Page 13 of The Save

Another long pause.

“It’s probably the solenoid.” Chase cleared his throat. “Happens in these older VWs. Ignition signal’s weak, doesn’t trigger the starter properly.”

I lifted my head. Chase pulled his keys from his pocket, chose one, then fiddled for twenty seconds. “Try it.”

I hesitated, then rounded the car door and sat. “Are you going to move your arm?”

He shook his head. “Just turn the key.”

I did as he asked. The engine choked, then roared to life.

I stared at the dash. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Chase lowered the hood and let it fall with a satisfying thunk. “German engineering. Terrible with cold starts. Worse with age.”

I got out slowly, the wind yanking at my curls. “You know cars?”

Chase ignored the question. “You’ve got cracked vacuum hoses and your windshield wipers are on backwards.”

“They still work.” I pursed my lips, not wanting to mention the blinker.

He stepped closer. “Yeah, for now. But if one of those lines goes and your engine floods, you’ll be stranded on Crowchild Trail with semis blasting past you.”

“I don’t drive on Crowchild.”

“So you live west of campus?”

My insides flipped positions. When had he moved so close? I gripped the top of the door, my pulse jolting at my throat. “I have to go.” Chase nodded and stepped back. “Thank you.” I droppedinto the driver’s seat and closed the door, then reversed as Chase walked to the curb. He crouched and wiped his hand in the grass.

I took a shaky breath and drove to the exit.

Chapter

Six

The Den was already packedby the time we got there—shoulder to shoulder with undergrads, grad students, and a few profs pretending they weren’t too old to be there. The scent of greasy onion rings and spilled Kokanee flooded my senses. String lights dangled low over sticky tables, and the guy on the mic was trying to be funny between questions, but the sound system cut out every third word. I might’ve been the only one who thought it was a fun exercise to try to decipher his code.

Crystal grabbed an answer sheet and a pencil then shoved past a table full of econ guys to reach our seats in the back, her pink hair bouncing with every step. “If we don’t win tonight, I’m blaming the reverb.” She dropped onto the bench across from me and immediately dug into the chili fries that the waiter had dropped off moments before.

Sharla tossed her short, dark bob out of her eyes and unzipped her fitted hoodie with flair. “I swear they changed their chili recipe. It used to have more kick.”

I laughed. “Maybe you’ve acquired a tolerance.” Sharla shrugged, then hopped up and switched sides of the booth,creating a two-on-one situation, and my face scrunched. “I don’t even get a warm-up period?”

Sharla shook her head. “Nope. Spill.”

The mic screeched, and the host barked, “Round one! Canadian history!”

Crystal smoothed the answer sheet and brandished the pencil. “We can do both.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay, so, you know I was going to offer to tutor Axel and Rory?” Their heads bobbed like baby birds. “Well, I went to Chase and?—”

“Which Canadian Prime Minister served the shortest term?” the host barked. It sounded more like “Which Can— ime— inister— served th— ortest ter?—?”

I answered without hesitation. “Charles Tupper. Sixty-nine days.”

Crystal stared at me, then scratched the answer on the sheet as I continued.

“I offered to help, Chase made it weird?—”

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