Cerri was sitting behind the wheel of my 2002 Toyota, and I was under the hood. “Ok, try to start it again,” I said.

Wurrrrr, click.

“Damn, damn, damn,” I said. Then I heard a scream from across the parking lot. I looked up to see a tow truck pulling a blue Honda Pilot up onto it’s bed, and a girl waving her arms and yelling. I looked again. The girl was Gail.

Forgetting Cerri, I sprinted down the lane, yelling at the tow truck driver. “What the hell’s going on? You can’t do this, it’s on private property.”

“Sorry, chum. No payments for over 4 months. Car goes back to the bank.” The driver said from his window.

The driver drove off, leaving Gail and me standing in the traffic lane, she in tears. Suddenly she buried her face in my chest, her arms around me. Sobs racked her body. I patted her back, saying, “It’ll be all right,” not knowing if it ever would.
I glanced toward the school and saw Van jogging toward us.