“You’re hired!”
“Excellent.” He took her hand. “So, are you ready to work on the food truck that my evil class is trying to name The Burnt Cheeseball?”
She blinked. “The burnt what?”
“It’s exactly what the bus looks like…a burnt cheeseball,” Steven said from his spot at the front table. “Plus, it has a certain ring to it. Very Austin.”
“People would remember it,” Lola added.
Rebecca shook her head and grinned. “Well, there’s that. And it’s probably not taken.”
“Do not agree with them!” Wes protested dramatically. “Adults are supposed to unite. I need someone on my team.”
Xavier walked over and hooked his long arm in Rebecca’s. “Nope, we’ve stolen her. Team Burnt Cheeseball for the win!”
Rebecca looked over her shoulder as Xavier dragged her toward the side door. “Sorry, Chef G.”
He narrowed his eyes playfully. “No respect. I get no respect.”
An hour and a half later, Rebecca had sweat rolling down her spine as she scrubbed the interior of the bus with a coarse-bristled brush. Pop music drifted in from outside, and Rebecca mindlessly hummed along. Lola and Keisha had created an “Adele Remodeling” soundtrack, which ironically had no Adele songs on it, but the upbeat music had helped the time go by. However, now the late-afternoon sun was beaming through the windows, and even though they’d left two of the windows open—the ones that weren’t stuck—the humidity was filling the interior of the bus like swamp fog, making Rebecca’s muscles feel sapped.
Most of the class had drifted to projects outside and some were grouped up, brainstorming concepts and business plans. Wes was tinkering with the engine, Keisha playing co-mechanic. Only Steven and Xavier were left with Rebecca inside the bus. At first, that had made her fee
l a little awkward.
She had eventually shown the police photos to Wes, but he hadn’t been able to determine anything. So even though Rebecca had tried to rule out Steven as the potential mugger, that initial suspicion hadn’t been totally alleviated. But after a while, the atmosphere inside the bus had relaxed, and the boys had made conversation. Xavier was the chattier of the two. Rebecca had learned a lot about the merits and deficits of the local high school’s basketball team. Xavier had been kicked off of it for poor grades, and he thought he could save the team if only he could get his history scores up.
Steven had been quieter, focusing on unscrewing the bench seats one by one, the rusty hardware fighting him. But he’d given Xavier the title of a book that helped break down history into short stories that were easier to remember. Steven had also bounced around ideas with both Xavier and Rebecca about possible menu items for the food truck. Steven played his cards close to the vest, but he lit up when talking about food. Rebecca had seen that look when Wes talked about owning a restaurant. The two were kindred spirits in that way.
“Hey, Ms. Lindt, I think we’ve earned some snacks.” Xavier said. “I’m going to get cleaned up and grab some stuff from the kitchen that I can pass around to everybody.”
“Sounds good,” she said, swiping her arm across her forehead, trying to keep the sweat from stinging her eyes.
Xavier set his tools down and rumbled down the steps that led outside, rocking the bus as he went. Once he was gone, Steven glanced her way, his expression shifting into an unreadable mask and sweat dripping over the yellowing spot near his temple where the bruise had been last week. But before she could think of anything to say, he went back to focusing on the screws. She frowned, letting her gaze linger on the fading bruise for a moment, the ugly mark only half peeking out from beneath the bandanna he’d tied around his head. But she didn’t want to stare, so she returned to her scrubbing.
She figured she should probably be worried being in such close quarters with him because there was a chance he could be the one who had attacked her, but her gut wasn’t sending off danger signals. Instead, she had a deep yearning to ask him all the questions hovering on her tongue. What happened to your head? Are you in trouble? Is someone hurting you? Do you need help?
She kept the interrogation to herself, though, because she was still a stranger to the kid. He had no reason to trust or confide in her, and she would be leaving the project after today, so no bond was going to develop. There was nothing she could do. Instead, she went for the safe bet of small talk. “I think we’re pretty close to wrapping up for the day, if you want to find a stopping point.”
“I can stay late if Chef G needs me to. I don’t mind,” he said, voice gruff.
She glanced over at him. “He’d probably appreciate that on days he can stay late. But I have to go pick up a dog in a little while, and he’s going to help me out, so we’ll be leaving soon, too.”
Steven looked up, a line between his brows. “A dog?”
She watched him carefully, something in his tone making the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Yes. I’m going to foster a dog that was shot in a robbery. I need some help transporting him, though, because he’s big and still recovering.”
Steven’s face turned ghostly pale, and his gaze darted away. His hands fumbled with the wrench as if it were suddenly covered in oil. “Right.”
Oh shit. Alarm bells went off in her head at Steven’s flustered movements, his change in expression. She could see the puzzle pieces falling together in his head, reality dawning.
“You okay?” she asked, her tone careful.
“What?” He stood abruptly, dropping the wrench and almost toppling over the bench he’d been working on. He wiped his hands on his shorts and wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I think I need some water. I’m feeling… I’ll be right back.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Steven,” she said firmly but not too loudly, the voice she used on people who were nervous on the stand in court. “Wait.”