Fabricating Jada

  My nostrils flared at his assumption. "No. I came to work. You have a problem with that?"

  His head jerked back at my unexpected snark. "Well, well. By all means." He gestured over to the now empty table I'd shared with Caleb not half an hour before.

  "Where's Caleb?" I couldn't help but ask the obvious.

  Miguel cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck from side to side. "Gone."

  I wasn't sure why I felt the need to plead a case for him when I was the one injured, but I couldn't seem to keep my mouth from moving. "It's not his fault. He didn't know what he was doing. He shouldn't be kicked out because of what happened," my plea was infused with a little more anger in it than I realized I felt.

  "This conversation is not up for discussion. He was careless and a lack of common sense is not going to fly when safety is concerned. There's nothing else to say." Jesse spoke from the corner of the room with so much gruff in his voice it raised goose bumps across my skin—again.

  He made his way over to my bench and towered over me on the weight of his palms. "Are you sure you're okay to continue today?" he asked, dropping his volume so only I could hear him.

  My heart thumped so hard I couldn't respond verbally, so I just nodded.

  Since when did he care? I figured his being nice in the locker room was a fluke.

  "Good." He shoved off my bench and went to a few boxes in the corner of the room. Hauling them back to the bench across from mine he made eye contact with everyone. "I want to see what you're capable of making out of scrap. You have the next two days to make me something out of the shit in these boxes. You can use any piece of equipment in here that you're familiar with. Don't pretend to be a badass and use something you don't have a fucking clue about. Stick with what you know. We don't need another damn injury." His heated gaze met mine; my cheeks burned hot.

  Jerk. So much for him being nice.

  The joke was really on him, though, because I was actually good at making stuff from junk. It was what I had the most practice with because it was all I could afford. As soon as he stepped back, I expected everyone to make a mad dash for the boxes of repurposed treasures, but no one moved. There was no reasonable explanation for their hesitation, and I wasn't going to be afraid. I made my way over to the table and attempted to pull my glove on over my injured arm. He'd wrapped it down to my hand to secure it. The pain increased along with my body temperature as I tried to tug it over the huge bandage. It wasn't going anywhere.

  Crap.

  Using only my good hand, I picked through the randomness and made a pile.

  Three uneven and haphazardly cut pieces of scrap metal. Half a dozen bolts I dug around to find that matched. What looked like part of a door handle, sprockets and gears, a bike chain, steel rods, rivets, a leather band and bent spoons. The gears in my head started turning along, as my idea pulled together. It would be simple and probably look a bit more steampunk than Jesse was looking for, but it should show him what I was capable of. I belonged here, and this would prove it. I piled everything into the crook of my arm carefully and took it back to my bench and splayed it all out.

  The rest of the guys took my cue and scrambled over to the boxes fighting for what they thought was the best stuff. I scanned the room to see what equipment I had to work with until I could feel someone burning a hole in me. I didn't have to look to know who it was.

  Jesse.

  My glove wasn't going to fit, and I couldn't work without it. The last person I wanted to ask for another pair was him, so I scanned the room for Miguel's handsome face and jerked my chin for him to come over.

  "What's up, Valley Girl?" he asked, appraising me and then my loot.

  I narrowed my eyes a smidgen at his stupid nickname. "I kind of need a favor. My hand won't fit in my glove now. Do you … uh happen to have a medium-size pair somewhere I could borrow?"

  He shook his head back and forth and let out a frustrated sigh. "And here I thought you actually wanted me for something." The statement held a lot of weight, and it made my stomach flutter until he winked and flashed a smile that sent a wave of relief through me.

  "Sure thing." He paused and touched my forearm gingerly. "I'm not being a jerk here, but are you sure you want to work with a burn that bad?"

  A low growl escaped my throat. "I'm fine."

  "Ooh, feisty. I love it when you talk sassy to me." He shot me a cheeky grin and disappeared.

