Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
REBEL
After Gunner leaves, I go in search of a water hose to wash my mouth. Fair is fair and I wouldn’t have gotten out of that situation with Cliff on my own.
But why did it have to be Gunner who came to my rescue?
He’s the last person I want to be around. He’s a Kinsey, and thus, he’s my enemy by default, but beyond that… I just don’t like him. Simple as that.
Before I can find a hose, a familiar truck lurches to a stop in the sandy yard.
Dalton and his crew are here.
I usher them into the barn.
“What’s the plan, Hart?” Dalton asks, setting his tool box down with a serious expression.
I smile at the question. Dalton has no sky-high ego I need to stroke nor does he have a propensity for asking me out for drinks—what with him being happily married and a father of twins.
Talk about a breath of fresh air.
We get right to work.
At first, my calculations are slightly off and we scratch our heads, trying to figure out how to substitute the materials we don’t have.
After talking it over, I realize we can bend the iron rods using a unique welding method that I researched online. Dalton has no experience with it, but after showing him the video and talking him through the process, he gets it done.
The hour mark passes.
Anxiety causes sweat to bead on the back of my neck. My undershirt sticks to my chest like a second skin.
We’re out of time and we’re only three quarters done.
I check in with Rodney. To my relief, he was able to switch with another contestant.
“I was just about to call and inform you,” he says. “How are things on your end?”
I observe the frantic activity happening around the monster truck. Everyone is scrambling to pull this one off. “We’re… getting there.”
“That sounds less than promising,” Rodney says nervously. “But I won’t distract you. Keep me updated.”
I promise him that I will. After hanging up with Rodney, I focus on directing the welders.
Machinery whirrs. Orange sparks fly. Iron rods get sliced and diced.
We’re moving as fast as we can, but each glance at the clock makes me wince.
I don’t think we can make it.
“It’s not fitting in the slot, boss,” one of Dalton’s workmen says.
Dalton rubs the back of his neck. His face is covered with black grease stains. “I think we should call it now, Rebel. You said we had an hour. It’s been twenty minutes past that time.”
“We can’t give up.”
Dalton gives me a pitiful look.
“The specifications are right. I double—no, I triple checked it,” I murmur, rubbing my chin as I stare at the roll cage.
Dalton grips the iron rods. “The cage isn’t secure. It’ll slide out under pressure. The judges won’t pass this at the preliminaries.”
I stare at the ground in thought and my gaze lands on my tennis shoes. I notice the little plastic edges on the ends of my shoe laces and an idea comes to me.
“Dalton, do you have anything rubbery?”
“Rubbery?” He blinks.
“No, you probably don’t.” My eyes roam the barn until I notice his portable table. “Wait, we can work with plastic too.” I point to the rubber ends secured to the legs of the table. “If we weld this material down to the rods,” I whip my hand in a back and forth motion, “it can act like a cap?—”
Dalton’s eyes widen. “That keeps the roll cage in place.”
“Yes!”
“I’m on it.” Dalton springs into action. With his quick work we set the roll cage in place. It fits perfectly in the monster truck’s cabin.
Scooby’s Nightmare is ready for the preliminaries just in the nick of time.
“Thank you. Thank you,” Mr. Rodney says earnestly as his crew wheels the monster truck out of the barn. He shakes my hand like his life depends on it. “This means so much to me.”
“I hope everything works out between you and your son.”
“You’ll stay for the competition, won’t you? I’d like to introduce you to my son if I can.”
“I wasn’t planning to. And I’m not really dressed for it.” I gesture to my dirty overalls and vest. Though I wore gloves when handling the equipment, there’s still dirt on my fingers too. I need a bath.
“If you can’t make the competition, at least swing by for the donors’ luncheon afterwards.”
“I, uh…” I reach into my overalls where I keep my pink, beaded bangles. “That’s not really for crew members. It’s only for the donors.”
“Nonsense. Come as my guest.”
I shake my head.
“Then at least let me treat you and the crew to lunch.”
“If you want to treat the crew, you can talk to Dalton. But it’s fine. Really.”
Mr. Rodney is already handing out a generous fee to The Pink Garage for our emergency service. To take a penny more from him would be robbery.
“Mr. Rodney,” one of his assistants points to the exit, “we need to go.”
“Not until our star mechanic agrees to attend the luncheon.” Rodney pleads, “Even if you simply take a plate and go, I’d be satisfied.”
The assistant bounces from one leg to another, anxiety carved into his face.
“Fine.” I give in. “I’ll swing by during the luncheon.”
Mr. Rodney breaks into a large smile and allows his assistant to whisk him away.
Since my work is done, I ask Dalton for a ride back to my studio. He heartily agrees and banishes his workmen to the bed of the truck so I can have the backseat to myself.
On the way to my place, I call my best friend.
April answers on the third ring. “Hey, Rebel. How’d it go?”
“We got it done,” I say, melting into the busted leather seats, “but it wasn’t easy.”
“Told you you were the right person for the job.”
