than the Soto family did.

He leaned in and turned on the radio. It tuned into a weather report, though most of what the ancient radio transmitted to them was static. He listened to the weatherman repeat what Benny had just told him about record high temperatures (and sleeping al naturale), before inserting a cassette from the multiples that were kept in the glove compartment. The first out of nine parts of Pink Floyd's Shine On You Crazy Diamond started bursting from the speakers.

"I wonder what people think when they see us using cassettes to listen to Pink Floyd," Benny said.

"That we're visibly poor," Victor replied.

They pulled into the Artesia High School parking lot shortly after. Victor thanked Benny for the ride, as he always did, before they both rushed off to first period Calculus.

He was only half-conscious all throughout his morning classes. Most of his attention was focused on staying awake through the severe sleep deprivation that had suddenly strike him when Mr. Dechamps started dragging on about differential equations. The few neurons he could spare were still on the subject of the kid with the big green eyes and his omniscient warnings.

We're going to find you, Victor he had said the night before and though he couldn't decide whether that was a threat of a promise, Victor wasn't sure if he wanted to find out.

He was struggling to stay awake. With the searing heat outside and the school's air conditioner at full blast, the classroom was just at the right temperature to make him drowsy. Victor started asking around the classroom if anyone had nail polish remover. He was met with a some of puzzled stares, but he finally managed to get a hold of a bottle from a pudgy girl who, as it turned out, always carried around a full makeup set in her backpack. He promised to return the bottle to her after lunch.

"Maybe I'll consider becoming a mechanic. I bet they don't have to learn any more of that shit," Benny said, as they walked out of the classroom after what felt like a painstakingly endless History lesson. Mrs. Villalobos, the History teacher, had given them a period-long monologue about the Louisiana Purchase.

"Hey, by the way, are you doing anything this Friday?" Victor asked. "I'm going to the outlet mall to pick up a tuxedo for prom."

Benny turned to him, slightly confused. "Prom?"

"Yeah. Is this dance people go to when they graduate high school."

"Very funny. I know what prom is," Benny said. "I just meant, like, you're going?"

"My mom wants me to," Victor shrugged. "Doesn't sound like a bad idea either."

Before heading to the school's cafeteria, Victor wanted to wash the aqua-blue, fingernail polish off him. He was sick of the stares he was getting for wearing gloves in mid-April.

"Alright, I'll go. Maybe I'll pick one up for myself, but I have to asks my parents first," Benny said, following Victor into the nearest bathroom. "You need me to drive?"

"Nah, man," Victor said, although the offer sounded tempting. He bit his tongue. "She wants Diego to drive me."

"You really don't like him, do you?" Benny said, apologetically.

"I guess I don't."

"Because he's dating your mom."

"Because..." Victor snapped. "I don't know. I have a feeling about him."

"So does your m... Ouch!" Benny exclaimed. He rubbed the spot where Victor had punched him. It hurt more, now that he had taken off the gloves.

Victor leaned into the nearest faucet, dabbed some toilet paper with the nail polish remover and started scrubbing. The paint slowly started to come off.

"Are you asking anybody?" Benny said, still rubbing his arm. "To prom, I mean."

"I don't know yet," Victor replied, focusing on his scrubbing.

One of the doors from the stalls behind them flew open unexpectedly. Out from it, came a tall guy wearing a LA Angels jersey and humming a tune which neither of them recognized. He took the faucet next to Victor and started washing his hands.

"What's with the nails?" he said.

Victor, who was only halfway finished with his first hand, ignored him.

"Hey, I was talking to you, bro," the guy insisted.

"You got a problem or something, dipshit?" Victor snapped.

"Yo, I was just asking you a question," he said, his tone of voice now angry. "I ain't got no problem with you gays."

"Fuck off."

"You little shi-"

Victor had been getting ready for a fight, when a strange, gurgling sound echoed through the bathroom. He had hardly noticed that the water from both faucets had stopped running. Next thing he knew, a stream of water erupted at high speed from the nozzle, splashing the guy in the face. Victor couldn't help smiling at this.

"What the fuck are you smiling at?"

Before he could answer, Benny stepped in between the two. He gently pressed one hand against Victor's chest, holding him back.

"Nothing. He's sorry," Benny said. "Please forgive him. He's just having a bad day, on top of his already bad temper."

The guy stared at the two, frowning, water dripping from his face.

"Your boyfriend's got problems, yo!"

"I got-"

"He does and he isn't," Benny interrupted. With his free hand, he grabbed a handful of paper towels and offered them to him. "He won't bother you again. Just chill, man."

Though clearly reluctant, the guy grabbed the paper towels and wiped his face. He then threw them at Benny's feet and walked out of the bathroom without taking his eyes off them.

Benny took his hand off Victor's chest. "Asshole."

"Agree."

"I meant you."

Victor sighed. "Also agree."

He turned away from Benny and continued scrubbing.