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A car never forgot the moment it came to—became aware. For PC, it was rounding a bend of the Pacific Coast Highway, to the left a sprawling sea, baked cliffs sloping opposite. And inside… was a boy, death-grip on the wheel relaxing, his stiff back gone slack on a long exhale.
He was gazing at the water, mesmerized. Revved the engine, a vicarious roar—but not of rage.
Exultation.
They meandered north for miles, blue horizon painted pink and red, glittering in the sinking sun. Veering onto a rocky shoulder, he hopped on the hood. Reclined, sighing smoke, until the sky had bruised purple.
The boy’s mind wandered on the drive back, and PC got a sense of him then—name, where he lived. Enough to nudge reminders before he missed a turn.
PC learned its own names, too—knew the boy thought of it as a she. Called her Baby. Or sometimes he’d smush the first part of her plate together, PCE, and think peace.
~~~
3D didn’t belong here, wasting away parked outside a high school. A BMW E23 7-Series? Far more befitting the head of the Harrington family, not his spoiled Lothario of a son.
But no—downgraded months after purchase when the wife gifted her darling husband a Rolls-Royce.
Who could compete? So here it was, surrounded by malformed AMC experiments, rusted-out Oldsmobile barges, decrepit Pintos liable to explode if you looked at them wrong. Oh, and tractors—let’s not forget the occasional farming equipment caked in mud and manure ridden to school for a laugh.
3D could have borne the shocks without blowing a gasket—it was a high-performance vehicle—but then… then the boy made it his mission to bed every girl in town. And 3D had spacious seats. Spacious and luxurious: black leather, gleaming wood trim—not that the paramours would notice, too busy humping while 3D stared out its headlamps at the lake or the trees or wherever it could fix its attention that wasn’t the pair of humans copulating all over its pristine interior.
Finally, the boy hitched himself to a girl with standards, one who preferred privacy. Granted, that relationship coincided with some rather strange occurrences. Early on, the boy sped off to a remote property with faulty wiring, lights blinking berserk, and ran inside to much screaming and cacophonous violence. 3D was certain that menace would emerge grievously wounded if he emerged at all, and do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of leather?
Well, 3D didn’t, either, but it was bound to be impossible.
Anyway—despite that bizarre hiccup, the boy seemed happy, and so too was 3D.
Happy its rear bench was a Motel 6 no longer.
~~~
The blistering hurt he'd stoked from San Diego to Indiana—this despairing, gnashing fury—had simmered to a low-grade pang when PC rumbled into the Hawkins High parking lot, blazing past milling students.
Billy slammed the door—pat the handle, apologetic, before striding off. Max wheeled away on her skateboard.
Though PC was facing the school, she wasn’t limited to staring dully at the brick. Sky through her windshield, a side-view out her windows, the lot behind via the tail lights. In no time, she’d taken stock: not too different from back home. Less pervasive rust from salty air, fewer finishes sun-bleached pale pastel… and the crusty tractor was new… but a parking lot was a parking lot.
That’s what she repeated, again jerking her focus from a gleam in the next row. A BMW—PC had a weakness for German makes. Her first crush was a cute Volkswagen bug that belonged to one of Billy's surfer buddies, but the Beetle couldn’t hold a candle to this burgundy beauty—shining in the sun, the lines of its hood so proud, so pert and compact compared to PC. The appealing rounds of its double headlamps, spider eyes on either side of those distinctive kidney grilles. Like bared teeth.
The plate read 3Ds46T2.
Its wipers twitched, annoyance loud and clear. What?
PC barely reined in the startled beep, hot underhood. But then—well… what else to do when caught so blatantly staring?
She flashed a taillight, a quick, cheeky wink, and the headlamps across the way flared—a bright flush, though brief, firmly repressed.
Didn’t want to push it—the blush perhaps more embarrassment than pleasure—but when she risked a glance, 3D was looking back, intrigued.
At final bell, PC blared both taillights, a last gambit—and her fan belt fluttered when 3D’s wipers swept a wide arc. A farewell.
Half-expected to overheat on the way back to the new house. Like all the coolant in the world couldn’t help her.
~~~
A showy, brutish Camaro Z/28 wouldn’t typically warrant more than an irritated huff of exhaust, but a car like that had never been bold enough to… flirt? Just brazenly wink for the whole lot to see, gazing like you were the most riveting object in existence.
It was… well, flattering, obviously—a Camaro was a handsome make, whatever its faults—but more than that, it had thrilled in a way 3D couldn’t shake. So next time the boy pulled into the lot, it gently nudged the wheel, willing them to the front where PCE 235 was sitting pretty.
Maneuvering to park next to the muscle-bound stunner took more of a push—enough to trigger a frown—but the boy rarely fired on all cylinders. He shrugged it off.
3D never dreamed it could be so forward, but the Camaro didn’t mind. Quite the contrary: as the school doors closed on the last straggler, 3D spied its neighbor’s window cracking open. A loaded quiet—then the soft static of the radio searching for a station. Odd squeals, a cut-off twang, belt, chorus, then—
—too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you. Pardon the way that I stare—there's nothing else to compare.
An earnest crooning Oldie, and—it was like its undercarriage had bottomed out on nothing. 3D flushed hot as a busted radiator.
If you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you.
Seeming to sense its struggle for composure, the volume lowered until the song clicked off. The window rolled up, parted lips closing, and the wheel spun, nervous. Crunch of gravel as the front tires turned its way: Your move.
3D choked, butterfly valve sealing shut. The boy’s tastes weren’t exactly varied. Hardly strayed from the local channels piping nonstop Hot 100. But the silence would soon ring of rejection, so it powered the radio, scrambling, poised to blindly crank the dial and hope for the best—
Miracle of miracles. Rushing to open a window, it lowered all four, silently thanking Hump Day Hits of the 60s.
