She wasn’t convinced. “Twenty bucks says you’ll call him by seven thirty and tell him you’re sick. You hate dates, and you’re going to come to your senses about McPanties by quittin’ time tomorrow and develop a sudden case of the Hershey squirts.”
I lifted my chin. “Fine. Twenty bucks. I’m going on this date, even if my anxiety goes nuts.”
She clicked her tongue, backing out of her parking spot. “You should just give me the money now.”
I was too amped to sleep after scoring a date with Avery, so I began to prepare.
Behind my apartment, in a brick shack that leaned slightly to the left, I stared at my battered and bruised car, Mabeline.
Compared to Avery’s matchbox car, mine had stood up against the small impact. Muscle cars were built that way, to be tough. Cars today crumbled like a wadded up tissue. I saw it every single day, and most people weren’t nearly as lucky as Avery. That girl was her own rabbit’s foot or … I reached up and gripped the penny beneath my shirt that I had found on my floorboard right before our impact.
Sinking down on my haunches, I wiped my hand over the baby-shit-green paint that had marred the front left fender.
“What did she do to you?” I did my best to brush away the flecks of paint before standing, blowing out a heavy breath. Avery’s Prius was part of Mabeline now. They couldn’t be more different, but now they shared the same story. I could buff the hell out of it and repaint, but I kind of liked the smudge from Avery. She’d left her mark on me, too.
“Looks like I need to make a trip down to the junkyard and find you a new headlight. You are in no shape to take on a date.”
Digging my phone from my pocket, I swiped my finger over the screen so I could check the time. The junkyard wouldn’t be open for a few more hours, and if I knew Bud, he wouldn’t be pulling parts until he walked his partner, Dusty, down to Emerson’s Country store to get his morning coffee.
If I left early, I could grab us some joe on the way and maybe get Bud moving with a breakfast sandwich. I only had one day to get everything in order.
I wasn’t worried, though. I had practically built Mabeline with my own two hands over the past six years. She had been my dream car since I was a boy, and I knew every inch of her frame. I could have her looking as good as new in no time. I’d always enjoyed working with my hands and fixing things, people included. As an added bonus, it was cheaper than therapy. There was hardly anything a little grease and hard work couldn’t cure.
I rolled my neck from shoulder to shoulder, relishing in the relief from stretching my tight neck muscles. I was still sore from the accident, and I wondered why Avery didn’t seem to be in any pain at all. I was actually looking forward to figuring her out.
The hardest part would be planning our date. Avery probably hadn’t set the bar very high for me. Like any confident, sensible woman, she had taken one look at my scruffy face and grease-stained hands and seen trouble. But she was wrong about me.
Pulling open the driver side door, I slipped inside my car and turned the key. Stepping on the gas pedal, I made her roar, relieved that the only damage seemed to be cosmetic.
The drive across town was peaceful. Bud owned a large swath of property just outside Philadelphia, and even though the city was close by, it felt like another world. Amish buggies clogged the roads as they made their way to their vegetable markets, the relentless summer heat failing to slow them down.
I waved as I passed an older man who held the reins. Nodding, his beard rubbed against his plain, hand-sewn shirt.
The horse didn’t startle as my engine roared louder, thanks to its blinders that kept it focused on the road ahead.
Slowing as I crossed three small hills, I turned down the old dirt drive to Bud’s junkyard. I hadn’t lived in Pennsylvania long, but Bud was one of the first people I’d met when I’d arrived in town with an oil leak and no place to stay. He had let me crash on his couch until I was able to find an apartment and a new start.