“I know you’re fine now, but what are you doing falling asleep on the job like that? You know how unsafe that is? You getting enough sleep at night? Am I working you too much? What’s going on at school?”
“Roy, please stop.” Jeremy clutched his head all over again. Too many questions to process.
“Okay. Let’s take it one by one,” Roy replied. “Why are you falling asleep on the job?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you sleeping enough at night?”
“Probably not.”
Roy huffed. “When do you go to bed?”
“When I’m tired.”
“Damnit, Jer, you need a bedtime!”
“I’m nineteen!”
“I’m sixty-three and I have a bedtime!”
“Because you’re sixty-three.” Jeremy cocked his head to the side and eyed Roy. He grinned.
“Funny. And I’m being serious. Go to bed at a decent hour so that you can function like a normal human being.”
Normal. Now that was funny.
“Yes, sir.”
“You struggling in school?” Roy asked.
“No.”
“You getting your work done? Your papers and projects and all that?”
“Yes.”
“Are you writing garbage or are you actually working hard? You studying for tests and quizzes? I wanna see your grades.”
“Jesus, Roy,” Jeremy mumbled.
“I’m your boss and landlord. That means I get to see your grades.”
“Mostly B’s. A few C’s right now,” Jeremy said, and that was the truth.
“You’re not an average kid,” Roy replied. “What are you doing making C’s?”
“I am average, actually.”
“No, you’re not. An average kid couldn’t take apart an engine and put it back together with minimal to no help. You’re gifted.”
Jeremy burst out laughing. “I was held back in second grade!”
“Means nothing,” Roy said, brushing off the argument with a wave of his tubby hand.
“We can’t all be A students,” Jeremy explained. “Devalues the system, you know? Every student a Harvard student? I don’t think so. Stains the ivory.”
Roy nodded. “And that’s exactly why I know you’re not a C student.”
Silence.
“I’ll do better.”
“You better.”
“I will.”
And then Jeremy gasped, staring straight ahead.
“What?” Roy asked, following his gaze.
A girl stood in the doorway clutching a bag to her chest. She was dressed in soccer gear—pink jersey and shorts with outlandish lime green knee highs that stretched and strained over shin guards. She wore her cleats. Did she walk all the way over here in them?
“What can I do for you, darling?” Roy called.
Regan blushed. “I’m sorry. I thought business would be closed by now. I was just coming to see Jeremy.”
Roy smirked knowingly and jabbed Jeremy’s side.
“Ouch! Stop,” Jeremy hissed.
“Wednesdays are our long days,” Roy addressed Regan. He glanced at the large clock directly above her head. “But it’s about to be quitting time in half an hour. Why don’t you take a seat over there with those folks and wait for him.”
Regan bit her lower lip as she nodded—reluctant assent because she thought she shouldn’t say no to an adult.
“Give her an option, Roy,” Jeremy whispered, picking up a wrench. “God. Maybe she doesn’t want to sit over there and wait. Maybe she didn’t want to come here in the first place.”
Roy frowned. “I don’t even know what that means. She’s here, isn’t she? And who is she, anyway? I didn’t know about any girlfriend.” And then he added as an afterthought: “You know the apartment rules.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jeremy replied. “Not even close.”
He glimpsed Regan sitting in a far seat close to the door and imagined she’d make a run for it. Wouldn’t surprise him. She was visibly agitated, tugging constantly at her knee highs and then moving to her ponytail. He thought she’d yank her hair right out of her head.
He sighed, then dove underneath the truck again. “Roy? Let me leave a little early?”
Roy peeked his head under. “Ha! You out of your mind? As I see it, you owe me extra time for falling asleep. You forget that part of the day?”
“Roy, please. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I just . . . I know Regan has to—”
“So, it’s Regan, is it?”
“Ah, jeez . . .”
“That’s an interesting name: Regan. Reegan,” he said again, exaggerating the first syllable.
“I like it,” Jeremy replied, immediately going on the defensive.
“Calm down,” Roy said, chuckling. “I like it, too. Sounds regal, like she should be six feet tall or something.”
“I like her height,” Jeremy blurted. Shut. Up.
Roy’s chuckles turned to full-out laughter. “And her face and hair and toenails and armpit creases . . .”
“Shut up, Roy!”
“You’re in love with her, son. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Oh, God . . .”
“But that isn’t getting you out of work early. You’re finishing this oil change.”
“Fine.”
There was nothing he could do about the rate at which the old oil drained from the engine, but lucky for him, that part was over. He could, however, control the rate at which he installed the new filter and poured in the fresh oil. He flew into action, catching a glimpse of Roy, who stood watching him like a hawk.
“You better lube that filter ring, Speedy Gonzales,” he warned.
“I got it, I got it,” Jeremy muttered.
“And you better not spill a drop of that oil,” Roy went on.
“I know.”
“And you better . . .”
The list continued throughout the entire oil change. Jeremy listened politely, aware that he wasn’t giving the truck the attention it deserved, but also realizing that he wasn’t changing brake pads. He was changing oil—something he’d done a million times. He could change oil with his eyes closed. It didn’t need to be the big deal Roy was making it. He knew it was only that Roy wanted to give him a hard time about Regan. A girl. His girl, in another, better world.
When he was finally alone with her outside, he apologized.
“You didn’t have to stay. Roy can sound bossy at times, but he really was giving you the option.”
“I wanted to stay,” Regan replied. “I mean, I needed to.”