“You probably would have done it in an hour,” I mutter good-naturedly. April went to a vocational school renown for its auto repair program. She’s continued to study and attend certification classes every year.
The woman is a genius.
I, on the other hand, went to an unremarkable vocational school and have far less certifications. Sometimes, I wonder if April only keeps me around because of our friendship.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” April insists. “You’re incredibly resourceful. You can fabricate a new part for a vehicle with just your imagination and the materials you have on hand. I don’t have your level of creativity. Today’s emergency would have been impossible for anyone but you.”
My smile grows. “This much flattery will get you everywhere , April.”
“I’m only speaking the truth. You know I can’t lie.” She laughs. “What are you doing later?”
“Why? Aren’t you busy getting ready for your date with Chance?”
“We’re going out after his training, so I’m free for lunch. Do you want to come with me to the Tuna?”
“You’ve been eating at the Tuna more often lately,” I observe.
“I can’t explain it, but the food tastes so much better now that I’m not running into Evan anymore.”
I laugh. April’s ex-boyfriend is a huge fan of Chance McLanely. He couldn’t handle seeing April happy and in love with his hockey hero, so he moved another town over and joined a mechanic shop there.
“A burger from The Tipsy Tuna sounds amazing,” I moan, “but I can’t. I’m going to the Kinsey’s luncheon and I need to shower and do my hair first.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“I’m sorry. I think I just heard you say you were attending something thrown by the Kinseys.”
“I don’t plan to stay. Our client begged me to show my face, so I will.”
“Do you need backup?”
“From those grouchy ladies? No, I can handle it.”
However, when I return to the Kinsey farm, dressed in a long, pink summer dress with spaghetti straps, I start to wish I’d taken April up on her offer.
“What is she doing here?” Rosalie Davis whispers loud enough that I can hear her from the dessert table.
Rosalie’s sister, Cecilia, cuts me a dark look. “That’s obvious. She probably flirted with one of the men to get a ticket.”
I reach for the lemon tart.
Their conversation follows me.
“Look at her shoes. Aren’t they from last year’s clearance rack?”
“Doesn’t she know it’s tacky to wear all pink? Is she a toddler?”
More laughter rings out.
My fingers tighten on the dessert plate. The more the Davis sisters poke at me, the more difficult it is to keep my mouth shut.
Yet, defending myself will only play right into their hands.
Should I just leave?
“Excuse me,” a voice says.
I look up and find a tall, lean man with closely-cropped hair and intelligent brown eyes hidden behind delicate round glasses. He looks at me with an eyebrow arched, as if we should know each other.
“Is it good?” he asks.
“W-what?”
“The lemon tart, is it good?”
“Uh, yeah.” I offer a polite but tense smile.
He takes a bite of one and makes a face. “Oh, that’s bitter. You two.” He waves to the Davis sisters.
They jolt in surprise.
“Have some,” the stranger says. “They’re as bitter as the both of you combined.”
Cecilia coughs in embarrassment while her sister pouts and stalks off.
I fight my laughter. “You shouldn’t have done that. They’ll hold a grudge.”
“I hold grudges too. We’ll see which one of us lasts the longest.”
This time, I can’t hold it back. I do laugh out loud.
A charming smile grows on his face. He offers a hand. “I’m Benjamin, but my friends call me Benji.”
“Rebel.”
“Rebel? Is that your actual name?”
“My mother was in a very ‘female empowerment’ stage of her life when she had me.”
He chuckles.
I smile too.
“Well, Rebel,” Benjamin leans in, “I hope you weren’t too hurt by anything those nasty women said.”
“On the contrary, I know I look amazing when they start screeching.”
His eyes shine with interest as he looks me over. “They should have screeched a little harder.”
I snort out another laugh. Something about Benjamin’s clumsy attempt at flirting is endearing to me.
He clears his throat, blushing a little. “Having a good time? Aside from the jealous heckling?”
“The food is good. I do like it tart.” I take another bite of the pastry.
“But the company is dreadful.” Benji laughs softly. “Present company not included.” His brown eyes dart around. “I’ve never liked these things.”
“I haven’t attended enough of them to know whether I like it or not.” I look at the three bleachers in the middle of the arena that’s shrouded in white. The sign on the pillar says ‘Reserved for the Lucky Falls’s Lady Luck Society’.
Benji shakes his head, “It’s a world I know too well. Trust me. You don’t want to be a part of it.”
My eyes narrow on the high society tables. At the women who smile and laugh and clink champagne glasses. At the women who hold so much power over Lucky Falls.
“What if I do?”
“Huh?” Benji startles.
“What if I want to be a part of that world?” I ask, staring at the VIP tables in thought.
Benjamin inhales sharply, but before he can ask me anything, a voice rings out. “ There you are!”
Mr. Rodney appears in front of us.
“And look, you found our star mechanic. Let me make the introductions. Benji, this is the lovely lady I was telling you about.”
Benji stares at me with astonished eyes. “ She’s the mechanic?”
I glance between Mr. Rodney and Benji. “Wait… is this…?”
Mr. Rodney brandishes his hand in a proud wave. “Yes, this is my son.”