He stood up, grabbed a rag from the fender of the car he was working on, and wiped some grease off of his hand. “What can I do for you, Miss Kane?”
I plastered on my most winning smile and said, “I just came from Guidance. I tried to sign up for your Auto Repair class this fall, but they told me I couldn’t register. I was hoping you might be able to help.”
He looked at me from my toes to my head. It hit me that my wardrobe choice wasn’t helping me make my case. I was wearing sandals, a short white skirt and an Hawaiian print top in pastels. My pink fingernails and toenails had appliques of flowers on them which matched my Hawaiian shirt perfectly. He wore blue coveralls, brown leather work boots, and seemed to have permanent grease stains etched under his fingernails. Mr. Kravitz shook his head. “I’ve got limited class space, and it’s already full.”
I blurted out, “I have a car. It doesn’t run, but I have one.”
Kravitz raised an eyebrow, “It’s full. Sorry, Candy.”
Not wanting to be shut down a second time, I began pleading, “You don’t understand, it’s a ‘66 Chevelle. I really want this car, but the only way I can afford to get it running is if I’m in your class.”
“A 66 Chevelle?” His interest was piqued, “Convertible or hardtop?”
I had set the line; I just needed to reel him in. “Convertible.”
“Super Sport?”
I could feel my face glowing, “Yes!”
He shook his head, taking a second to look at me. “My class is full, but I wouldn’t mind the class seeing how the older engines function compared to the new ones with computers on board. Could you leave it here for the whole semester?”
What was he saying? Was he going to let me in the class or not? “Uh, yes, the class description says once I’m signed up, I bring the car in, and you teach me how to fix it.”
“I don’t have room for another student, but I may have an idea.” Kravitz called into the other room that I had believed to be empty, “Mr. Brewer, can you come out here for a minute?”
Feet shuffled from the other room as a student came through the doorway. He glanced in my direction, but his eyes settled on Mr. Kravitz’s boots, “Yeah?”
The student wasn’t anyone I would have ever given a second look. His jeans begged for detergent. The stench of stale cigarettes permeated his clothes. Those were just surface issues. The most disturbing thing about him was that he kept his eyes focused on the floor instead of looking at either Mr. Kravitz or me. Mr. Kravitz introduced us – Dave looked like he was thousands of miles away. “I may have a solution for you, Candy.” Kravitz was nearly beaming.
My heart skipped a beat when I thought he was going to tell me he’d find a way to make room for me in his class. Maybe we could double-team my stupid counselor with the idea that knowing how to fix a car was a skill I could use while I was going to college to help cover expenses. His big arms gestured to Dave, “I have a student without a car.” He looked at me and gestured with his other arm, “Dave, Candy’s got a diamond in the rough, but there’s no room for her in my class. I thought you two might be able to strike a deal.”
A monotone answer, laced with irritation responded, “No, thanks.” Still focused on the floor, his thick leather boots, scuffed raw, shuffled against a free standing toolbox.
Kravitz answered optimistically, “You found a car?”
Dave shrugged his shoulders, his eyes still refusing to leave the floor. “Found one at the salvage yard.”
Mr. Kravitz eyed Dave suspiciously; he must have known a great deal about this student because he asked, “So you’ve got the money to buy it and all the parts you’ll need?”
Dave shrugged his shoulders again.
I saw my dreams getting ready to disappear into a puff of smoke. “Pleeeaaase,” I dragged it out like a seven year old begging for a later bedtime.
Dave shook his head, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked out of the room.
Mr. Kravitz huffed as we both watched him take a quick turn down the hallway and disappear into the sea of other students. Kravitz gave me a sheepish look, “The class is offered in fall. If he doesn’t have a vehicle to repair in the next couple of weeks, he’ll be reassigned to another elective. I know he wants in my class. Get your car here this week. You know you will be responsible for all the parts?”
Confused, I said, “But he just said, ‘no.’”
His voice lowered, not that there were any others around to hear, “Mr. Brewer is in the foster care system. He’s got great instincts for cars, and he hangs out here after school helping me with odd projects. I’ve never seen someone with his attention to detail. Unfortunately, the state only covers his basic necessities. A car for my class isn’t a necessity, so he can’t enroll in my class.”
