“Alright,” Ingrid chirps. “Since our first stop is Memphis, we'll be walking Beale Street at night. Then, stop at Pops in Oklahoma City to sample their weird sodas. Take a picture at Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, ride the Sandia Peak Tramway in Albuquerque, visit the GrandCanyon, and swim in the Pacific Ocean. What am I forgetting?”
“Have fun?” Cash repeats my words from earlier.
“Yes!” She chews on the inside of her cheek in the rearview mirror. “Have. Fun.”
As jealousy and envy battle for territory in my chest, the check engine light flashes on the dashboard.
“Uh oh,” I mutter.
“What?” Ingrid’s voice comes out panicky and rushed.
I pull over to the side of the highway as a car whizzes past.
“We need to find a mechanic.”
Chapter Nine
The Mixed Signals
Ingrid
“$300?!” Cash's eyes bulge as the mechanic, whose face is smeared with grease and grime, rolls his head back and forth on his shoulders.
“$362.44, to be exact,” the mechanic replies. “You needed a new O2 sensor.”
“I'm paying you $300 for a sensor?” Cash groans as he pulls out his credit card. The one he's refused to use since he returned from Europe last summer.
“You're paying me for the new sensorandlabor,” the mechanic clarifies. “There's no such thing as a free lunch, kid.”
“What's the purpose of an O2 sensor?” I ask, hoping to distract Cash with car jargon.
The mechanic wipes his greasy hands on an equally soiled rag. “It helps regulate your vehicle's air-to-fuel ratio.”
“Which makes the car run more efficiently?” Wilder guesses.
“Basically.” The mechanic shrugs. “If it goes bad, you'd find yourself with a host of problems like a rough idle and shitty acceleration.”
“Okay.” I nod slowly, not understanding a single word.
“Archibald Allred is going tolovethis,” Cash mutters, dropping his head into his hands as the mechanic swipes his crisp black card.
“We'll figure out a way to pay him back,” I quietly tell Cash. “Or we can blackmail him.”
“Blackmail?” Cash turns his head to peer over at me. “How would we blackmail him?”
Wilder and I share a look.
“We may have collected some very incriminating photos of Archibald over the past year,” I divulge with a grin.
“I don't want to know,” Cash groans as he squeezes his eyes shut.
“Are you sure you don't want me to pay for this?” Wilder mumbles to my left. “I have the money.”
“You have money forschool,” I remind him. “My car, my problem.”
“But you'll let Cash pay to get it fixed?” Wilder scoffs.
I exhale heavily. “No, I'm letting Archibald pay. And honestly, after all the secrets we've kept for him, heowesus.”
