Page 1 of A Treat For Her Mates

Prologue—Three Months Ago: Miranda

“Is that you, Miranda? You know you’re not supposed to touch the cars.”

My stomach lurches. Busted, again. Fuckity, fuck, shit. I slide out from beneath the pristine 1970 Camaro and gaze up at the angry face of my boss. My cheeks are burning and suddenly I can’t breathe. I can NOT lose my job at the SuperMart automotive center. I started out in the main store, and I just moved over here and it’s my dream to become a mechanic and agghghh!

My brain is spinning. I’ve got to play this cool. This is my path, my livelihood. I cannot screw this up. I take a deep breath and look up at him with my most honest expression.

“Hi Mr. Lemmings. I know how this looks, but I promise I didn’t touch anything. I was just checking things out, like, with my eyes.” I sit up slowly.

“Then why are your hands covered in grease?”

I glance down and sure enough, my hands are smeared with black streaks.

“Ahhhh—” I begin but he cuts me off before I can say anything more.

“You know you need to be a certified mechanic to touch the cars here.”

“I know, it’s just that—”

“No excuses Miranda. Starting tomorrow you’re back in the main store.”

“I promise, Mr. Lemmings, it’s not what it looks like. Please keep me here until I’ve met my hours requirement.”

“Miranda this is your third warning. Your third! There was the Mustang that mysteriously got its spark plugs changed. Then there was the Impala that ‘accidentally’ got its transmission tuned. Your fingerprints are literally all over this.”

“But there were no complaints, right?”

“No complaints. If there were, I would have fired you by now.”

“I understand.”

“I expect to see you in the main store tomorrow. If I catch one whiff of you here, you’ll be gone forever.

The gravity of his words hit like a lead pipe to the stomach. I close my eyes and let the pain flow through me. Pull it together Miranda! This is just a setback. You can’t fail now. I look up at him and try my best to look agreeable.

“Sure Mr. Lemmings. I’ll be sure to do that.” I watch as he turns to leave then stops and throws a paper at my feet.

“You got another fax. This is the last time. Get your faxes somewhere else.”

“Yes, Mr. Lemmings,” I say and wipe my hands on my coveralls. I grab the fax and fold it quickly into my pocket as he leaves.

When I hear the door click, I head to the lockers in back. My thoughts are spinning in a downward spiral. I’ve really messed things up this time. My eyes are burning. Damn it! I don’t want to cry at work. I don’t want to cry in general. I’m a strong independent woman on the rise. I will not let this get me down. Tell that to the tears running down my face. I want to sob into somebody’s warm embrace. Except there’s no one.

That’s kind of why I’m stuck here, because it’s the best I could do all on my own. I mean, I have my cousin Jen, but she’s got her own life, and I don’t want to bug her every time I hit a bump in the road. I hit so many bumps. Ever since I aged out of foster care, I’ve been a one-woman show, but frankly, I’m tired. And I kind of feel like I suck at this solo business. But this is the life I have, so I’m going to keep saying my mantras and trying my best, but damn, everything kind of sucks.

I plop down on the bench and take off my coveralls. I didn’t even stay here long enough to get my own name patch. Damn again. I guess I’m lucky that Mr. Lemmings didn’t fire me, but this is nearly as bad. I’m still a year away from qualifying for my mechanic certification. I’ll have to quit the SuperMart and find somewhere else to take a chance on me. I tried that once before, and let’s just say it didn’t go great. I fold my coveralls and throw them in the laundry bin. I won’t need them where I’m going.

I hear a crunch and remember the fax and fish it out of the laundry. It’s got to be from my friend Fancy. She lives in the outer Maldives or something and this is the only way she can communicate. It’s a little odd, but I’m glad someone’s willing to make the effort for me. I flatten out the flimsy paper and read the short message:

Hello Miranda!

It’s almost Halloween, your favorite holiday so I’m sending you a special treat. You’re not going to believe it, but you’re going to love it!

XOXO

Fancy

I’m wondering what the treat could be. After all, she’s like a zillion miles away. Wait until you hear why: six months ago, two guys from the Maldives came to the SuperMart in blue body paint and hooked up with Fancy. It was April Fool’s Day and reports were all over the media that an alien ship had been shot down here in Florida. As much as I wanted to believe that aliens were here, it was quickly shown to be a hoax. But whoever they were, they were totally into it and the police were after them.

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