  After securing the new glove over my bandaged hand, the pressure was a surprising relief. By whatever dumb luck I had, Caleb took out my non-dominant arm so I shouldn't be at too much of a disadvantage. I slipped on my safety glasses and headed over to the trashcan in the corner of the room I'd spotted earlier.

  An entire newspaper lay there for my use, and it made me giddy. Back at my bench, I dug through my bag, pulled out a razor blade, measuring tape, and permanent marker. In order for my design to work it needed to be perfectly square, and the only way I could make sure that happened was to make a template. Grinders and plasma cutters sounded behind me already, but I had to remind myself this wasn't a race or even a competition with any of them. This was about what I was capable of and doing my best.

  I measured the sizes of the scrap metal and jotted them down on a sheet of paper in the top corner. After careful consideration, I drew out my pattern on the newspaper, measured it twice, and cut it out with my razor. One thing I'd learned from an old pinstriper on YouTube was that the best way to get a straight line when drawing, painting, or cutting was to drag your pinkie as you went, and that's exactly what I did. It was dead nuts accurate. The next step was to copy everything onto the metal and then decide how I wanted to cut it out.

  A jigsaw could work, but there was a chance it could get hung up in the metal.

  An angle grinder caught my attention hanging over a bench on the far wall. I scrambled out of my seat, taking my metal with me. A roll of electrical tape hung on a peg above the bench, and I slipped it into my back pocket for future use. I used a vise to secure my metal and got ready to cut.

  The whizz of the cutting wheel caused my heart to skip a beat with excitement as the sparks flew around me, bouncing off of my safety glasses and to the floor. The smell was intoxicating, and I'd never felt more at home. Time stood still as I cut through each section with ease. My left arm felt stiff from the burn, but the pain wasn't really registering other than the restricted movement.

  When I finished, I stacked all of my pieces and cleaned everything else up where I was. The one thing I hated more than anything was a messy work area. The scraps I had left might be useful later, so I stuck them on my bench and carried my pieces over to the grinder to smooth the edges. All the while I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn't dare look. It would just make me uneasy and question if I was doing something wrong.

  Stop it. You're not doing anything wrong. Do your thing, J. You got this.

  Clamps. I needed clamps. Where are the clamps? The last thing I wanted to do was ask Jesse. I had a feeling his cause for my concern was short lived, and he'd be back to jumping down my throat for breathing. I searched the room for Miguel, but he was busy helping someone else.

  "Need something?" he asked in his gravely tone, making my insides melt.

  My head whipped back in his direction, the space between us not more than a foot or two. "Clamps?" was all I could manage to ask without sounding like a complete fool.

  He cocked his head to the side and studied me carefully. "What do you need clamps for?"

  "I'd rather not burn myself again and I forgot to bring mine."

  Jesse folded his arms over his broad chest and stood like a statue. "What are you making?"

  I mimicked his stance. "You'll just have to wait and find out when I'm finished. Do you have any clamps I can use or not?" It came out with a lot more snark than I intended, but I couldn't take it back. He smirked, turned on his heel, and made his way over to a drawer not far from where I was working before.

  He set four large C-clamps down o
n the bench next to me and leaned against it with his hip, recrossing his arms. "Do you mind?" I asked

  "Not at all." His reply oozed with sarcasm, causing my nostrils to flare.

  "Whatever. Just don't get in my way."

  Jesse snorted but kept his eagle eye on my every move. I knew he'd pepper me with questions, but I needed it and didn't have time to waste. I dug in my bag and pulled out a project I'd built in my workshop to aid me in welding things together.

  His posture went from relaxed to rigid in a breath as he pushed off the table and yanked my homemade device out of my hand. "Where the hell did you get this?" he demanded, inspecting it and then me.

  "I made it."

  "Bullshit."

  My hands balled into fists, causing pain to shoot into the fingertips of my left hand. I winced, released my fist slowly and snatched it back out of his hand, laying it on the bench.

  "I'm not a liar. I made it from scrap, thank you very much."

