Crash

And then a familiar rubber flopping against metal sound echoed through the cab.

“Double damn,” I said, knowing I had a spare in the back, but that was all I knew about changing a tire. That’s why god invented man—so women wouldn’t have to get grease under their manicures.

Pulling onto the shoulder, I scanned up and down the road, looking for some kind of auto anything shop. Someone must have been smiling down on me because not even fifty feet away was a sign that read Premier Auto Repair in front of a blue and gray painted building with three open bays.

“Thank. You,” I offered up to whoever was listening.

I coaxed the Mazda forward, cringing as the flop-flop-flopping got louder. I really hoped my entire wheel wasn’t going to fly off, but if it was, at least the professionals were close by.

A man in his mid-twenties, sporting a bowling shirt, walked out of one of the bays. More of his face was covered in grease than not. Waving his hand, he motioned me over, pointing at the empty first bay.

A nearby auto shop and a helpful employee. I’d just gotten a call from the miracle network.

Once the Mazda was inside, I got out, wanting to inspect the damage.

“Let me guess,” the guy said, wiping his hands off with a cloth. It didn’t look like it did any good. “The other guy won.” Crouching down to take a look at my wheel, he shook him head.

“Sharp projectiles hurling themselves into soft, manmade materials generally do,” I replied, kneeling beside him.

“Words to live by,” he said, slapping the tire and standing up. “Let’s get this taken care of for ya, honey.”

“Thank you,” I said, standing. “No rush, but any idea how long this might take?” I’d been on my way to the dance studio, hoping to get a full Saturday of dancing in, but it looked as if my plans might be changing.

“You’ll be in and out in a jiff, hon,” he said, motioning to someone inside the office area. “I’m going to put my best man on it.”

And then, inexplicably, goose bumps rose over my arms, and everything around me got warm and bright.

“Hey, Jude,” the guy hollered, “get your ass out here and help this cute little thing out.”

I could see him through the back windows, his back to the garage, talking on the phone with someone. He hung up the phone and turned around. I’d never before seen a smile disappear so fast. It was a world record, thanks to me.

Then, squaring his shoulders, he marched out of the office, coming around the back of the car.

“What’s the problem, Damon?” Jude asked, staring at the car, refusing to look at me.

“Girl had a run in with a nasty piece of junk,” Damon shouted over, his head hidden in the hood of the truck next to us. “Fix whatever needs done. It’s on the house.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I hollered over at Damon.

Peeking his head out, he looked at me purposefully. “Yeah, it is.”

I would have gone back and forth a few more rounds with him, but when Jude breezed by me without so much as a hello, I knew my fight was needed elsewhere.

“Hey, Jude,” I said, walking a few steps towards where his back was to me, inspecting the tire.

Shoving into a stand, he walked by me, lips sealed shut and eyes dead ahead. He popped the trunk open and pulled the spare free.

“You’ve really got this whole silent thing down,” I called after him. “Good for you, you’ve proved your point that you absolutely disdain me,”—disdain might have been a tad generous for the way Jude ignored me—“but you’re really not going to say hi?”

Pausing at the end of a bay, he grabbed a lever. “Hi,” he said with no inflection. “Now scoot the hell back so I can get your tire fixed and you can be on your way.”

Wow. It was worse than I thought. Jude didn’t disdain me—he hated me. However, I didn’t hate him and I wasn’t going to pretend I did.

“I heard you got a full ride to just about any university of your choice,” I said, hollering over the lift as the Mazda went up.

Watching the car, he responded with a shrug.

“I even heard Coach A mention a few NFL teams are interested.”

Another shrug, this time with the other shoulder.

“The NFL, Jude. Wouldn’t you be, like, one of the first guys to ever be drafted straight out of high school?”

The lift shuddered to a stop, and Jude marched for the flat tire. He glanced over at me where I was leaning against the wall and looked away about as fast. “I’m sure those are just rumors or sensationalized. Besides, even if I did get picked up, I’d wind up on the bench or getting injured playing with guys a hundred pounds larger.”

I couldn’t stop the smile that surfaced. Jude was talking to me again. “Was that just a full sentence directed at me?” I asked, tipping my ear.

Hoisting a tool off a bench, he began ratcheting off the lug nuts. “Actually, that was two.”

“And what have I done to deserve two complete sentences from you?” I didn’t care.

“You’re talking to my good side,” he said, looking over at me and giving me just barely, but enough of a smile.

I never imagined I’d be thankful for a flat tire, but I added it to the list. “I didn’t think you had one.”

“I don’t,” he said, removing the last lug nut. “But damn if one doesn’t try to emerge every blue moon.” Hoisting what was left of the tire and wheel from the axel, he hefted it on the ground.