Page 43 of Enemy Crush
“It was okay yesterday. See? I did all that.” She pointed to the newly cut patch. “Now it keeps stopping.”
I jumped off, opened the front cover and poked around but all looked good. I lifted the seat to check the fuel cap. There was a release of air as I unscrewed it.
“This might be faulty,” I said, inspecting the cap. “Yeah, I think this needs cleaning. Ah, yeah, the vent hole is clogged. I can just run home and grab a tool.”
“There are tools in the stables, if you wanna take a look?” Quinn pointed over to the house.
“Nah, it won’t take me a minute,” I said, already on the move. “Hamish,” I called, doubting that Mrs. Devereaux would approve of him being there. I stopped and whistled but that dang dog ignored me.
Quinn offered a sympathetic smile. “He’s okay here,” she said, rubbing his back.
“But your mother?” I wasn’t prepared to risk Hamish being impounded because of that deranged woman.
“She’s not here,” Quinn said.
I sprinted back across the grass, dropping the fuel cap and having to pick it up because I was in a fluster. My breath caught, and not just from running. Cleaning and unblocking the fuel cap took seconds but I waited a minute for my heart to calm the freak down. Would it be crazy to change my shirt or spray ondeodorant real quick? Would she even notice? And why did I care?
I strolled back at a more leisurely pace, Hamish still enjoying Quinn’s constant stroking. So much for being a loyal and devoted dog.
“Hopefully, this will work now,” I said, replacing the cap. I jumped back on and started it up. We looked at each other, listening and waiting and I fell into the deep blue of her eyes.
Her mouth opened but I was drowning in her ocean, deaf to her words.
“Sounds. Good.” I registered the words she was shouting, jolting me from my trance.
She stepped back and I pressed on the foot pedal and slowly moved off, following the mowing line. I mowed the length of the yard and came back to see her smiling.
“Yay!” It seemed weird that she’d be excited enough to clap her hands, but she did.
I stopped beside her, talking loudly to be heard. “Should be good to go.”
“That’s awesome. Thanks.”
I jumped off, trying to show off my athleticism. “Hey, thanks for helping Mason on the bus and all. Appreciate it.”
She shrugged like she didn’t need any accolades, but I wanted more. I wanted her to say I was a genius for fixing it, that I was clever and a life-saver, but she was only thinking about Mason. “I’m just glad he’s okay,” she said.
“Well, if there are any more problems, you know where I am,” I said as I tried to delay my exit, wanting to stay lost in her beautiful eyes for a little longer. And just as her tanned bare legs were about to press the forward pedal, I opened my big mouth, needing to know what had happened on her date with Ronan, why he hadn’t brought her home. “Hey, why were you waiting at the bus stop yesterday?”
Her lips twitched, yeah, her sweet full pink lips trembled like she was holding something in. “I...I just missed my ride back home.”
And with a jolt, she sped off like she was in a rush to get away from me. I grabbed Hamish by the collar, in case he embarrassed me by not responding to his name and led him home.
I mucked around with the car, listening to the sweet sound of the mower with pride, hoping I’d impressed Quinn. Though in a way, I kinda wanted it to break down again just as a reason to see her. I was becoming more surprised by Quinn, mowing the lawns when Mr. Jones was sick wasn’t really living up to the Prep School Princess label.
And it was clear the date with Ronan can’t have gone well, and though that was good news in my eyes, it didn’t sit well. He had some nerve abandoning Quinn after a date, the least he could’ve done was take her home. She didn’t deserve that, well no girl did. For some reason, a deep bitterness burned in my belly, that pompous, callous hotshot King. Just because he was a star on the slopes, didn’t mean he could disrespect Quinn.
Because her smile, even if it was for Hamish, did crazy things to my heart.
Mrs. Burbank’s message alert came that afternoon: Spud Harvest was starting tomorrow for the next two weeks and we needed to assemble in the school parking lot at 7:30 in the morning. I was already envisioning the new seat covers I’d be able to buy with my paycheck.
“Well, that’s a good thing,” Dad said when I told him the news. “Give you something to get stuck into. You know what farm you’ll be going to?”
“Not yet, but I guess it’ll be Hamlin Farms.” I’d worked there last year and they’d given me some casual laboring work over the summer, so it would make sense that Mrs. Burbank would sendme back there. “Apparently they were struggling to get numbers this year. Brayden’s not doing it.”
Dad huffed. “Kids are too soft these days. Rather be on their phones. Don’t wanna do a full day’s work.”
I nodded, but couldn’t dispute it. A lot of kids didn’t even consider doing it. Early starts and late finishes weren’t for them. As for Brayden and Darwin, both were intent on getting sports scholarships, and with the harvest being smack in the middle of competition season, they couldn’t risk a few bad performances. It was hard to give 100% when you were exhausted from working the fields.