  The way he stared at it made me uneasy. "Where did you get the design?"

  I shrugged and shook my head back and forth as I secured my pieces down within the jig and then secured the jig to the bench with the clamps. "It's just a right-angle jig, Jesse. I saw a few on YouTube and some really nice ones in magazines, but they were really expensive, so I made my own version of one."

  His eyes widened at my confession of being too broke to buy something that wasn't too expensive to most people. I tossed him the pair of welding goggles lying on the bench before slipping my helmet on. After setting everything up that I needed on the welder, I nodded my head causing the hood to fall forward and went to work, making a perfect little metal box.

  When I was finished I cleaned everything up and walked off to wheel an oxygen-acetylene torch to my station. A few years ago, I would have been embarrassed to try and light a torch around anyone else, because I used to be afraid of it and I would always screw up. But after a lot of practice, I could do it with my eyes closed. My arm throbbed and the pain grew in intensity. I prayed my burn wouldn't pop. The torches were almost taller than me, and pushing the cart wasn't exactly easy with one good arm, but help wasn't something I was used to asking for and I refused to be seen as the girl who needed a guy to carry the heavy stuff for her.

  Screw that.

  Jesse's stupid smirk ticked me off when he saw me struggling. I wanted to run his foot over with a cart, but that was more effort than it was worth. Despite the pain, I needed to keep my wits for this next part. We were told to only use things we knew how to use. I didn't know how to use an English wheel, an air hammer, or even beat the metal into submission properly on a sandbag. The only way I knew was to heat the metal and then bend it over a form into what I needed.

  Everyone told me I'd never need to know math the way I did, specifically geometry, but it was useful in situations like these, when I needed to find the arc of the top of my box and what equation I'd need to solve it. I pulled one of my newspaper templates over and jotted down my equation. Something in the room had to fit that arc. It would make my life a million times easier.

  "Ooh!" My eyes shot to his with excitement.

  He didn't bother to hide his skeptical expression. "What?"

  "Do you have a random piston lying around anywhere? I don't remember seeing one in the box earlier."

  Please have one. Please say yes.

  Without a word, he pushed off the bench and left the room. It felt like it took forever for him to return. He silently handed it over with questions in his eyes as if he couldn't figure out what I was going to do.

  "Aren't you supposed to be helping other people in the class?" I asked in my attempt to make him go away. Working under his scrutiny was making me nervous.

  "Nope."

  Well shoot.

  My arm throbbed more with each passing second, and I wished more than anything I wasn't out of ibuprofen. Maybe I could catch DeAnna on the way out later and see if she had any. I forced out a frustrated breath and laid out the piece of metal I was about to heat. Clamping a pair of vise grips to the corner edge, I laid it down and twisted the valves open on the tanks to the oxygen and acetylene, checked the pressures and then opened the knobs before using the striker to light the torch.

  The hiss of the oxygen filled the air as the spark of the striker caused a swooshing sound once it was lit. I turned down the settings to keep the temperature somewhat low as to not warp the metal too much, just enough to make it pliable.

  Slowly and methodically, I moved the flame over the steel hoping this would work out the way it had for me in the past.

  "Move it faster," Jesse said from beside me.

  I did what I was told and glanced quickly in his direction. "Do I need to adjust the heat too?"

  "What do you think?" His question was straight forward, wanting me to make the call.

  "I think I need to turn it up a bit."

  He nodded. "Follow your instinct."

  After making quick adjustments, the process went faster. That was what I needed from him. To teach. To lead. He disappeared from my side, and my heart sank a bit. Before I wanted him to go away, but once he was being helpful and not critical, it was nice having him there.

  As soon as the entire piece was heated, I shut off the torch and set it aside. The one thing I didn't account for was having something to use to bend the metal with once it was heated.

  Crap. Think fast Jada before it cools.

  Oh! My shirt!

