by Elle Casey
“Rebel Wheels,” I say, my blood pressure going up with my excitement. “I have rebel wheels. What could be more rebellious than a ’68 Volkswagen Beetle?”
Feeling really good about this one, I pull off the road and into the commercial area that the sign is pointing to. I’m so going to beg for a job from this outfit. Maybe to convince them, I’ll show them how I can check my own oil; that’ll impress the hell out of them. How many chicks can do that? Almost none, that’s how many. I was born for this job. This job that might not exist. No, screw that. There’s a job for me here, I can feel it.
Pulling into a spot outside the main doors of the place, I check my face in the rearview mirror. Fumbling around, I get the thing to turn in my direction, but then it snaps off in my hand.
My voice moves into a register that only dogs can hear. “What the fuck?!” The mirror falls into my lap, landing at the perfect angle for me to take in my bloodshot eyes and swollen nose.
“Goddamn it!” I grab the mirror and throw it into the passenger seat where it bounces off the vinyl cushion to land on the floor. Stunned and pissed, I sit there staring out the front window at the beige wall of Rebel Wheels. More than anything, I’m impressed by how thoroughly the Fates have destroyed my life. Even The Beast is abandoning me now. “Fuck me with a whole entire box of fuck.”
“That sounds interesting,” says a voice off to my left.
I forgot my window was down. Looking over at the source of the voice, I try to smile through my pain. “Uh, sorry about that. It’s French. I speak a little French.” Time to pad the resumé, bitches.
I peg him to be around twenty-five. He’s skinny, blonde, and hot as hell. Definitely your class-A bad-boy type. Not my cup of tea, but I can see Quin getting her panties in a twist over him. He probably does illegal warehouse fights for money or something equally bad-boyish.
He shrugs. “No big. Can I help you with something?” He gestures with his chin. “Maybe fix that mirror for you?”
I open the door and try and put my best foot forward, pretending like I didn’t just unload the holy terror of cusswords at his front door. He’s wearing a Rebel Wheels t-shirt, so I know he works here. Hell, he’s probably Rebel himself.
“Maybe,” I say. “But I can fix it myself. I’m very handy like that.” That’s a lie. I’m going to lie my way into a job and not regret it one bit. I’m desperate.
“Really? Okay, then. Anything else? Tune-up maybe? Engine sounds rough.”
“Nah, that’s how Beetles sound.”
He gives me a half grin that almost has me changing my mind about what type of guy I’m attracted to.
“Is that so?” he asks.
“Yeah. So … listen … I have a confession.”
“This oughta be good.” He crosses his arms and leans back on a car behind him. “I’m all ears.”
“I’m looking for a job. I can do just about anything, and you don’t have to pay me a lot.”
“Can you do an engine rebuild? We need a mechanic.”
“Uh … no. But I can learn?” I know I sound weak as hell, but I’m serious. I will fucking build an engine from scratch if I have to. I’ll get grease under my nails and armpit stink all over this place. I am so ready to work my ass off.
He stands straight, letting his arms drop to his sides. “You can come in and talk to Rebel, but don’t hold your breath. He doesn’t hire people he doesn’t know. And we need a mechanic with experience.”
I frown as I follow him through the front door. “How can he only hire people he knows? Does he have that many friends?”
“Rebel knows people,” is all he’ll say.
I’m too distracted by the interior of the front office to ask any more of the questions that are swimming in my mind. Talk about dirty. Holy crap, this place should be condemned. There are pizza boxes stacked up in all four corners of the room. One of them is half-open and there are petrified crusts inside. Dirt covers every square inch of all the surfaces I can see. It’s impossible to tell what color the floor is supposed to be. Is that carpet? Or a thick layer of fuzzy dirt?
My mystery host leads me through the office and into the main part of the building where several cars are in various states of repair. It’s actually cleaner in here than it is in the office, which makes zero sense. There’s one car jacked up on a high lift and a big guy working under it. He’s got coveralls on, but they’re unzipped and the top half is hanging down by his legs, leaving his upper body bare.
