Jenna Holloway's Arc

Chapter 8 of 8

Jenna called both friends from the landline in her kitchen. They met her at the gas station on Route 9 an hour later, and together they borrowed jumper cables from Jenna's neighbor. The three of them drove out to the abandoned office building in the neighbor's truck, got the Honda running, and followed it back to Jenna's apartment complex. The summer wasn't stuck anymore—it just needed a push. They parked the Honda in the back corner of the lot, near the dumpsters where nobody would notice it. One friend suggested they needed a spot that was actually theirs—somewhere they could meet up after dark without borrowing trucks or explaining themselves. Jenna remembered the empty field behind the apartments, the one with the cracked basketball court and overgrown grass. They walked over and found a flat area near the fence. Her other friend pulled a clay chiminea from the trunk of the neighbor's truck—something her dad was throwing out. They set it up on the concrete, stuffed it with newspaper and dry sticks, and lit it. The fire caught quickly, glowing orange in the dark. Smoke curled up and disappeared into the night sky. The light spread across the pavement, enough to see by without drawing attention from the road. They dragged over some lawn chairs someone had left by the dumpster and sat around the flames. Jenna looked at her friends across the fire. They'd fixed the car. They'd found a place. The summer had hit a wall, but they'd climbed it together. No more splitting up at bowling alleys or walking home alone. This was their spot now—a place where they could start every night and know exactly where to come back to. The fire crackled and popped, the flames dancing higher. They had the Honda running again. They had each other. The rest of the summer stretched out ahead of them like an open road. One friend got up and walked back to the truck. She returned carrying a stack of firewood logs, the bark rough under her fingers. She dropped them next to the chiminea and brushed wood dust off her hands. They'd need fuel to keep this going, she said. Jenna nodded and kicked one of the logs with her boot. They could keep some here, stashed behind the fence where nobody would mess with it. Her other friend poked at the fire with a stick, sending sparks up into the night. This was different from the quarry or the caves—those places belonged to whoever found them first. This spot was theirs from the ground up. They'd built it with borrowed tools and thrown-out junk, and it worked. The flames lit their faces as they sat back down. The Honda was fixed. The fire was burning. They had everything they needed to keep going. The three of them stayed until the fire burned low. They didn't talk much—just sat and watched the flames shift and crack. When the wood turned to embers, they kicked dirt over the chiminea and walked back toward the apartments. Jenna looked back once before they reached the parking lot. The spot was dark now, invisible from the road. But tomorrow night they'd light it again, and the night after that. The summer had broken down and left them stranded, but they'd fixed it themselves. No parents. No explanations. Just three friends and a running car. Jenna unlocked the Honda and slid into the driver's seat. Her friends climbed in after her. She turned the key and the engine started on the first try. They pulled out of the lot and onto the empty road, headlights cutting through the dark. The summer was theirs again. They drove past the park where kids played during the day. The gates were locked but they could see the picnic tables through the fence. One friend pointed at them—they could come back tomorrow, bring cards and something to drink. Turn it into their daytime spot the way the fire was their nighttime one. Jenna slowed the car and looked. The tables sat empty under the streetlights, waiting. They could use them for games, food, whatever they needed when the sun was still up. Another place that was theirs. She hit the gas and kept driving. The summer had almost slipped away when the Honda died. Now they had more than they'd started with—a car that ran, a fire that burned, and spots they could claim without asking permission. Jenna turned up the radio and her friends leaned back in their seats. The road stretched out ahead of them, and for the first time in days, nothing stood in their way.