Page 30 of Rebel Summer

A small unisex room with one toilet and a pedestal sink greeted me. Nothing fancy.

It also wasn’t…terrible.

In all actuality, it seemed like it had been cleaned somewhat recently. There were still streaks on the mirror. I wasn’t about to entertain the thought that Dax Miller might have cleaned the bathroom in his shop before he made me do it, but I did wonder if his mother might have secretly done it on a visit to her son. That seemed like a motherly thing to do.

Clean bathroom or not, I did, however, milk a bit of time. There was only so much I could do to get back at Dax, so of course, I cleaned like a sloth. I could play games too.

A knock pounded on my door. “Get out of there, Books. I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not done yet,” I said, leaning back against the wall, languidly reading a book on my phone that I’d started on my plane ride.

“The longer you take in there, the worse it will be out here.”

“Worse? I’m having a great time!” I lied.

“Good to know.”

I forced myself to pretend to read for two more minutes—on principle.

Flinging the bathroom door open, I stepped out, peeling the rubber gloves off my hands, and looked at Dax, who was sorting through papers on the counter. Invoices, it looked like.

“You know what I decided in there?”

In an obnoxious power move, he waited five seconds before he answered, pretending to look busy scratching on the paper. “Not sure. Larry says that’s where he does his best thinking, though.”

“Ew.”

Though he wasn’t looking my way, his grin was enough to devastate me, but I rallied quickly. “You don’t scare me. So let’s do this. Throw me your worst right now so you can get it all out of your system.”

“Worst? I was being nice starting you in the bathroom.”

“Come on, what’s next? Do you need me to Clorox the blood off all your chainsaws?”

The puff of laughter escaping his lips felt like a double win.

“I wouldn’t trust you with an assignment of that scope, but I’m touched to know you’d do something like that for me.”

There was an exhilaration between us as we each played our own version of tug of war, something so reminiscent of the past I couldn’t help but feel energized. I had forgotten what it felt like to be around someone I could tell exactly what I was thinking. And he was just obstinate enough to like it.

Eventually, he stood and walked toward a storage closet on the other side of the room. Was it me, or did he have a bounce in his step?

He pulled out a large book that looked like a parts catalog and leafed through it for a moment. Under the guise of nonchalant glances and boredom, I allowed myself a moment to soak him in. He wore a pair of jeans and a black tank top. His dark hair was messy and disorderly. It was nothing special. The best thing he wore was the smirk across his face, and I would never admit that in a million years. So it didn’t make sense how the overall appearance of this man striding toward me had me tucking my wayward curls shyly behind my ear as he grew closer.

“This way, Books,” he said, brushing past me to fling open the doorway into the hall before leading me into the main lobby of the shop, where the noisy tarp flapped against the breeze. It was only noon, but with the tarp blocking most of the light, it felt much later than that. Dax stopped at the first black garbage bin of Legos.

“Holy crap,” I whispered, caught at an unguarded moment, once again taking in the sheer number of Legos in the garbage cans.

“I feel like now is the time to tell you that I’ve never played with Legos before,” I said.

“I guess now is as good a day as any to fix the travesty that is your life.”

I looked at him, my arms out wide. “Where do I even start?”

With great aplomb, Dax handed me the book he’d brought in from the other room. I turned it around to read the cover, only to discover that it was the guidebook for the Lego car.

It was the size of a phone book. An old school one. The hefty brick-sized ones you used to get in the mail before that thing called the internet was invented.

“One piece at a time, Books. Be sure to follow the directions to the letter. You’d hate to have to restart halfway through. Good luck to you.” He began making his way back toward the garage when my voice called out in a panic, “Wait! Where are you going?”

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