Chapter 2

In the corner stood a small engine teardown stand. Beside it were brand-new protective gloves and safety goggles.

“Mr. Jude said you like cars.” Mrs. Quinn smiled. “He had these brought in especially for you. He said you could take things apart and tinker with them whenever you had nothing else to do.”

I walked over to the tool rack and let my fingers glide over the row of wrenches. It was a complete set, the exact same kind I used at the auto shop in my previous life. Even the brand was the same. He had chosen sizes that fit my hands perfectly.

“Do you like them?” I did not notice when Mrs. Jude appeared in the doorway.

I turned around. She leaned against the doorframe, her expression as reserved as ever. However, I noticed her fingers tapping lightly against the wood. She was waiting for my answer.

“I like them.” I nodded, a little more emphatically than necessary. “I really like them.”

Something softened in her expression, just barely. “That’s all that matters. Dinner in an hour.”

She turned around and headed downstairs. Her footsteps were almost silent.

I stood in front of the tool rack and slipped on the protective gloves. It was a 1.5-liter turbocharged four-cylinder engine.

I ran my fingers along the cylinder wall. The wear was even. The piston rings could easily last another 50,000 miles.

…

Dinner was quiet.

Mr. and Mr. Jude occasionally exchanged a few words in low voices, but it was all about work—things like hybrid platform development, dyno testing schedules, and third-quarter production ramp-up.

I took a bite of the egg while listening carefully.

“By the way…” Mason set down his cutlery. “Huxley, what would you like to learn?”

“I’d like to learn how to take apart engines.” I set down my spoon. “I’d like to start with the basics.”

The two exchanged a glance.

I said, “I can do it. I know how to use the tools.”

Mr. Jude studied me for two seconds before smiling. It was a faint smile, but I caught it.

He slid his phone across the table. On the screen was a cross-sectional diagram of an engine, every component labeled with a number.

“Learn the parts first. Once you can name a hundred of them, I’ll teach you how to tear down your first engine.”

“Okay.”

Mrs. Jude placed a piece of fish on my plate. Her movements were gentle, almost as though she was afraid of disturbing something.

I lowered my head and ate the fish. It was incredibly tender, nothing like the fish Mr. Warren used to pan-fry in an aluminium pot in my previous life.

However, I liked both.

After dinner, I went back to my room and texted Grayson: [Are you there yet?]

It took him more than ten minutes to reply.

[Yes, I’m here.]

He sent a photo with it. Grayson was sitting on an old couch inside the auto shop. Behind him, tires, oil drums, and rows of wrenches hung along the walls.

Mr. Warren stood beside him, holding up a bottle of soda. His face was creased with a broad, genuine smile.

Mrs. Warren was carrying dishes over to the coffee table. An aluminum pot, enamel bowls, and sturdy ceramic dishes crowded the table, packed together in a cozy, overflowing jumble.

I stared at the photo for a long time. Then I replied: [Great.]

Grayson immediately called me.

“Huxley, you have no idea how awesome it is here!” Grayson’s voice was brimming with excitement. “Mr. Warren just taught me how to take a tire off! I didn’t have enough strength, so he found me a breaker bar! One twist and the lug nuts came right off!”

“Just be careful.”

“Don’t worry! Mrs. Warren made me tea. She said cold hands can mess up your tendons!” I could hear him crunching on something. “How about you? Are you having good food over there?”

“I had some fish. Herb-roasted fish.”

“No meat, huh?” He lowered his voice and continued, “Mr. Warren says he’s taking me out for roasted lamb shank the day after tomorrow. Jealous?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, get out of here!” I could hear him giggling on the other end. “Uh… Thank you. Thanks for letting me have them. Anyway, I’m going to help Mr. Warren move some tires. Talk later!”

The call ended.

I gripped my phone and leaned back against the headboard.

Outside the window, the streetlights glowed, casting long, slender shadows from the wrenches on the tool rack.

I got out of bed and walked over to the engine diagram. Then I started counting the parts. One, two, three… I had reached seven when Mrs. Quinn knocked and stepped inside.

She was carrying a glass of warm milk. “Huxley, have some of this if you can’t sleep. Mrs. Jude asked me to bring it up.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Quinn.”

She glanced at the diagram on the wall and smiled. “Working this hard already?”