Over the Wall (5 page)

TIM STUMBLED INTO THE TRAILER,
and Vera yelled at him. She had a way of stringing her sentences together like plugging extension cords into each other to make one long cord. “How did you get all wet? Where have you been, anyway? You’re not tracking that mud and muck into my house. Get outside! I swear, I don’t understand teenagers!”

Tim felt glad to be alive, and Vera was worried about her precious linoleum. It felt kind of like she was rearranging the pictures on the
Titanic
’s walls. The ship was going down, but she was focused on the tiny stuff.

He stepped outside, took off his shoes, and squeezed the water out of his socks. He thought she might bring him a towel or something, but she didn’t.
Tim just stood out there, and he could tell people in the next trailer were watching.

He shivered, not because of the cold but because of the way the gator had splashed when he’d gone into the water. He’d heard they were hungry in the evening and would eat anything thrown at them—a chicken or a basketball—it didn’t matter. So when he hit the water, he flailed for the pier posts and grabbed them. He couldn’t swim—that part of what he’d said had been true—but he tried to hold his breath so he would float. His dad had told him that much. He didn’t give the gators time to bite at him—he’d shinnied up the pole and listened for the car to pull away, then climbed onto the pier and walked home.

He paused at the front door and heard Vera and Tyson fighting over the noise of the TV. Funny how money was too tight to afford new clothes for Tim, but they’d been able to buy a satellite dish with a bunch of premium channels.

Tim opened the door and crept to his room, but Vera said something to him from the kitchen. He walked back to her and asked what she had said.

Vera had a thing about boxes—she had to take all the food out of them and put boxes in the trash before she felt done. She even took the cereal out of the boxes and left the plastic bags on the shelf so you never could tell what you were getting.

“Somebody called for you while you were gone. Where’d you go anyway?”

“Out for a walk. Who was it?”

“A guy. Had kind of a deep voice. Sounded like he was from up north.”

“Did he say his name or anything?”

“No, just said he’d call back tomorrow.”

Tim went back to his room, shut the door, and sat on the bed next to his ratty suitcase. He pulled out the lawyer’s letter and the key. He didn’t care how he got there or what the people were like; he had to get to North Carolina.

JAMIE’S MOM AND DAD
whispered a lot that night, but for the most part, Jamie stayed in her room and finished her homework, then started on a letter to her teachers. She had to convince them (and her mom) that finishing the year on her own would be a good idea. Even if she had to repeat the semester, she was determined to get to the driving school.

Her dad was up early the next morning getting ready to leave for the race in Texas. There were more whispers and phone calls, but she tried to ignore them. One phone call did startle her—it was from her dad’s main sponsor, and he went into the den he used for an office and closed the door. When he came back out, Jamie moved to the handrail at the top of the stairs and watched her dad hug her mom.

“It’s gonna work out for the best—you know that,” he said, kissing her mom on the head.

“Why are they putting so much pressure on you?” her mother said.

“They want a return on their investment, and I can’t blame them.”

“Things will come together this weekend,” her mom said. “You’ve always done well at Texas. And Phoenix is next week.”

“Let’s hope we can wow them. You’ll FedEx the tickets to Florida today, right?”

“I got it covered. We’ll be watching and praying for you.”

Without looking up, her dad said, “See you Sunday night, Jamie.”

She waved and gave a halfhearted, “Bye.”

Then he was out the door.

/////

Jamie handed the letter she had written to each teacher, but most of them didn’t have a chance to read it before class.

Her English teacher, who had admitted she didn’t know a thing about NASCAR other than how dangerous it was, scratched her chin and let her glasses ride down on her nose as she read the letter after class.

She called Jamie up. “This is a well-written letter, Jamie. If I were giving you a grade, I’d give you a C for grammar—” she pointed out two subject-verb agreement mistakes—“and an A for persuasion. You really want to do this.”

“It’s a huge opportunity, ma’am. It’s hard to get noticed and break into the teams, and this could be my best shot.”

“If you can convince your other teachers, I’ll go along with it.”

A ray of hope, a beam of sunlight, broke through the clouds.

But the storm came after school on her way to her job. Her mother called. “Jamie, I just got back from the store, and there’s an urgent message here from the bank. You need to call a Mr. Conway right away.”

She was passing the bank and pulled into the parking lot. It was a small brick building with the American and North Carolina flags flying out front. The lobby was always warm and inviting, and the lady at the front desk smiled like she was advertising a new toothpaste. Fresh-baked cookies sat on a tray, and the woman encouraged Jamie to take one.

“Thank you,” Jamie said. “I’m looking for Mr. Conway.”

“That’s his office right there,” the woman said. “Have a seat and I’ll call him. Is he expecting you?”

Jamie told her he’d called her house, then sat and ate the chocolate chip cookie. It was about as big as her hand and tasted so sweet she knew she’d have to work extra hard at the fitness center tonight. She usually worked out twice a week to stay in shape and keep toned for her races.

“Miss Maxwell, come right in,” Mr. Conway said. He was a middle-aged man, dressed in a black suit and a yellow tie. He had a nice smile, but his demeanor was all business.