My heart went out to Dave. I didn’t know him, but I had heard awful things about foster care. His clothing choices and absence of detergent seemed significantly less revolting with that tidbit of information. I was ashamed of my initial assessment of him when he walked in – who was I to judge? My parents weren’t the greatest people on the planet, but at least they made sure I had everything I needed. I’d bought the car with babysitting money – money that I had earned from watching their friends’ kids.
As if to drive his position home, he added, “Dave’s been jerked around his whole life. He’s one of those kids who has to warm up to an idea. You get your car here, and I’ll see that he stays in my class.”
I’m sure the disappointment showed on my face at his unwillingness to help me out with Guidance. I really wanted this car, so I asked one more time, “If he’s not in your class, does that mean you would have room for me? Could I be put on a standby list?”
Mr. Kravitz must have wanted to persuade me this was the best solution because he answered, “Candy, you have options. That boy who just walked out of here? He doesn’t. He needs this class more than you do. Get your car here this week, and I’ll convince him to do the repairs.” Mr. Kravitz walked back over to the car he had been working on and leaned back down into the engine where I had found him.
I wasn’t convinced, but Mr. Kravitz had made it clear he wouldn’t be advocating with the guidance office for me to get into his class. If Dave Brewer wouldn’t agree to repair it, I’d be stuck with a six hundred dollar car that didn’t run. Defeated, I made my way to the door when Kravitz added, “Get the registration up to date. Every car we keep has to be legal.”
A friend helped me tow the car to the high school the next morning. We put it inside the automotive repair fenced-in area just like Mr. Kravitz had told me to. Two weeks later I got a note to come to the auto shop around the back of the school. When I peeked around the corner of the building – I was elated. Kravitz was standing there with a clipboard; Dave was leaning up against the brick wall with a frustrated look on his face. Mr. Kravitz tapped Dave on his shoulder with the clipboard, “C’mon, Mr. Brewer. You agreed to it. You’re going to have to go over the list of parts her car’s going to need.”
Dave shoved himself off of the brick wall. If he’d been a cartoon character, a huge “Bwong” would have shot up from behind his back. He nearly ripped the clipboard out of Kravitz’s hand and shoved it at me. “Need those parts by this fall.” His hair looked greasy and hung in stringy waves just above his shoulder, his face was all scraggly, and stale cigarette smell clung to him. His jaw was set in an angry way as if he were challenging me to argue with him about the parts I needed to purchase. Dave wore the same faded black jeans and scuffed up boots he was wearing the first time I had met him. His clothes didn’t matter; if he was going to fix the car – he could do it naked for all I cared.
Mr. Kravitz watched Dave walk back into the classroom and removed the paper from the clipboard, “Take this sheet to Advanced Auto on South Tenth Street. They’ve got a deal with the school district. If you give them this sheet, they’ll order and sell you the parts at cost.”
I put on my bright, cheerful, and grateful face, pretending to be surpris
ed – I wasn’t. This was the reason I’d tried to sign up for the class to begin with. I wouldn’t have to pay any labor and the parts were dirt cheap. Every repair made by a student, no matter how big or small, got a sign off by Kravitz that it was done right. Six hundred for the car and another few hundred dollars in parts, and I’d have solid transportation by the time I had my license.
Once the fall semester rolled around, I saw Dave in the hallways lots of times. It didn’t matter how many times I said, “hi,” or smiled at him – he never gave me a second glance. It almost seemed as if he preferred to sneer at me. I’d sneak down every few days and see Mr. Kravitz after school. My car was progressing faster than most of the other cars that had a lot less work to be done. For what Dave lacked in personal skills and hygiene, he made up for in mechanical ability.
When it was all done, the engine had been rebuilt, the brakes were replaced, as well as the radiator, the battery, and most of the electrical wires behind the dash. Mr. Kravitz told me before Thanksgiving break that my car was ready. The right thing to do was to thank Dave, but since he preferred to believe I was invisible every time I saw him – I wasn’t sure how to accomplish it.