I nearly choke on my own drool. Holy mother … please do not tell me this is Rebel, because if it is, I will not be able to talk to him. Gorgeous does not even begin to cover what I’m looking at. Muscles? Yeah. Everywhere. Tattoos? Check. The one on his thick right arm looks like the Virgin Mary if my eyesight isn’t failing me. Body fat? None that I can see.
I instantly begin to sweat from every pore on my body. Not attractive at all. Did I remember to put deodorant on today? Ack! I pray to any god who might be listening that she will have mercy on my sorry ass and hold off any pit-stink coming from my direction until after I’m gone from here.
“Rebel, this is …” My host turns to look at me. “Sorry. Didn’t get your name.”
“Teagan.” My voice sounds like a chipmunk, so I repeat myself, lowering it down. “Teagan. Cross. Teagan Cross. That’s my name.”
“Cool.” He looks back over at the man ignoring us under the car. We’ve stopped just in front of the spot where the edge of the vehicle is almost above our heads. I make sure to stay back a little, just in case the thing comes crashing down. “This is Teagan, and she’s looking for a job.”
“She a mechanic?” Rebel asks, turning the tool he has in his hand but not bothering to look over.
“No. But she can fix rearview mirrors, apparently.”
Shame turns my face beet red, but I open my mouth and vomit words on them anyway. “I can check oil too.”
“We need a mechanic,” Rebel says, still not looking at us.
“Yeah. I told her that.” The other guy turns around, probably expecting me to follow him, but I’m not giving up this easily. I haven’t seen a single gold tooth yet, and if the only thing I have to worry about is cleaning up a few pizza boxes, I’m all in. Especially with all this eye candy around. I realize in that moment that I have a sweet tooth.
“But I can do all kinds of other things,” I say. “I can clean that holy terror of a mess you call an office, I can talk to customers, I can manage your accounting …”
He stops working and looks at me. The rest of my resumé gets caught in my throat at what I see.
“What’d you just call my office?”
My mouth opens but the words seem to have gotten stuck next to my larynx. He’s so gorgeous. He looks like he’s in the Russian hot guy mafia. I’m so sad that I don’t speak Russian right now like that motherfucker laundromat guy. I’m so flustered, the only sound that will come out of my mouth is not really human and definitely not attractive. “Garrrr…”
“It’s a shithole, Rebel, you know it is,” says my savior from behind me.
Rebel goes back to looking at the bottom of the car. Apparently, he’s done talking.
And now I’m lost. Should I keep trying to convince him? Beg? Cry like a giant baby? Give up and walk away? Drive over to the Boobie Patch and try out for a pole-dancing job?
I shake my head, refusing to give in to defeat. This is so not going to go down like this. I won’t let it. “I’ll tell you what, Rebel. You keep working on that … whatever it is you’re working on … that transmission or whatever … and I’m going to start cleaning up that office. We’ll call it a probationary period. If you don’t like it, you can just tell me to fuck off. I mean, to go to hell. I mean, … shit. Never mind.” I turn around and walk swiftly away, passing by the guy who brought me to Rebel, ignoring the fact that his eyebrows are almost in his hairline.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I reach the office and haven’t heard a single word of disagreement from anyon
e.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FOUR VERY SWEATY AND SMELLY hours later, I have turned the beast into a beauty. Brand new cleaning supplies that I found unused in the full bathroom - a nasty health hazard harboring what is surely some sort of Udengi fever bacteria - spiff up all the surfaces in the room until they’re shining.
Using boxes I located in a closet, I organize all the errant pieces of paper and half-used file folders into various piles to be gone through later. The only thing I’m not able to fix is the carpet. Yes, it is carpet, but with a thick layer of black grime over the top of it. I find a single clean spot under one of the desk legs, so I know at one point it was avocado green. Now it’s a giant heap of toxic waste out in the dumpster, since I decided the only way to save it was to put it out of its misery.
I’m standing in the middle of the freshly-mopped, tile-floored room with my hands on my hips and a smile of satisfaction playing on my lips when the skinny guy comes in.
