The Mechanic’s Apprentice – Part 2

Everyone in this story is 18+

Under the Hood

As I cruised down the cracked sidewalks on my skateboard, the cool evening air settled over me, the hum of the wheels familiar beneath my feet. The body shop came into view, its neon sign buzzing faintly against the dusky sky. I kicked my board up and tucked it under my arm, pulling open the door and stepping into the heady mix of oil, rubber, gasoline, steel, and the faintest hint of sweat. It was a smell I didn’t mind at all; in fact, it was almost comforting.

I leaned against the garage door, arms crossed, trying to look like I couldn’t care less. My eyes drifted around the shop, taking in the mess of workbenches, scattered tools, the half-torn-apart car on the lift. Yeah, this was the kind of place I got. Suddenly, a guy appeared.

“Hey. I’m Ryder,” I said, stretching out a hand. “Saw your note saying you’re hiring an apprentice.” He gripped my hand, his fingers rough and solid, hands that looked like they’d been wrestling engines longer than I’d been alive. "Okay. I'm Joe," he nodded at me.

Joe gave me a once-over, like he’d already sized me up. He looked about forty, with a bit of a dad bod, but his arms had serious muscle definition. “You ever finish school?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Nah.” I shrugged, keeping my gaze steady. “School didn’t teach me anything I wanted to know.” I hesitated, scratching the back of my neck.

“Listen, kid, I don’t need some punk working for me. Are you even 18 yet?” he asked briskly.

“Look,” I replied, a little sharper than I’d intended, trying to keep it cool. “I know my way around an engine. I’m not just some punk wasting time.” My fingers twitched, wanting to shove into my pockets, but I kept my arms crossed. “I actually… want this. And yes, I’m 18. My dad didn’t teach me much, but one thing he did teach me was fixing cars.”

Joe’s expression shifted, like he’d heard something that almost softened him up. Just for a second, though—then it was back to that skeptical frown. “That so?” He sounded like he didn’t buy it. Or maybe he was just waiting for me to trip up. Either way, it left this weird feeling in my stomach I wasn’t used to.

Joe didn’t say anything, just stared me down for another second before jerking his thumb at a beat-up car with the hood propped open. “That thing won’t start,” he said, almost daring me. “Think you can handle it?”

I tried not to let my face give anything away, but a spark flickered inside me as I caught sight of it—a red ’70 Impala. Just like the one Dad used to have, before he lost it gambling. I walked over to the car, leaning in, checking connections, and twisting the key to hear the engine sputter. Misfire, definitely. Easy fix. I grabbed the loose spark plug wire, twisted it back into place, muttering under my breath about how it was always these tiny things people missed.

I slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key again. The engine roared to life. I straightened up, smirking a little at Joe, even though my heart was pounding.

Joe grunted, like he was unimpressed—or just pretending to be. He leaned in through the open window, his nose wrinkling slightly, like he was still deciding. “That’s some BO, on you kid,” he muttered, looking right at me.

“S-sorry. I was out skating all day. I’ll make sure to shower before work if you hire me,” I stammered, trying to look sincere.

Joe’s face softened, a faint grin flickering. “Nah, no big deal. We’re all guys here. Pointless showering before this job. It’s after that you need a good scrub, to get all the sweat and grease off.” His grin held something suggestive, a look that made my stomach flutter in a way I didn’t expect—something almost… inviting. What surprised me most was how I kept grinning back, nodding. “Cool,” I said.

Joe gave a slight nod. “Alright. You’re on trial. But if you’re gonna work here, you better be ready to put in the hours. This isn’t a place to mess around.”

I forced myself to stay cool, just a slight grin. “Yeah, I can handle it.”

Joe turned away, muttering as he reached for a set of tools, but I felt a flicker of satisfaction settle in my chest.

“Alright, then. Be here at 9 tomorrow morning, and I mean sharp,” he said.

“For sure,” I said, trying to keep my cool, though I couldn’t help the grin creeping up on me.

“Yeah, not many options left in this small town. And you kinda remind me of myself at your age,” he admitted, almost thoughtful. “I’d hoped my son would come around and become my apprentice, but he’s got other interests. And, honestly? He’s probably not cut out for this job. He’s a bit… delicate, you could say. But enough talk. See you at 9, alright?”

“Yes, sir.” Sir? That was probably the first time I’d ever said that.

Heading back outside, I almost ran into a guy around my age. He was shorter than me, thin, but something about him caught my eye—a round face with a cute look, dimples showing as he muttered, “Oh, sorry,” his voice melodic and sweet. His clear eyes met mine directly. “Watch it!” I tried to act nonchalant and slightly annoyed, but his wide, innocent gaze almost made me regret being so brash as I watched him slip past me into the shop.

For some reason—a reason that surprised even me—I turned to look back at him. His ass was surprisingly thick, almost unreal on a skinny guy like him. I’d never turned around for another guy before, and the thought jolted me. I shook my head, snapping out of it. “He kinda looks like a younger, prettier version of…”

“Hi, Pa. I brought you dinner,” I heard him say behind me.

Must be Joe’s son. Delicate, indeed.