The first day of Christmas break, I decided to thank Dave the only way I knew how. I’d always seen him wear the same black jeans and boots. He seemed to be as tall as my sister Kim’s boyfriend and about the same body build, so I asked him what size clothes he wore. I bought Dave a pair of dark blue jeans and a rugby shirt. Libby had her license. My sister Kim let us borrow her car. Libby knew which house was his from the bus route she had ridden on. I went up to his front door, a little nervous, and rang the doorbell.
Instead of someone answering the door, a hateful female voice yelled, “What?”
The television was blaring in the background, so I couldn’t be sure if the voice was a person’s inside the house or if it had shouted from the television. I rang the doorbell a second time.
I heard loud footsteps stomping toward the door, and a woman flung the door open wide with a menacing look on her face, “You better not be sellin’ anything.” She was a very large lady with long greasy hair and a permanent scowl etched on her face. Her looks alone made me shrink an inch or two on the spot. This was his mom? Then I remembered Kravitz told me he was a foster care kid. What idiot state worker would place anyone with this woman?
I stood there relieved that there was a storm door separating the two of us. My voice came out meekly, “I was looking for Dave Brewer. Does he live here?”
She stomped away from the door without acknowledging my question and bellowed like he might have been on Jupiter, “Dave, door!!”
I stood there, losing my nerve by the second. The stale smell of the house began seeping through the cracks around the front door. Dave appeared in front of me, and I figured in this circumstance he might actually look at me – wrong again. He stepped out into the frigid December temperatures with just a t-shirt and jeans, onto the little cement steps where I stood. Dave didn’t sound the least bit happy to see me, “What’re you doin’ here?”
Damn, nice to see you, too. I shook off my snottiness, and responded cheerfully, “You never let me thank you for my car. I wanted to give you something.” My shaky hands held out two white boxes tied together with a thick shiny red ribbon.
He eyed the boxes, but made no move to take them from me. “I did it because Kravitz made me do it.”
Wow, that was a whole sentence. Dave hadn’t talked to me all semester. Still holding the two boxes out, I began to think this was an awful idea. “I know, but without you doing the repairs, I wouldn’t have a functioning car. Here,” I pushed the boxes in his direction, “it’s no big deal.”
His hands reluctantly took the boxes out of my hands. An awkward silence hung for a few seconds. I wasn’t sure what to say, and he didn’t have any conversational skills. I tried feebly, “So, do you have any big plans for Christmas break?”
He shook his head, peering over his shoulder into the house. “Look, I gotta go.” He stammered, as if trying to find the words, “I . . . hope. . . you like your car.” Dave did a one-eighty and disappeared inside the house, shutting the door hard behind him. I stood there for a second, realizing I had just been dismissed.
I could hear the vile woman inside shout at him, “Well, don’t just stand there. Dinner won’t make itself!”
I understood in that moment why Mr. Kravitz took such an interest in Dave. He didn’t have another person in the world who looked out for him. I never saw him walking with or talking to anyone at school – ever. I’d waved and smiled a few times to him in the hallway, but I’d never gone out of my way to try to have a conversation with him. Standing on his cement steps, knowing where he lived and the woman the state had assigned to care for him, my heart ached for him. I decided when break was over, I would look for him in the halls. I would do more than just a shallow greeting – I owed him. If the only way for me to pay that debt was to befriend him, to let him know someone in the world besides the shop teacher gave a crap about him, that’s what I’d do.
I didn’t have to wait for school to start up. Two days after Christmas, we got an outrageous snow storm that dumped eight inches of snow. I was clearing the sidewalk in front of our house, ticked off that both my sisters had miraculously had things to do and were gone, leaving me with the snow removal job all by myself.
I still didn’t have my driver’s license and wouldn’t be able to get it for another couple months, but every few days I’d go out and start my car just to hear the engine rumble. It sounded bad-ass. After the shoveling was done, if I could still feel my toes, I’d go out back and start it – that would cheer me up.
