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I get my ass in gear and start sorting. I have to tag each item and make sure everything goes where it’s supposed to. With my earbuds in, I lose myself to the monotonous job. On Wednesdays I only have my Sociology of Food and Food Injustices class, then work, but I also volunteer at Activate Kindness, something my family and friends don’t know about. All it would do is make them ask dumbass questions I don’t want to answer or look at me with pity in their eyes that makes my skin crawl. The whole time I’ll know they’re thinking about my mom, how my dad left her for Ellie, leftusfor Ellie and Troy, and then one day, her car ran into a tree, and we won’t ever know if it was an accident or not. And now, look, her son is softhearted just like she was. He volunteers and actually gives a shit about someone other than himself. Spare me. I don’t want to hear it from anyone, partly because it’s not true and partly because that’s not how I work. No, thank you. I’d much rather people see me as the asshole I really am.
I finish up sorting one of the piles, and then they send me over to start working on a car. My gaze falls on the smashed-up vehicle, lingers on the spiderweb windshield and the busted airbag, making my skin tighten.
My memories flash to another vehicle—not a Toyota like this one, but an older Honda Accord, the one Mom drove and loved but Glen was forever trying to get her to sell.
I always fucking see her car when I have to do shit like this, which immediately makes my head throb and my heart implode. Working here is a form of torture I inflict upon myself.
I’m a couple of hours into ripping into the Toyota when I realize that the alternator is in perfect shape. Haven’t I heard Troy mention needing one for a Toyota?
I tug out my phone, snap a photo, then tag the alternator the way I’m supposed to. I’m pretty sure it has the specs Troy needs.
During my small break between work and Activate Kindness, I’m gonna have to find time to make a stop.
*
The first thingI see when I walk up to the garage is Troy’s ass sticking out of the hood of a car. “Waiting for a date?” I tease as I wipe the sweat off my forehead with my T-shirt, then toss it over my shoulder and let it hang there. I’m dirty and probably smell like shit from work, but I figure it isn’t much different for Troy.
It’ll be a miracle if I don’t get shit from him for driving with my shirt off, because he always has to nitpick at something. He’s complained about it before.
Troy turns his head to look at me but doesn’t move or stand up straight. “That’s homophobic.”
“Why? Straight men also have anal performed on them. I had this buddy whose girlfriend used a strap-on with him.” Plus, Troy knows I’m just giving him shit.
“Have you ever had it done to you?” This time he does move out from under the hood of the car, a little grease smudge on his cheek that is fascinating me for a reason I can’t explain.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I pump my brows, then tug my phone out and show him a photo of the alternator.
Troy’s eyes go wide, his musky, mechanical scent invading my senses. “Holy fuck. Is that still there?”
“Who knows.” I shrug.
“What the fuck, Atlas. You know I need one. Why didn’t you text me? I could have had you buy it for me.”
“Where is the fun in that?”
“You’re such a bastard.”
“Hey. I didn’t have to come here and tell you at all. Head over after work, and they might still have it.” I take a step back, and he walks forward. Not like he wants to kick my ass or anything because Troy isn’t violent. That’s not his way. But as he comes toward me, he bumps the table against the wall. There’s a laptop on the counter, where I know Troy will sit and study when there are lulls at work. The screen wakes up, and the first thing I notice is an F.
Troy groans and snaps the computer closed. He failed what looks like a test in his Thermodynamics class.
“You gonna taunt me over that too?” he snips. “I’m already stressed as hell over it, so why don’t you pile even more shit onto me?”
There’s a twinge of regret in my chest, one I don’t know how to voice and likely never will. “I’ll be nice.” I wink as if I’m doing him a favor. Troy rolls his brown eyes that always make me feel like I’m fucking up or doing something wrong. “I gotta go. Have shit to do.”
“Where are you going? What about the alternator?”
“Date,” I lie, then get into my car and drive off, the part he needs sitting in my trunk. I don’t know why I bought the dumb thing for him, or what lie I’m going to tell myself about it. Definitely not because I give a shit, right? Not because I’m a nice guy. And also not because I feel an inexplicable lightness in my chest when Troy smiles.
I’m almost halfway back to my apartment when I realize my shirt is gone. “Fuck.” I must have dropped it. Now I’m never going to get it back. Troy will probably trash it just to be a dick.
I rush to my apartment, take the world’s fastest shower, and then I’m back in my car, heading for Activate Kindness.
I walk in five minutes late.
Dixon, the head volunteer, greets me. “I’m so glad you’re here. There’s already a line out back.” Dixon is a couple of yearsolder than me and graduated from Peach State University as well.
“Sorry I’m late.”
