Roadside Assistance by Amy Clipston Page A

motor and climbed from the truck. “Thanks, guys,” he said. He gestured toward me. “She’s good, huh?”
    “Dad …” I shot him an evil look.
    “As I said earlier, impressive.” Zander smiled at me, and I thought I might melt onto the pavement. I was relieved when he turned to my dad. “What kind of job are you looking for, Mr. Curtis?”
    “Automotive, and I told you to call me Brad.” My dad leaned on the fender. “I owned a shop before we came here. I can do collision repair or mechanical work.”
    “Do you have a résumé?” Zander asked.
    My dad nodded. “I’ve applied at most of the dealerships in the area.”
    “Have you tried Cameronville Auto and Body out on Highway 29?” Zander asked, gesturing toward the road as if he were pointing to the shop.
    My dad shook his head. “No. Are they hiring?”
    “Maybe.” Zander crossed his arms. “The assistant manager just quit and moved out to California, so Jack may be looking for someone.”
    “Management might be easier for you than starting over again with tools,” I said, lifting my bag onto my shoulder. “That’s a good point.” My dad nodded. “I should ask for Jack?”
    “Yeah. Tell him I sent you.” Zander tapped the bumper. “He’s an old friend of my grandpa’s. My family has known him for years. In fact, I work for him on Saturdays.” He grinned. “I used to work there during the week, but my dad changed the rules last year due to my grades.”
    I raised my eyebrows. So Zander wasn’t a wonder kid like Whitney. He does have to study or, rather, should study.
    “Thanks for the tip.” My dad slapped Zander’s shoulder. “I’ll go by there tomorrow. I’m anxious to get a job and get us back on our feet. But in the meantime I better finish the tune-up. I picked up some belts while I was out earlier.”
    “Do you need help?” Zander asked.
    “Oh, no, thanks. I can handle it. But thank you for your assistance.” He nodded toward Zander’s garage. “How’s it going with the Dodge?”
    Shaking his head, Zander frowned. “Slowly.”
    “You’d better lock up your tools and your garage really well or you might come in one day and find your crankshaft replaced.” He pointed at me. “She fixed a project while I was gone for the weekend once. She’s a sneaky one.”
    My cheeks blazed again. “Dad!”
    “Oh, I doubt she’ll touch my project,” Zander said, his grin wide. “I hear she only works on Chevys. Right, Chevy Girl?”
    My dad guffawed, and I grimaced. I didn’t enjoy being the butt of their jokes.
    “I better start on my homework,” I said. “Call me if you need me, Dad.”
    “I think I can handle some belts.” My dad opened the door to the backseat and grabbed a bag from AutoMart.
    I started back toward the house, and Zander fell in step with me.
    “Your dad’s cool,” he said.
    “Yeah, he is.” I nodded. “He’s an amazing mechanic and auto body technician too.”
    “He must be a good teacher, huh?”
    “He taught me everything I know.”
    “What kind of a car did you work on when your dad was gone?” he asked.
    “It was nothing. Just an old project that was sitting around.” It had been more than that, actually, but I didn’t want to talk about it. We reached the deck stairs, and I turned to him. “Thanks for your help with the truck.”
    “No problemo,” Zander said with a smile.
    “And thanks for the shop suggestion.” I gripped the strap on my bag. “Dad’s been stressed about finding a job.”
    “I’m happy to help. See you tomorrow.” He gave me a mock salute before starting toward the gate.
    I watched him disappear into the garage and I smiled. I was actually becoming friends with Zander Stewart.

chapter seven
    T he following afternoon, I stepped through the back door and stopped dead in my tracks when I found Zander leaning on the island, talking to my dad. They both turned and greeted me, all smiles. I was speechless for a moment, stunned by the scene.
    “Guess what,