  I ripped my flannel off as fast as I could and quickly folded it over a few times to make it like a small towel. Holding the vise grip in my bad hand, I laid the piston in the middle of the bench, tossed my shirt on top of the hot steel and pressed it over the piston, doing my best to make it mold to the form. Heat seeped through my gloved hand as I continued to work the metal.

  "Well that's one way to do it, I guess," Jesse said from behind me.

  "I had to use what was available to me at the time. I've learned to improvise."

  "And giving every guy in this room a hard-on at the same time."

  My forehead scrunched together in confusion as my eyes darted over my shoulder to lock onto his. "What are you talking about?"

  "Nothing. Just saying if this career path fails there's probably a good chance you'd make it as a stripper."

  I narrowed my eyes into tiny slits. "You're a deplorable human being. Go find a cliff and jump."

  If I ever found any redemption in him—it was gone. He was back to being the jerk he was known to be. His presence wasn't an easy thing to ignore, but he wasn't getting any more of my attention. The metal had already cooled and it needed to be reheated, as my shape wasn't where I needed it to be yet.

  I took my time and finished my mold the same way I did it before and stopped once I was satisfied. It took me the rest of the morning to finish the lid and bottom of the box, but everything was straight and lined up perfectly.

  Everyone left for lunch a while ago, but I'd hit my stride and I didn't feel like stopping despite the snarls coming from my empty stomach. Just a few more minutes played on repeat in my mind as I measured and tack welded the bolts to the bottom of my box.

  If my mom taught me one thing, it was to always be prepared. Knowing I had a bottle of water, a bag of pretzels, and a large apple in my bag to munch on made me push a little longer.

  "Jada! Why are you still in here?" DeAnna shrieked at me from the doorway. I glanced up from my project in question, as if what I was doing wasn't obvious.

  "Working. Why?"

  "Because everyone left for lunch like forty minutes ago and you're still here. How's your arm?"

  I puffed out a sigh and sank onto my stool. "Honestly? It's killing me."

  She dipped her chin in a nod. "I thought it might be. So, I brought you this." She handed me a bottle of Advil and a cold water. "I know it might not be much in the way of a painkiller, but I figured it's better than nothing. Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital and have it checked?"

  If it w
ere a possibility, I probably would have gone on my way home, but the insurance offered through work was too expensive for me to carry, even for just myself, and I was too old for my mom to carry me on hers. I shook my head. "I'm sure. It'll be fine. I'll rest it tonight and make sure I keep it clean."

  Her gaze cut from mine to my project and her mouth fell open a bit. "Wow. Is that a jewelry box?"

  I smirked. "Yeah. I'm going to call it Steampunk Fab."

  Reaching forward, DeAnna pushed the lever I'd built during lunch for the automatic release of the lid. It was a simple eight by eight box that sat on what was once main engine bolts that I'd cut down for legs. Using sprockets, springs, and other small pieces of metal, I made molded filigree and other decorations. I also made small metal roses from the scrap metal. The lid was half finished and eventually—if I was allowed to keep what I'd built—I'd have my mom help me put a velvet inlay inside.

  DeAnna's face couldn't hide her surprise. "This is beautiful, Jada. How the heck did you get the lid to open like that? And why the heck does that hinge look so cool?"

  My smile grew wider as I pointed to the part I was most proud of. "That is a hinge off of what looks like a '34 Ford roadster."

  "There is no way you can tell what year that is by looking at it," DeAnna said, shooting me a give me a break kind of look.

  I laughed at how her nose scrunched up in suspicion. "Actually, I can. I have a few loyal customers and one of them is restoring a roadster. It looks dead on like that hinge. They could be twin hinges. Start a hinge posse."

  "You're a goofball."

  I shrugged. "I know. You should have seen how excited I got when I found that itty bitty hood prop. Luckily everyone already left for lunch and didn't see me jumping around like the loon I am."

  "That's really smart and creative. Have you ever thought of selling this kind of stuff for extra money?"

  I stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "No one would buy this kind of thing."