Bottom Dollar

Ten| Cupcakes and crooks

I stopped at Bob's convenience store on the way home to buy some ingredients for my bake sale cupcakes, my stomach churning with every note the cashier counted out.

Twenty dollars. Twenty dollars spent on ingredients I wasn't even going to get to eat myself. I tried not to let my irritation show as I thanked the cashier and headed back towards the dinosaur.

I could have just bought some ready made cupcakes and passed them off as my own—it certainly would have been cheaper—but doing so was the kind of deception I spent my life trying to avoid.

My father had been the master of deception, breezing through life on the backs of others, manipulating and deceiving people into giving him what he wanted, and when they didn't, he outright took it instead. I'd been forced to grow up using both him and my mother as examples of what not to do in life, and even something as simple as lying about making cupcakes was more like my father than I ever wanted to be.

No, I might have been broke now that the last of my wages had gone on cake mix, but at least I was broke and honest.

I slid into the driver seat of my truck, placing my shopping bag beside me before I quickly pulled out onto the main road, knowing I only had an hour to get washed and changed before my shift at the diner.
I only got as far as halfway home when the dinosaur started to splutter and jerk, a sure sign that the car was on its last legs.

"Don't do this to me now, you horrid little car." I slapped my palm against the steering wheel as the thing rolled to a gentle stop at the side of the road. "I knew you weren't worth six hundred dollars."

After a few more profanities aimed at my car, I took a deep breath before I climbed out of the truck and examined my tires, making sure they were fine before I flipped open the hood of my car and peered inside.

I suspected that the culprit for my car troubles was going to be something to do with my coolant levels and sure enough, the old radiator I'd meant to get around to replacing was badly cracked, the coolant levels were running on empty. The leak had also meant that the hoses of the system were crusted over, and I clenched my jaw in irritation at not having checked them sooner.

I called up the nearest auto shop and arranged for them to come and collect both me and the car, and then I waited on the side of the road, ignoring the beeping horns of old truck drivers as they spotted me in my cheerleading uniform. It was too hot this time of year to wait inside the car without air con, forcing me to endure the unwanted attention with a scowl on my face.

Eventually, a tall, skinny guy with wire-rimmed glasses drove up in a black The Auto Shop truck, nodding at the passenger side for me to climb in whilst he went about fixing my truck to the back of his.

I slid into the passenger seat, my eyes roaming over the empty chocolate wrappers on the dashboard and the green pine tree car freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. It smelt like cigarettes in the car, the same way our living room usually smelt thanks to my mother, and I tried to roll down the window, desperate to breathe in some fresh air.

"Oh, that window's jammed shut," the mechanic said as he climbed into the driver seat. My hand dropped from the button, my eyes falling to his dark blue name badge. Ian.

Ian and I rode the rest of the way to the auto shop in silence, and I was grateful when we finally pulled to a stop and I was able to clamber out and take a healthy breath of warm, humid air.