Page 77 of Ice Mechanic

I let loose a loud, unladylike guffaw. The sound echoes around the garage. When I realize my voice is echoing because we have no cars in the bay and no potential customers in sight, my laughter dies and my smile freezes.

Rebel sees my panicked expression. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I’m just frustrated with my progress on the car.”

“Don’t let it get to you. I even splurged to update our auto software and couldn’t figure it out. From the diagrams, we’ll probably need to take the car apart.”

“Before we take anything down, I need to locate the problem first. The car hasn’t been showing any of the symptoms the customer described.” I pull my ponytail out, scoop up all my hair again and fix it into a bun. In direct defiance, the bun slips right out of the clip and caramel-streaked strands fall around my shoulders.

My hair has a mind of its own whether it’s straight or curly.

“I’m going to take the car for a test drive. The symptoms might show up if I move around town.”

“Or you could, you know,not.”

“Are you coming or are you going grocery shopping?”

Rebel skates across the garage and jumps into the passenger seat.

I climb in and start the car.

“My back is killing me.” My best friend makes a fist and punches her lower back. “How those ladies in the embroidering club walk around without hunching over is mind-boggling.”

“Why are you eveninthe lady’s embroidering club?” I flick the indicator and turn onto Main Street.

Her shoulders tighten. “Is there a reason someone like me can’t be in a club like that?”

“If you enjoy it, I guess… I just know those ladies tend to be the prissy, uptight types.”

“It’s a club for people who enjoy sewing. And I happen to be one of those people.”

I slant her a suspicious look.

Rebel pretends not to notice. Tapping a manicured finger on her necklace, she muses, “Where should we go? The park? The lake?”

“It doesn’t matter where we go. Can you record the screen please? I want to study the engine levels later.”

Rebel accepts the computer from me with a disapproving sound. “Seriously, April? Do you not have an off button?”

“Theonlyreason this client came to us is because no one else could fix his problem. So even if it means I stay up all night with the help of energy drinks, I’m repairing this car.”

She sighs heavily. “I’m not saying we don’t fix the car, but the thing is… you need balance. Even May is hanging out with her friends tonight.”

“And I’m hanging out with you.”

“Exactly. Which is why,” she thrusts a finger forward, “forget the lake or the hills. We’re going toThe Tipsy Tuna.”

The Tipsy Tunais a wooden bar and restaurant next to the lake. It’s got a long pier where the wealthier townsfolk who own boats can jet over, dock and enjoy a perfectly fried snapper.

The rest of us regular folks park in the parking lot.

It seems like everyone has the idea to eat at The Tipsy Tuna tonight because it takes me forever to find a parking spot. I finally locate an open space, but instead of getting out, I keep studying the engine levels.

“Come on,” Rebel whines, tugging on my arm.

“Just a second.” My eyes are glued to the screen. I press the brakes, listen to the engine roar and watch the lines on the diagnostic program jump. Concerned, I turn to Rebel, “This shouldn’t be happening. See? This is the fuel injector line and this is?—”

“April put that laptop away before I turnyouinto a tipsy tuna.”

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