“What the hell?” he says. His mouth falls open as he takes in the scene before him.
The first sliver of fear sneaks into my heart. “What? Are you mad? Will Rebel be mad?”
He doesn’t answer me. His gaze roams the room and only stops when it gets to me.
My heart experiences a painful spasm at his expression. “Please don’t tell me he’s going to fire me.”
A slight grin appears. It might hold pity; it’s hard to tell in the dim light of the last remaining functioning bulb. “He didn’t even hire you. How’s he supposed to fire you?”
I give him the cheesiest grin I’ve ever concocted in my life. “But I’ve earned a shot, right? I mean, this shit is good, right?”
He shakes his head. “You don’t know Rebel. Better prepare yourself.”
I want to tell him to wait, to not call out for my ultimate doom, but it’s too late. He’s already shouting out into the main room. “Yo, Rebel! Better come in here.”
My fight or flight instinct kicks in. I probably should run, but my poverty acts like cement in my shoes, keeping me stuck in place. Guess I better be prepared to fight.
I square my shoulders and hold my breath as the Muscle God of Muscle Cars appears in the entrance to the office. First he looks at the floor. Then at the desk that is now empty except for the one pitiful bulbless lamp I found. His last look is for me. His face is mostly blank, but it’s possible I see steam starting to come from one of his ears. Or maybe it’s just the haze of my tears making it look that way.
I’m prepared to stammer my way through an explanation, through my case for hiring me, but I never get the chance. He turns and walks back into the car bay, leaving me there with the butthead skinny guy who at least has the decency to look sick for me.
“Sorry,” he says. “Rebel’s kind of a hardass.”
“Yeah. I noticed.” I snatch my keys from the desktop and take off, waiting until I’m out on the main road before breaking down in tears.
CHAPTER NINE
MY PHONE RINGS AS I’M getting close to Perry’s house. I don’t recognize the number of the caller, so I don’t answer it. I’m hiccuping too hard to speak anyway. I’ve been crying so much I’m ready to vomit. As soon as the voicemail alert goes off, I press the button and let the message play over the cell’s speaker.
“Hi, uh, Teagan? This is Melody from the dorm. You have a package here. Some delivery guy dropped it off. I’m going to leave it in the break room behind the television. I don’t want to leave it out where someone will just take it, but I’m heading out, so I can’t keep it for you. You probably heard, but we had a weird break-in yesterday and so now we’re on some lock-down thing. Anyway, hope things are going good for you. Sorry about your dad. Bye.”
Staring out the window, waiting for the light to change, I make a split-second decision. I’m so not in the mood to go to Perry’s and face the doom that is my life, so I put on my turn signal and take a right instead of going straight. Might as well see what this mystery package is all about.
Maybe there’ll be a pile of money inside it and I’ll be able to stop cleaning shithole offices for free in a sad attempt to get a job. The idea, as unlikely as it is to be true, brightens my spirits. By the time I arrive at the dormitory parking lot, I’m almost back to my old self.
I wait for someone to come out so I can get inside. I forfeited my keys when I moved out; I guess Melody forgot that little detail. Taking the steps because the elevator is once more out of order, I get to the second floor and make a beeline for the break room, hoping I won’t see anyone I know. Talking to an actual person right now would probably be a really bad idea; I’m not in a good place at all.
Behind the television rests a padded manila envelope. As I walk back to the stairwell with it in hand, I push its contents around and squeeze it a little. There’s something hard inside and maybe some paper. Dammit. Not a pile of money. There’s no return address either, just my name and my address and a postmark from California. My heart skips a beat when I take in the name of the town. My father’s office is located there.
Now my heart is beating rapidly. I half run, half walk to my car. Once inside, I tear the envelope open from the end. I have no idea what could possibly be inside this thing, but it could very well be the last words my father will ever share with me. Or maybe it’s a check. It could be a check that will send me out of poverty and into the first awesome summer I’ve ever had.