“My mom called and said you left a message at the house.”

He offered her a seat and sat behind his desk. “Yes. Something unfortunate has happened with a transaction.” He picked up a check with a big red mark on it. “This check you cashed for a substantial amount of money was sent back to us for insufficient funds.”

Jamie stared at the check. It was her car money. She’d deposited it the next day. “That’s the check I got for selling my car.”

“Well, there wasn’t enough money in this person’s account to cover that purchase.” Mr. Conway looked at the floor and bit his lip. “What we usually tell our clients about selling expensive items like your car is that they should never take a personal check. Only a money order or a certified check.”

“Maybe he made a mistake—maybe the money’s there now.”

“We sent the check through twice, and both times it came back. I’m very sorry, Miss Maxwell.”

Jamie took a photocopy of the check and studied the man’s name, address, and phone number. Now she had no money for the driving school. What else could go wrong?

TIM DIDN’T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL.
It made no sense for him to go when he was leaving, but Tyson and Vera made him. He went to the office after the first bell and told them that he was being sent to another state.

“Your parents will need to fill out and sign these forms,” the secretary said, giving him a couple of papers. “You can hand them in to the counselor’s office just down the hall.”

Tim took the forms to the library, filled them out, then signed Tyson’s and Vera’s names. He took them to the right office and found an older lady at the desk. “I’m here to officially resign or whatever you call it.”

“You’re not dropping out, are you?” the woman said, her face creasing with concern.

“No, I’m moving up north. I just don’t know what you call it.”

“It’s a withdrawal. Why aren’t your guardians here to complete the process?”

Because they don’t care enough to be
, Tim thought. Instead he said, “They’re kind of busy. You know, with all the business stuff they’re doing.”

She took the papers into the next room and came back with a signed yellow sheet that was his official ticket out. “Here you are. And good luck in your new home.”

/////

Vera said they’d received a call from the family in North Carolina, and she told Tim to be ready the next day, though she wouldn’t say much else. He slept late the next morning until he heard a vehicle with squeaky brakes stop outside the trailer. He’d slept in his clothes so he could be ready as fast as possible, and he went to the front room and looked out the window. It was a white FedEx truck, something he’d never seen in this neighborhood.

He stepped to the door, where a lady in a gray outfit waited.

“You Tim Carhardt?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She scanned the bar code on the thin packet, handed it to him, and ran back to her truck. “Have a nice day!” she called over her shoulder.

“You too,” he said.

Tim went back to his room and sat on the bed. At the top was a tab that said
Pull here
, and he pulled it across and opened the pack. Inside was a white envelope with
Tim Carhardt
written on the front. He opened the envelope and took out several pages and something printed on thicker paper that looked like tickets. Along with them was a handwritten page on stationery with
Nicole Maxwell
printed at the top. At the bottom was an address in Velocity, NC.

Dear Tim,

I’m so sorry for the delay in getting you here. Our family is excited about having you live with us, and we can’t wait to help you get settled into your new room.

I talked with Tyson and Vera about this and hope they’ve told you our plans, but since Dale didn’t get to drive you back up here, he thought you might enjoy the race in Texas this weekend. You’ll find a plane ticket for this afternoon, and then you and Dale will fly back Sunday evening. He thought it would
be a good chance for you to get to know each other.

I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to meet you and have you join our family. We’re all thinking of you and hoping your trip from Florida goes well.

See you soon!

Nicole

Tim read the letter twice before he folded it and examined the plane ticket. There were so many numbers on the thing that he couldn’t figure it out. He finally saw the departure time from the Tallahassee airport: 06:55 p.m.

His heart raced. He’d never flown in an airplane before, and he’d heard horror stories about how long it took to get through security and that you couldn’t bring any kind of liquids or things that could be used as a weapon.

Then something ran through him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. Excitement. He was actually going to another race. Maybe he’d get to be down on pit road with the teams.

He pulled out the letter and read it again.

JAMIE RUBBED HER PALMS
together, a nervous habit she had when she was stressed out.

“Have you told your mom about the bounced check?” Cassie asked.

They were at the youth group meeting at church but had gone into the little prayer room on the second floor. It had a chapel feel to it with stained glass in the windows and a cross on the wall. There were only a few chairs and a kneeling bench at the front.

“She asked what it was about, but I can’t tell her,” Jamie said. “It’ll be the last nail in the coffin of the driving school. Instead of giving her every reason to say yes, I’m giving her every reason to say no.”

“That guy who bought your car is a jerk,” Cassie said. “I hate to say it, but it’s true.”

“But he seemed so nice.”

“Did you call him yet?”

“Haven’t got up the nerve. I thought about hiring a couple of the guys from the football team to go over there with me and act like mob hit men.”

“Gary would be pretty intimidating. Or Trace, except he’s kind of like a teddy bear.”

“I can’t believe that guy would stiff me for the money. He even got me to autograph the car.”

“Some people are just that way,” Cassie said. “Okay, I’m going to ask you something, and you have to promise me you won’t take it the wrong way or get angry or anything like that.”