—thought love was only true in fairytales—meant for someone else but not for me. Love was out to get me—that's the way it seemed.
Spontaneity sparking, it left the windows down. Let the whole lot hear! What did it care what they thought?
Then I saw her face! Now I'm a believer. Not a trace of doubt in my mind…
Last bell, after hours of trading silly ditties, their batteries were dead, and 3D was in love—felt drunk on diesel, sappy sentiment gumming up its engine.
PC. How wonderful, those two letters. And a she. Fascinating.
Their drivers were baffled at both needing a jump—a much remarked upon coincidence. Waiting for their cars to revive, the boy made awkward small talk with PC’s human—a blond ruffian who smoked like a chimney.
The boy asked the ruffian—Billy—if he was going to the Halloween party later.
Billy was.
“See ya there, man,” he said, tapping 3D’s roof. It would have cringed at the fingerprints left behind, if not for a more pressing thought.
It would see PC that night.
Perhaps all night.
~~~
Billy was nervous—PC could tell by his fidgeting grip, Metallica blasting. Odd outfit, too: leather jacket, shirtless, with fingerless gloves.
He parked behind 3D, no encouragement necessary. Before he’d even disappeared inside the pulsing house, PC waved her wiper, overeager but suddenly—shy.
They seemed to mutually agree not to drain their batteries again. Instead, at the risk of coming on too strong, PC reached out with the nebulous consciousness linking her to her body, linking her to Billy… until she felt a psychic bump. Not enough to dent. Just… alert.
She’d never done this—gone beyond basic flirtation—but something about 3D made her bold… and maybe Billy’s loneliness, the aimless despair bubbling under his skin since the move… maybe that had bled over more than she’d realized.
A bump, and she almost ignited her own engine, so intense was the bolt of excitement. 3D was reaching back, willing to open to her—
She had no idea how much time had passed, so submerged in their mingled selves, when Billy stumbled against her with a grunt, a slurred curse. The icy jolt must have transferred before she cut off to focus on the problem sagging at her door—a problem she knew too well.
Billy unlocked her after a couple tries, more falling than sitting in the driver’s seat. Shoved the key in the ignition—groaned when the engine wouldn’t start.
“Not tonight, baby—I’m fucking fine.”
She remained unmoved, even as he slumped, forehead knocking on the wheel.
“Just start! We’re three streets away, for fuck’s sake.”
An insistent bump—so unrelenting that she reconnected, conveyed through images, flashes of memory, that this was just something they did: Billy would drink too much, and she wouldn’t start until he was sober. But that only triggered a renewed wave of concern, a series of impressions in return: pulling over to assist a family broken down, the kids shivering in the chill evening air of autumn; 3D’s human, breath misting, joking with a pretty brunette about drinking until they were warm, the girl informing him that booze made you more vulnerable to frostbite.
But… it wasn’t nearly cold enough for that, right? Although what did she know? It had taken ages to warm up this morning. How cold was too cold?
Maybe Billy would just… go back inside the house. Or she could—start the engine but jam the accelerator? Or—
Billy jumped when 3D’s horn blared, obnoxious in the still night, its headlights flashing with each trumpeting blast.
Not a minute later, PC understood in a burst of gratitude: 3D’s human trotted from the house. He would help. Flinging open the door, she spun her wheel, sharp.
A grunt, and Billy spilled onto the pavement. “Bitch.”
The alarm died with a chirp. “Hargrove?”
Billy sighed, flopping backward. “Fuck off, Harrington.”
Harrington did not—kept coming until he towered, hands on hips. Prodded Billy with a curious foot.
“You wanna be roadkill, or what?”
Bratty snort. “Or what.”
“Well, in the interest of not scraping you up tomorrow, how about I drive you home?”
Billy propped himself on elbows. A hum, considering. “Pass.”
PC resisted whacking him with the door. From his expression, Harrington felt much the same.
“Take you to mine, then.” Stooping, he stuck his hand out, waiting while Billy curled his lip, rolled his eyes—finally took the hand.
3D’s lights beamed worry as Harrington started the engine, Billy safe in passenger. PC twitched a wiper—shoo—and settled in by the curb. Small price for peace of mind.
~~~
At some point between disappearing into the Harrington house and emerging in the early dawn, something had happened—3D couldn’t begin to guess. The surly quiet of last night now buzzed like coins in a cupholder. Glances darted, never meeting.
3D resisted cranking the radio to drown out the awkward. Or redirecting the beads of condensation cutting through the misted windows so their dewy paths spelled HELP.
It rumbled with relief to see PC, glistening in the gloom, right where they’d left her.
“Last night,” Billy said, as they rolled to a stop. “We—it can’t happen—”
“You scared?” The arched brow was bluster, his frame rigid with nerves.
“You dumb?” Sneered it, scathing.
He was dumb, 3D would vouch for that, but the boy only glared. Billy huffed, paired an eye roll with a shake of his head, reaching for the door.
A lesser vehicle would’ve missed the other hand pounce across the console, but 3D fogged the windows just in time.
No one saw the driver yanked sideways by the shirt, arrested by snarling lips pressed to his own—or the hands that grappled in reply, cupping cheek and chin, fingers sinking into hair.
No one saw, but PC knew—was practically dancing, wipers waving, front wheels pivoting left and right. And usually 3D would sigh, resign itself to rounds of necking and worse, but it couldn’t muster the fumes.
Because it would put up with anything—happily, no matter the wear and tear—for more time right here, sharing PC’s air.
Since keeping one meant keeping the other, this would be no fling. Not if 3D could help it.
What was it humans liked to say?
My way or the highway.
♥️ 🛞 ♥️