When I tip the envelope sideways, something hard falls into my lap and a folded piece of paper flutters down on top of it. Lifting the paper, I find a toy car in my lap. There is no check.
“What the … fuck?” I check the envelope for more, but this is it. A car and a note. It’s like some kind of sick joke.
I chew my lip. Maybe it’s not from my father. Maybe it’s one of those home shopping channels that sent me something I ordered. Did I HSWD again? Home-shopping-while-drunk has happened to me in the past, I’m ashamed to say. I still remember the day I opened up a box I got in the mail and screamed because I thought someone had sent me a severed head. Turns out it was just a wig I bought, but still. I swore to never do that again, and Quin has been very good about intervening when she sees me watching the wrong channels on television. I cannot believe I would have HSWDed for a toy car.
I open the letter and read the words inside. My heart sinks when I realize immediately that the note is written in my father’s chicken scratch.
Teagan. I mailed this to you for safekeeping. It’s very, very important to me. Please keep it safe and don’t tell anyone you have it. - Dad.
My jaw clenches and my throat closes. I’m not sure if I’m suffering a breakdown or about to spontaneously combust; both are equally possible.
When my head finally stops spinning, I roar like a wounded lion. I want to punch the window, but I’ve already broken enough of my poor Beetle today, so I throw the toy car as hard as I can into the back instead. It bounces off the seat and lands somewhere on the floor. I huff and puff through my screams as I try to get control of myself.
I cannot believe that this is the best that bastard could do for me. He effed me over for a piece of ass leaving me penniless, and now, because of him, my best-case life scenario is the asscar driver deciding to make me his ho. At least then I’d have a place to stay.
I’m only half conscious of turning the ignition on and racing out of the parking lot. Thank God for auto-pilot because I somehow make it to Perry’s place without killing anyone or myself.
Taking the steps two at a time, I get to the apartment and barge in, ignoring Perry’s questioning gaze and locking myself in the bathroom. This will be my bedroom tonight. I just cannot bear the idea of sleeping out on his couch where anyone walking in the door will be able to see me being the desperate loser I am.
CHAPTER TEN
THERE’S A TAPPING AT THE door. I lift my head off the side of the tub and listen to my friend’s voice.
“Teag … it’s me. Quin. Open the door.”
I don’t say anything at
first, hoping she’ll give up, but I wipe the drool off my chin because I know her better than that.
“I’ll break this damn door down.” She sounds about as stern as Quin ever does.
Perry’s voice comes through the door. “You can’t break my door! You’ll pay for it!”
“Shut up, Earnhardt.”
“Why are you calling me … ? Oh, man. That’s … fuck you, Quin. Fuck you.”
She’s giggling and I can’t help but smile along with her. Perry needs to leave the country because no one will ever forget that he put a car in his ass.
That thought brings back the reason I’ve taken over the bathroom as my new bedroom and I get depressed all over again. I’m afraid I’m going to have to offer him a BJ soon so I have somewhere to sleep that’s not on the street.
“Go away, Quin. I don’t want company.”
“I’m not company. I’m me. Now open up or you’ll force me to do very bad things. Desperate things.”
I can’t help but be curious about that. “What kind of desperate are we talking?”
Her voice comes right at the crack of the door. “I’ll tell Perry you want to see the car.”
Because I know she’s dead serious, and because I know I will vomit if I see that car, I get up and unlock the door. I’m leaning against the wall, still sitting on the floor, when she comes in.
She shuts the door behind her and sits next to me. We’re both facing the sink, and it’s really, really dirty.
“So. What’s the scoop, poop? What’s up with the pity party?”
I shove her with my elbow. “It’s not a pity party. It’s my life, okay? And it sucks.”
“Iiii’m pretty sure that’s the definition of a pity party.”
“Bite me.”
“Maybe later. What happened with the job hunting?”
“You don’t want to know.”
She shoves me back with her elbow. “Yes, I do, tell me.”
I sigh heavily, my breath coming out a little shaky as the memories of my shame assail me. “I went into several places and got rejected by all of them.”