last lovesong of what might be called a lemon 2a/?
anonymous
July 14 2012, 04:33:50 UTC
Stiles isn’t sure why he calls the Hales when the Jeep gets a fuel leak over Thanksgiving break, but he does.
“Laura!” he says. “It’s Stiles. With the Jeep that wouldn’t start until it did.”
“Right,” she sounds like she’s smiling. “I remember you. What’s it this time? Need Derek’s magic touch?”
“She’s leaking fuel,” Stiles says. “I don’t know how exactly, but the tank is getting emptier and I’m not driving, so.”
“Bring it by, then,” Laura says.
The tank is low, but it seems like a waste of time and money to fill it up when the entire problem is that the tank is leaking, so Stiles figures he’ll just drive out to the Hale place and get it fixed before filling the tank. That makes sense, right?
And it does make sense, until the car starts slowing on--yes--Red Hill Road. Stiles floors the gas, but it’s obvious there’s no gas coming, and eventually the Jeep slows to a stop.
“Okay,” he says. “So this is how it’s going to be.”
“So, uh, Laura,” he says when she picks up. “I ran out of gas. On Red Hill Road. Because my fuel’s leaking, right? So it didn’t make sense to fill it up. Until now, and right now the tank is--empty, and it’s not like I’m going to go back to the gas station. It’s not like I could.”
Laura hums into the phone.
“Give me a few minutes,” she says. “I’ll bring a tank. We’ll put it on your tab.”
“My tab,” Stiles says. “I thought I closed it.”
“I’m opening you a new one,” Laura says. “Seems like you need it.”
“Bring me a beer while you’re at it,” Stiles says.
“I’m afraid our establishment doesn’t serve minors,” Laura says cheerily. “See you in a few, Stiles.”
She hangs up on him, and Stiles opens the door while he waits, sits sideways with his legs hanging out. The stretch of Red Hill Road where his Jeep’s broken down--twice, now--is low through the valley and a clearing, and it’s a sort of pretty space, despite the car being broken down and all. What with it being November everything is a bit gold, and the air is cool.
An orange pick-up, old but well maintained, pulls up alongside him after not too much time has passed, and Laura slides out.
“Howdy, pardner,” she says, grinning.
“That car doesn’t look new,” Stiles says. “I mean, it looks nice, but--”
“Not much for cars, are you?” Laura asks. “1965 F100. Derek keeps it up for me.”
“I am much for cars,” Stiles says. “Just because I can’t name make and model--like mine.”
“I guess it’s a Jeep thing,” Laura says dryly, hoisting a can of fuel from the trunk. “Open the tank for me, will you? Are you old enough to know that ad campaign?”
“Am I?” Stiles asks. “How old do you think I am?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Twelve? Or is that too old?”
“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Stiles says. “I don’t know where you’re from, but here in California twelve year olds can’t drive. Sort of like how some things cause cancer in the state of California but not elsewhere?”
Laura pats him on the back as she passes, then puts the gas in the tank.
“I have a younger brother,” she says.
“But he’s not as chatty as I am, is he?” Stiles asks, and Laura grins.
“Nope,” she says. “Come on, let’s get you to the shop, then.”
“Laura!” he says. “It’s Stiles. With the Jeep that wouldn’t start until it did.”
“Right,” she sounds like she’s smiling. “I remember you. What’s it this time? Need Derek’s magic touch?”
“She’s leaking fuel,” Stiles says. “I don’t know how exactly, but the tank is getting emptier and I’m not driving, so.”
“Bring it by, then,” Laura says.
The tank is low, but it seems like a waste of time and money to fill it up when the entire problem is that the tank is leaking, so Stiles figures he’ll just drive out to the Hale place and get it fixed before filling the tank. That makes sense, right?
And it does make sense, until the car starts slowing on--yes--Red Hill Road. Stiles floors the gas, but it’s obvious there’s no gas coming, and eventually the Jeep slows to a stop.
“Okay,” he says. “So this is how it’s going to be.”
“So, uh, Laura,” he says when she picks up. “I ran out of gas. On Red Hill Road. Because my fuel’s leaking, right? So it didn’t make sense to fill it up. Until now, and right now the tank is--empty, and it’s not like I’m going to go back to the gas station. It’s not like I could.”
Laura hums into the phone.
“Give me a few minutes,” she says. “I’ll bring a tank. We’ll put it on your tab.”
“My tab,” Stiles says. “I thought I closed it.”
“I’m opening you a new one,” Laura says. “Seems like you need it.”
“Bring me a beer while you’re at it,” Stiles says.
“I’m afraid our establishment doesn’t serve minors,” Laura says cheerily. “See you in a few, Stiles.”
She hangs up on him, and Stiles opens the door while he waits, sits sideways with his legs hanging out. The stretch of Red Hill Road where his Jeep’s broken down--twice, now--is low through the valley and a clearing, and it’s a sort of pretty space, despite the car being broken down and all. What with it being November everything is a bit gold, and the air is cool.
An orange pick-up, old but well maintained, pulls up alongside him after not too much time has passed, and Laura slides out.
“Howdy, pardner,” she says, grinning.
“That car doesn’t look new,” Stiles says. “I mean, it looks nice, but--”
“Not much for cars, are you?” Laura asks. “1965 F100. Derek keeps it up for me.”
“I am much for cars,” Stiles says. “Just because I can’t name make and model--like mine.”
“I guess it’s a Jeep thing,” Laura says dryly, hoisting a can of fuel from the trunk. “Open the tank for me, will you? Are you old enough to know that ad campaign?”
“Am I?” Stiles asks. “How old do you think I am?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Twelve? Or is that too old?”
“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Stiles says. “I don’t know where you’re from, but here in California twelve year olds can’t drive. Sort of like how some things cause cancer in the state of California but not elsewhere?”
Laura pats him on the back as she passes, then puts the gas in the tank.
“I have a younger brother,” she says.
“But he’s not as chatty as I am, is he?” Stiles asks, and Laura grins.
“Nope,” she says. “Come on, let’s get you to the shop, then.”
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