Page 5 of Ice Mechanic

“But they sell out by, like, six every morning! There’s even a line…” May holds up a precious donut in wonder. “How did you do this?” When Rebel doesn’t immediately answer, my sister turns to me, her brown hair bouncing as she demands, “How?”

“Doof muf tig,” I mumble, my mouth crammed with delicious baked goodness.

“What?” May scrunches her nose.

I wave my hand in front of Rebel’s nose. Swallowing before I speak again, I urge her, “Do the thing.”

“Oh.” Rebel startles. “Hold this.” She shoves the scanner at my sister who takes it and watches expectantly.

Batting her baby blues, Rebel moves her long, voluminous blonde hair from one side of her head to the other. Glancing up from beneath thick lashes, she smiles and holds my sister’sgaze. Coquettishly, she bites down on her bottom lip and giggles before cooing, “Please.”

“Ew,” May says.

As if a switch went off, Rebel drops the act. She takes possession of the device again and refocuses on the scan. “It doesn’t work on girls.”

“But it worked on Phil,” I sing-song.

“Wait. T-that’s it? That’s how you got the donuts?” May’s jaw drops.

“Isn’t it the best?” I say excitedly, pulling out another donut. They’re so bad for me, but they tastesogood. “I’ve been trying to charm Phil for years, that old geezer. I even offered to do free oil changes in exchange for these donut. As soon as Rebel did the thing, we’ve had zero problems.”

My sister’s eyes gleam with an idea and she holds her phone up toward my business partner and co-mechanic. “Hey, Rebel. Why aren’t you the face of our social media page? I think you’re exactly what our demographic is looking for.”

Rebel pushes the phone down. “I don’t do social media. Ever. Besides, our demographic is everyone who has a car problem that no one else can solve.”

“Exactly.” I grab a relatively clean rag—which isn’t saying much given all our rags, even Rebel’s pink ones, are oil streaked—and wipe the chocolate off my hands.

May rolls her eyes. “Forget it. No filming today.”

My smile plummets. “But you said promoting our store would be good for your résumé.”

“It will, but I need to find another angle to promote the shop.” She mumbles under her breath, “You’d think two female mechanics would be interesting enough, but you two…”

“Are special?” Rebel jumps in, showing off her picture-ready smile.

“Are really smart?” I supply.

“Are boring,” May says.

“Hey!” I protest.

Just then, my phone rings.

I brighten. “Maybe it’s a customer.”

“It’s probably spam or that creep who keeps calling and hanging up,” Rebel says with a shrug. “I’ll change off so we can test those spark plugs.”

While Rebel scampers off and May pilfers another donut, I answer the call. “Hello, this is The Pink Garage. How can I help you?”

“Hi, April. This is Bobby from King Stadium.”

“Oh, hi, Bobby.” I walk a few paces away. “How are you? How’s your car been running since that hiccup on the 1-24?”

“Great. Great. You ladies did a bang-up job. You did so well, that, uh… I’d like to ask you for some more help. You see, the Zamboni’s gone in?—”

“Again?”

“Yes, again. The new owner of the stadium has it on the list to buy a new one, but he’s trying to get the team ready for the season and it could be a while. You know how that goes. Anyway, I can’t do my job well if I don’t have a working machine and the athletes can’t practice on choppy ice, can they?”

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