Roadside Assistance by Amy Clipston Page B

Baby Doll,” my dad said, rushing over to me. “I got a job, thanks to Zander!” He crushed me in one of his bear hugs, and I fought for air to breathe.
    “I didn’t do anything,” Zander said, his hand curled around a can of Coke. “It was your experience and résumé that got you the job.”
    “Not true.” Dad waved him off. “It’s not what you know, but who you know.”
    Zander shrugged and took a swig of soda.
    I dropped my bag on a kitchen chair and grabbed a pear from the fruit bowl in the center of the table. “So what will you be doing?”
    “Assistant Manager.” Dad looked energized, and it warmed my heart. He was genuinely thrilled. “I start tomorrow.” He sat in a chair at the table.
    I leaned against the counter on the other side of the island from Zander. “So that means you can order Zander around on Saturdays?”
    Zander laughed. “Yup. You’ll run the show on Saturdays. Jack likes to take Saturdays off.”
    “You’d better watch out,” I said, pointing the pear at him. “Dad runs a tight ship.”
    Zander held his hands up. “You know you can count on me. After all, I’m Mr. Mopar.”
    I laughed and bit into the pear. He was adorable, and I was doomed. I was developing a crush on the guy. Not good at all.
    “Where’s Whitney?” my dad asked, swiping an apple from the bowl.
    “She has some cheerleading thing,” I said. “She’ll be home around suppertime.”
    “Did Chelsea bring you home?” Dad asked.
    I shook my head. “She has some theater meeting.”
    “She acts?” Zander asked, tilting his head in question.
    “I’d wondered the same thing. She does costumes, makeup, and hair.” I grabbed a paper towel and wiped my mouth. “She’s like head of the costume team or committee or whatever, and she’s really talented. Did you know she makes her clothes? They’re awesome.”
    “Wow.” Zander looked impressed.
    I suddenly noticed it was really easy to talk to him. He was interested in what I had to say, and he really listened to me. I felt comfortable with him — like I could really be myself. And it felt good.
    “So you took the bus?” Zander asked.
    I nodded, taking another bite of the pear.
    “There’s no reason to take the bus,” Zander said. “I drive to the same destination. There’s plenty of room in my Jeep, and it’s a more pleasant ride.”
    I shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I ignore the freshmen and spitballs.”
    “Freshmen and spitballs?” my dad asked, his eyebrows arched.
    “Don’t worry about it,” I told Dad and then looked at Zander. “The bus is okay. I don’t mind. It builds character.”
    “Don’t be silly.” Zander lifted the can of Coke toward his mouth. “We’re neighbors. We can ride together.”
    I hesitated. Deep down I wanted to ride with him, but there was a problem: If I drove home with him, then the crush would turn into something much deeper, and I was afraid of having to nurse another broken heart.
    “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    Zander shook his soda can, indicating that it was empty. I snatched it from him and tossed it into the recycling bin under the sink.
    “Thanks for the drink,” Zander said. “I better head back home.”
    “Would you like to join us for supper?” my dad said. “I’m going to make tacos to celebrate my new job.”
    “Thanks, but my mom’s making steak tonight.” Zander started for the door. “I’ll take a rain check, though.”
    “You’d rather have steak than tacos, huh?” My dad chuckled. “I’m offended.”
    “Sorry, but my mom’s steak is out of this world.” Zander gripped the doorknob. “Thanks again.”
    “No, thank you,” Dad said. “You’re a real lifesaver. You helped fix my truck and got me a job. I owe you.”
    “Don’t be silly. That’s what neighbors are for.” Zander pushed the door open. “See you Saturday, Brad.” He looked at me. “See you at school.” Then he slipped through the door.
    “Thanks again,” my dad