I had just finished the sidewalk and started on the steps when I felt someone’s eyes boring into me. I turned around quickly to find Dave staring at me. He wore a light leather jacket, his signature scuffed up motorcycle boots, and the blue jeans I had given him a week ago. When I realized it was Dave and not some deranged freak leering at me, I asked, “Hey. How was Christmas?”
He shrugged his shoulders but didn’t answer. Grappling for something to say, I commented, “The jeans look great.” I was wearing a winter coat, faux fur lined gloves, a hat and a scarf, while he stood there in a jacket with his hands shoved in his pockets. Did he not own gloves or a hat?
He prodded some snow with the tip of his boot, and quietly offered, “Thanks.” It didn’t roll off of his lips, and it occurred to me that he didn’t have much cause to use the word. It didn’t seem like he had poor manners, but the more I knew about him, the less I thought he had much to be thankful for.
The temperature was dropping fast, and I’d already been out for at least thirty minutes. I was beginning to feel the cold tingles in my fingers and toes, right before the numbness set in. Now was a perfect time for a break. “Hey, you wanna come inside? I could use some hot chocolate and toast.”
Dave shook his head. Remembering the woman at his house, I couldn’t imagine why he’d be in a hurry to go back there. “I’m not taking no for an answer. C’mon, I’m freezing.”
I turned my back on him and marched up the steps that were still covered in snow. I would go back out and finish the steps after he left. When I got into our entryway, I held the door open for him to follow. He hadn’t budged an inch from his spot on the sidewalk.
Almost daring him I said, “You got something against hot chocolate?" A slight smirk showed on his face when Dave reluctantly followed me into the house. I walked into the kitchen and dumped a packet of instant cocoa into a mug, and put the cup under the Keurig machine, dispensing the hot water. Stirring quickly, I handed the cup to him. I made mine and then threw some toast in the toaster. He didn’t say anything, but I saw his bright red fingers wrap themselves around the steaming mug.
“I like my toast with just butter on it, but we have jelly and peanut butter if you want.”
He shook his head. I wasn’t sure what he had just said “no” to, so I pulled out all the toast top
pings and put them on the table.
His house was over two miles from mine. I was sure he didn’t have a car, so he must have been freezing. Dave devoured four pieces of buttered toast, the mug of chocolate bliss, and seemed to be stealing glances around the kitchen. He was content with the silence, but it sort of creeped me out.
About the time I could feel my toes again, Dave surprised me with a question. “What color?”
What color? I stared at him clueless as to what he wanted. I’d heard him speak less than ten words up until now, and I was beginning to question if he were capable of regular conversation. I was grateful for his help with my car, and no matter how bad his personal skills were – I owed him. “What do you mean, what color?”
“Kravitz wants to know what color for your Chevelle.”
I was stunned, “You’re painting my car?” Dave gave me his signature shoulder shrug, but didn’t answer. “Wait, you’re taking Auto-Body Repair next semester?”
He nodded.
“Um, I’m just glad it’s running. The rust doesn’t really bother me.”
His eyes fixed on mine briefly, as if I’d stolen a prized toy. “I can’t use your car?” Dave had made eye contact with me for the first time ever. His eyes were a deep brown, not a pretty brown like a chestnut, but a dark walnut, almost swallowing his pupil. I couldn’t place his expression – it looked like a cross between frustration and, I don’t know, – anger?
“I never said that. I mean, I would really appreciate it if you could paint it. How much will it cost?” I had tanked every bit of my babysitting money for the car, the parts it needed last semester, and Christmas gifts. However, I’d found an awesome website that the rich people in town used to find short-notice babysitters – I could maybe find some more jobs before Christmas break was over.
“Body-repair isn’t much unless we have to replace a bumper or something. Yours are fine. Maybe a hundred dollars for chrome from the salvage yard and the primer and paint.”
This was too good to be true. I didn’t know whether the shock on my face was from the second incredible bargain, or the fact that he’d said more to me in the last thirty seconds than he had in the previous four months. “Uh, okay. What color do you think would be good?”
His Frozen Heart Page 8