Jamie furrowed her brow. “What is it?”

“Have you prayed about this? Now don’t give me that look. I mean, have you really, honestly asked God to take control—not just of the car thing and the driving school but of your life? the whole thing?”

Jamie sighed. “Look, I’m never going to be a spiritual giant like you are—”

“Stop it. That’s not fair. God doesn’t love me any more than he loves you. And I’m not a spiritual giant—I mess up all the time.”

“That’s good to hear. What do you do, say a bad word every two years?”

“I’m not here to preach. I just think it would be a load off you if you asked God what he wants for you.”

“I believe God wants us to take care of some things ourselves. He’s busy, you know? Wars and people starving and global warming. He doesn’t have time for some girl in North Carolina with NASCAR dreams.”

“That’s not true. He cares about every detail of your life.”

“How could he, Cassie? Think of everybody in the world with a million problems each. How could he care for all that? It would drive him crazy.”

“You’re making God out to be like you and me, but he’s not,” Cassie said. “He’s totally different. He wants to be a part of every decision you make.”

“I think God wants us to work out our own lives,” Jamie said. “Instead of running to him every time I have a problem or a choice of gum flavor or whether to have baloney or peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, I think he wants us to choose the little stuff and bring just the big stuff to him.”

“You got a verse for that?” Cassie said. “Because I have a boatload of stuff that talks about him being interested in all our needs.”

“I’m sure you do. You know the Bible a lot better than I do, so it wouldn’t be a fair match.”

“How about, ‘Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you’? He doesn’t say, ‘Give the big worries you have to God’ or ‘Just give the cares that are
important to God.’ He says to give them
all
to him. Do you think Jesus acted like that?” Cassie put on her best Jesus face, the one that made her look perfect and half asleep. “‘No, get those children out of here. I’m doing important things today like praying and meditating.’”

Jamie had to laugh.

“Jesus told his disciples to let the children come to him—he wasn’t this busy guy who didn’t have time for people. And God isn’t like that either.”

Jamie rubbed her palms and shifted in her chair.
There’s no clock in here. How can there be no clock in here?

“What are you thinking?” Cassie said.

Jamie sighed. “Okay, you want the truth? Maybe I’m scared of what God will think of the whole racing thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if I do like you say and give my life to God and let him take control of my gum and which outfit to wear and what kind of gas to buy. The whole thing. What happens if he tells me he wants me to go to some foreign country where they don’t even have cars, let alone racetracks? What then?”

“Two answers,” Cassie said. “One—if you could know right now what God wants you to do with your life, what would please him most and bring glory to him, wouldn’t you want to do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I think God offers the very best and most fulfilling life. I’d jump at the chance to know what he wants me to do.”

“Good for you.”

“Two—God doesn’t usually do that. He doesn’t write in the clouds or speak in a deep voice and tell you exactly what to do. But he does create a desire and interest in each of us, and he uses those things. Like your racing. Man, Jamie, it almost feels like you were born to get in a car and go fast. I think God can use that. Haven’t you ever seen that movie
Chariots of Fire
?”

“I’ve heard about it.”

“The guy’s sister thought he should be a missionary and give up running. He told her, ‘I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel his pleasure.’”

“You sure he didn’t drive NASCAR?”

Cassie laughed. “The point is, God’s not up there trying to take away what you love doing. He doesn’t want to make you miserable. You can trust him with your life.”

Someone knocked on the door. It was Pastor Gordon. “You two having fun in here?”

“Sorry,” Cassie said. “Jamie’s kind of having a little crisis, and we were talking about it.”

“Crisis? I’d like to hear about that, but I thought you’d want to know there’s somebody here to see you.”

Chad Devalon stepped around the pastor and sheepishly waved.

“Chad!” Jamie said. She rushed to him and almost gave him a hug but thought better of it.

Pastor Gordon excused himself and walked down the hall.

“Your mom said you were over here,” Chad said. He handed Jamie a colorful packet with the name
Skylar Jennings
on the front. “Dad wanted me to give this to you.”

“Thanks,” Jamie said.

“How are you feeling?” Cassie said.

“Doctor said I pinched something in my neck when I flipped. I’m kind of sore, but I’ll be fine. Can’t say the same about my car, but Dad said he would get me a new one.”

Jamie couldn’t help looking at the folder in her hands, and Chad picked up on it. He cleared his throat. “You probably know what that is by now. Guess you’ll be seeing some of my friends at that school.”

“You’re not going?” Jamie said.

“They’re inviting the top prospects, and I’m not a prospect anymore.” He looked at the prayer room and made a face, rubbing his neck. “I gotta be going.
Can’t say I’ve spent much time in churches. They give me the creeps.”

“You should come to our youth group,” Cassie said.

“Yeah, it’s so good you two don’t even go.” Chad smiled. “I’ll see you.”

When Chad was gone, Jamie turned back to Cassie. “That runner in the movie. What happened to him?”

“He won an Olympic gold medal.”

“What about after that?”

“He actually became a missionary and went to China . . . and died there.”

Jamie stared at her. “Not a good ending to your story, Cassie.”