“Hey.”
“What’s up?” I ask, knowing her vibe is off. Though we are now around a ton of people.
“You don’t have to go with them?” She nods to the ice girls heading in the other direction.
“Nope.” I pop the P.
“You really need to be careful,” Georgia tries to warn me again.
“You want me to keep a low profile?” I would if she truly wanted that. I’m not here to make her life hard. Not when she’s been there for me through challenging times.
“No, I want you to be yourself; I’m only letting you know.”
Ahh, she’s worried about what blowback I’ll get and how it will affect me. Even if they do their worst, what can they really do? I might be at their school, but we’re from two different worlds. I’m sure after graduation I will never see any of them again. Except Georgia.
“I got it.” I hook my arm into hers, heading back toward our dorm room. We spend the rest of the night decorating and getting everything put together before crashing out to reality TV and consuming all the junk food.
The next morning, I’m up early. It’s a habit I’ve formed. Georgia tends to stay up late with her face planted in a book.
I used to get up before school and do paperwork for my dad’s shop, and then I’d go for a run and then off to school. This morning I headed over to my sister’s to check in with her and have breakfast. I leave her to get back to her lesson planning and walk the short distance into town to grab a coffee and stroll around.
I pause when I spot a mechanic shop with aHelp Wantedsign in the window. It says part-time. Wondering what they are searching for, I stroll inside. I know it’s a long shot, but I do need a job. It’s not fun being broke, and I’m not hitting my sister up every five seconds.
I’m a girl that loves overpriced coffee and manicures, but can you blame me? Gel nails are the best thing to happen for a girl when you work in the mechanic field, even if only doing office shit. Though it’s never only office crap. There are times your help is needed in the actual shop.
“You Joe?” I ask when I enter the shop through the office door. A man in his early twenties stands from behind the desk that has two worn-out chairs in front of it. The smell of oil and brake fluid takes me back home. I have to swallow down the emotion that tries to flood in.
“I’m Joe Jr.” He runs his fingers through his short dark curls. “Call me Joey. It makes things easier around here.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Madeline.” He reaches down to use the cloth hanging off his hip to wipe his hands.
“They’re kind of dirty,” he tries to warn me as he offers me his hand in return. They appear fine to me, but that’s because I know that oftentimes a mechanic’s hands might appear dirty, but really they are stained from work, and it’s an easy thing to say instead of explaining it.
“Well,” I take his hand and shake, “if I were worried about that, I probably shouldn’t be asking about what position you’re hiring for.” I nod back toward the sign. Joey’s brows rise in surprise.
“What? I know cars.” I don’t know everything, but I know a lot. “But I’m even better at paperwork.” I tap the stack of estimates he has in a pile on the desk next to a pile of invoices. They are definitely in need of some organization. The side door into the shop opens, and I know it’s Joe Sr. when he steps through with that same dark wavy hair and deep blue eyes.
“Madeline here is asking about the hiring sign.” I bite back a laugh because his father makes the same expression Joey did when I said it.
“For the office?” he asks.
“I’m best at the office, but I know the basics if you need someone in a pinch to change filters or do a quick oil change.”
“That so?” Joe Sr. smiles at me. I nod back and smile too. “All right, what’s the difference between DOT 3 and DOT 4 brake fluid?
“In short form both are compatible. The DOT 4 offers better performance under heavy braking, but it does have to be replaced sooner.” His smile grows at my response.
“Okay, if you were to do an oil change, what should you look for when checking used car oil for signs of engine issues?”
“Taking it easy on me?” I give a playful laugh. “You look for the light amber color and a smooth consistency. Red flags are pretty much anything else, like if it’s black and gritty or that milky brown. Also, if you see metallic shavings in it. That’s a bigger problem and you can always trust—” I tap my nose. “She’s a rather helpful tool.”
They both stare at me before Joey shrugs at his father. “All right, you’re hired,” he says.
Wow, that was easy. I bet classes tomorrow won’t be the same.
Chapter Six
LUKE
