I slammed the door. “Sorry about that. It looks like it’s just you and me, Armando, but unless we get a big rush, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“It might as well just be me even when he’s here, he’s so useless.” He gave a half grin. “That asshole’s right about one thing.”
“What?”
“You’re sure not your father. I’ve watched Mikey take advantage of your dad like every day. He gets here late, screws up the work, and then lies on his time cards.” He wiped his hands. “You just made my fucking year. Want me to help with the bolts?”
“Sure. You done there?”
He nodded. “Yeah. It’s ready for Ben.” He grabbed a high-speed drill and started removing the trim on the opposite side of the Prius battery well. He worked efficiently and with skill.
I said, “So what’s with you and my dad?”
He chuckled. “Nothing much. He pays me good.”
“Glad to hear it.” We fell into silence.
He said, “You know why he won’t leave me in charge of the shop, right?” He didn’t look at me.
“No clue. You obviously know what you’re doing, and my dad has to know that.”
He gave me that smile that looked like it’d seen way too much shit. “He’s never gonna leave his precious shop in the hands of any dude who speaks two languages—if one of them happens to be Spanish.”
I paused mid-screw. “He’s not that stupid.” I stared at his blank face. “Is he?”
Armando shrugged. “In his defense, you know how many Hispanics live in this town.”
“No, actually I don’t.”
“You’re looking at him. Even my mom and dad live two towns over.”
I had to chuckle. “And my dad’s not good with new stuff.”
“Right. But he likes that I’m good at the work.” Another silence fell. “He sure hates that you went to college.”
“Fuck, do I know.” I lifted out the old hybrid battery, and Armando slid in the new one.
“I think he had such a big idea about you taking over this place that he can’t get past it.”
“Weird that he wants me to work here so bad when he thinks I’m fucking dumb.”
“Naw. He thinks you’re good at cars. He doesn’t go past that.”
“He’d sure go past it if I told him I’d been drafted by Green Bay.”
Armando snorted. “Football’s in another category.”
I pressed the back of my hands to my forehead. “But fuck, I don’t want to play football, and I don’t want to fix cars all my life.” I blinked my eyes open. “No offense.”
“None taken. What do you want to do?”
And I said the words out loud. “I want to be a physical therapist.”
“No fuck, man?” He looked impressed. Damn, so was I.
I licked my lips like maybe I could taste the idea. “No fuck.”
“I thought you were some kind of gym rat. You know, weights and shit.”
“Yeah.” I stared at the interior of the car but didn’t really see it. “I’m a phys ed major.” I took a big breath. “But I’m switching over to physical therapy. It might take me an extra year, but I’m gonna do it.”
“Man, isn’t that really hard?”
I smiled. “Yeah, it’s really, really hard.”
We finished the Prius, and Armando said he’d cover for me while I went out for lunch. He already knew how to work the computer and the register, so I didn’t have to teach him a thing.
Funny how the fizzy feeling I’d had that morning over my A had come back as I stepped out into a sunny, cold midday, carrying my text for Motor Development. I walked to Sunny’s Café, took a small table by the wall, and opened my book.
“Hey, Bubba, the Badgers gonna win this season?”
I glanced up at the three Js, Jules, Jerry, and Jim, friends you hardly ever saw without each other. “Bet on it.” I smiled.
Jules said, “You know we will.”
Jerry slid off his stool at the counter and walked over. “Watcha got?”
I flipped the cover on the book—one of those texts you had to measure by the pound. “I’ve got a test on Monday.”
“Holy shit.” He turned to the other two. “Look at this.” He waggled the cover back and forth. “I heard you were just faking the school thing so you could play football, but you didn’t make it, so you were coming home.”
I glanced around the café. Besides the two other Js, there were ten or so locals sitting at the counter and the tables. I couldn’t resist. I raised my voice just a little, like I was talking to the two at the counter. “Nah, man. My old man would love for me to come home, but I’m actually really into school. I can’t take the time for serious football because it interferes with my studies. I’m going to be a physical therapist.” Jeez, just saying the words made me want to bawl.
There was a lull in all the conversation in the room. I smiled at Jerry and purposefully looked back at my book. I managed not to laugh until I’d gotten my sandwich and carried it with me to one of the main street benches. There, sitting in the sun, I told myself everything I’d learned about motor development and tried not to wave my arms too much.
Five hard-working hours later, I took money out of the till and gave Armando a fifty-buck bonus, left my father a note telling him where the money went and why, added Mikey’s keys to the note, locked the door, and got in my car.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I hit dial on my phone and held my breath.
Hi. This is Sean. Leave a message.
“Uh, hi. It’s me. I got an A. Uh, really an A minus, but it worked, Sean. I used the technique. The self-explaining. It works for me and—” I swallowed hard. “—it’s all because of you. Not just you showing me how to learn. It’s—it’s because you—you think I can do it. You believe in me and—” I swiped at my eyes. “Thank you. Thank you.” I clicked off and started the car.
Sniffing, I drove about half an hour. The town and the people swirled through my head. What had Sean said? People put expectations on us, and it’s easier to fall in line than to resist or change. His people expected him to be a genius and not care about anything except studying, but Sean had broken free. He’d decided to make getting fit a priority, and he’d met me. Hell, I wasn’t exactly a wimp either. Everyone had thought I’d go into my dad’s shop. Ready-made life. But I’d chosen to go to Madison, and now I was choosing to study PT. I could choose anything the fuck I wanted!
My hand grabbed my phone and hit send.
Hi. This is Sean. Leave a message.
“Sean, you know how I gave you that phone number from that guy named Phil? Uh, don’t call him. Okay? I mean, maybe you already did, but don’t call him again until we can talk. I’m on my way home. I really want to talk to you. Okay?”
I hung up. That left me with half an hour to figure out what I wanted to say.
Chapter Thirteen
Sean
It was the first Saturday I’d had to myself in a while. Bubba had gone home, so I gladly skipped training. My body was exhausted, and according to Dobbs, it was ultimately more productive to take a rest day now and then. We didn’t have a flag practice until the next day, Sunday. And Dobbs, along with half the house, had departed for Quiz Bowl sectionals in Chicago. I was determined to have a productive day catching up on my classes. I finished all my reading, wrote a paper for Epigenetics, and worked on diagrams for Neurogenetics.