Page 40 of Ice Princess

He bursts out laughing. “You could be a comedian, Gunner. The way you deliver jokes with that dead-pan expression…”

“I’m not joking.”

“How can we afford to go pro right now when we can’t even keep the lights on?” Max wrenches a button on his shirt loose. “Making the league as a team isn’t just about a ‘can do spirit’.” He counts off on his fingers. “First of all, we’ll need to pay the team an actual living wage so you can practiceall day. Right now, you and Watson and Renthrow have to work separate jobs to pay your own bills. The others are only this flexible because they’re in college. Then, we’ll need another coach because the one we have is great but… you know, the league is another level. Not to mention the league fees, the plane tickets?—”

“We can do it.”

Max grits his teeth. “You think it’ll be easy just because you said those words in a calm voice?”

“I want to try, Max.”

The excitement leaks out of my voice. Since I was a kid, it’s been my dream to go pro. Chance walked away from it, but that doesn’t mean he can’t return to the top, this time, with us behind him.

The team manager scrutinizes my expression. “I never realized this before, but… you’re… actually insane.”

“I’ll do everything I can.” I extend my hand. “Let’s take the Lucky Strikers all the way to the pros.”

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

REBEL

The overhead fanin the garage makes a loud ‘whup, whup’ sound with every rotation. I glance at it and then adjust the standing fan behind me, turning the speed up a notch.

Nothing helps. I’m still blisteringly hot.

As a rock song rages in my headphones, I drop a car battery into place and pull out the left battery clamp from the tangle of wires.

My pink gloves are a bright contrast to the dusty, worn innards of the car. Normally, the sight of my gloves in the middle of an engine is enough to lift my spirits.

But not today.

With jerky movements, I fasten the clamp against the battery pole.

And then I freeze.

The battery needs two clamps to charge the engine.

I’ve got one.

Where’s the other?

My mouth tightens when I realize I’ve misplaced the right battery pole. What on earth…

I gently tug wires out of the way so I can see better, but that causes another problem. The client took this car to so many mechanics that the wiring is a colossal mess.

Duct-tape was the previous mechanic’s glue of choice. An empty plastic bottle wedged against the front of the hood keeps the battery from shaking in the engine. So many other modifications have been made. It’s a mad house.

“You can’t be serious,” I snarl at the engine.

“What happened?” My best friend’s voice pulls me from my sullen thoughts. April walks into my line of sight, wiping her hands on her navy jumper.

“I can’t find the stinkin’ pole.”

April’s eyes circle the hood of the vehicle and travel inquiringly back to me.

I point like a child tattling on a sibling. “It was there when I started. It’s not there any more. Where did it go? It’s not like an entire battery clamp can sprout legs and walk away.”

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