Arrogant Bastard(15)

“Saw you walk into your class on my way to Mixed Media. Our classrooms are down the hall from each other. Relax.” I rub the dull ache in my rib cage until it subsides. She’s got to do better than that next time. That was weak.

Waverly pulls up to a mechanic’s shop with gray cinderblock walls and five bays. A yellow sign with black and red lettering says, “A1 Auto Repair.” She slams on her brakes, which I’m guessing is her way of telling me to get the fuck out. God, I’d kill to hear her say “fuck” or “damn.” Or even “hell.”

For a second, I debate asking if she’ll come pick me up in a couple hours, but I don’t dare. If looks could kill…

“Thanks for the ride.” She peels out of the parking lot before I have a chance to shut the door behind me. “All right, then.”

I’m greeted by jingle bells on the door and a cashier with a nametag reading “Liberty” across her pinstriped button-down. It’s a mechanic’s shirt, but she has it open just enough to offer the world a shameless sneak-peak at her cleavage. Her hair is long, dark, and wild, and she has the same glass-blue eyes as Waverly.

“Can I help you?” She snaps her gum between cherry-red lips. She’s so busy working her Bubble Yum six ways from Sunday she doesn’t bother to smile.

“I’m Jensen. Mark Miller sent me here for a job.”

“Ah, yes. Uncle Mark,” she says, picking up the phone and pressing three buttons. The cuffs of her shirt are hiked up just enough to show she’s got a whole sleeve of tattoos going on. Judging by her smooth baby face, she’s barely old enough to drink. “Dad, that guy that Uncle Mark sent is here.” She hangs up. “You can have a seat. He’ll be out.”

I locate a dingy aluminum chair and grab a stale issue of Car and Driver, flipping to the middle and hoping to find a half-interesting article somewhere.

“So, you’re one of the Millers now.” Liberty’s mouth turns into a knowing half-smile.

“Not a Miller.” I clear my throat and flip the page. It’s not that I’m proud to be a Mackey, it’s just there’s no way in hell I’ll ever be a fucking Miller.

“Yeah, but you’re Uncle Mark’s third wife’s son from another marriage. Right? Did I get that right?”

“Something like that.”

“It’s okay. I know about their, uh, lifestyle,” she laughs. “My mom and Waverly’s dad are brother and sister. We’re not poly, or anything, but we know about them. Family’s family, right?”

I flip another page and mutter, “Forever and always.”

“Uncle Mark is fucking nuts.” She says it with a heavy connotation, as if I should know what she’s talking about by now.

“Only known him a couple days.”

“Well, you’re in for a real treat.” She slides her body against the counter and leans against her arm, yawning. She’s far too young to be this tired at three thirty in the afternoon. “Sorry. Out way too late last night.”

“That supposed to impress me?” I’m fucking with her, but it’s mostly because this Car and Driver magazine is old as hell. She should take it as a compliment.

“Look, I’m not trying to impress you. Just making a statement. Don’t flatter yourself. You’re too young for me. Plus, I’m taken.”

“Poor guy.”

She scoffs and flips me off with a shit-eating grin. I kind of like her. If I were looking for a friend, I might consider someone like her. Her sass isn’t unlike mine, and it’s a breath of fresh air in the boring land of Whispering Hills, Utah. I have a feeling we’re both treading the same dark water, in some way or another.

“Jensen?” A man appears from behind Liberty. His dark hair matches hers, though his eyes are black as coal. He wipes his oil-stained hand on a dirty shop rag and extends it. “I’m Rich. Mark said you needed a job?”

“Mark said you needed a… gofer.”

“I do.” He motions for me to follow him out to the shop. A team of young guys are rolling tires, hoisting cars up on lifts, and running hydraulic tools. We weave between a sea of vehicles until we reach a back room where all the parts are kept. “You familiar with car parts?”

I nod.

“Good.” He hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of his dirty gray pants and rocks back and forth on his heels. He may as well be chewing the end of a piece of straw. He takes me in from head to toe, sizing me up before he makes it official. “Pay is eight bucks an hour. You can work a couple hours after school during the week. Saturday mornings too, if you want to pick up extra hours.”