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Ladon was not an expert on cars. In fact, he didn’t know the first thing about cars, and unlike other guys who could hear a kink kink kink or a rittle rat tattle and instantly know what the problem was, Ladon could only look over to his friend Tate and ask, “I think something is wrong with your car.” Since being friends, Tate had made it a habit to pick him up every once in a while after practice so that they could hang out, and in that time, Tate’s car was trying to get her attention back by making puttering noises during their rides. While Tate hoped that whatever it was wouldn’t be expensive to repair, Ladon just hoped it wasn’t something to do with the brakes or possibly make her engine catch on fire.

After the problem refused to go away, Tate decided to take her ailing 2001 Ford Focus to Hank's Car Repair. The name Hank made Ladon frown, imaging a man spitting tobacco, and not owning a single shirt with sleeves. He never liked going to the garage, only because he was often nudged by the workers to look at cars or talk about pistons and spark plugs, all of which he had to fake a smile and hope he wouldn’t be quizzed. He was going for Tate, and for that reason, he sat in the passengers side as they drove up to the garage and parked.

“I hope they can fix it.” He said, shutting the door as they made their way up the graveled parking lot.

Following along, Ladon sat down in one of the stiff chairs and looked about. On a very low table was a couple car magazines, and even in the lobby there was a faint smell of oil. There was no carpeting, and the walls were decorated with pictures of cars, awards, and paperwork. A Goodyear blimp hung from the ceiling, slowly moving, and there was the distant noise of powered drills from the nearby garage. There was no cozy atmosphere here, no warmth, but a place designs to keep stains off the ground, deal with heavy traffic from the grimiest shoes, and work on cars. All of this was no place for Ladon, and he sighed before looking back at Tate.

“This sucks.” He wasn’t lying. Even though Tate owned a car, she seemed less than happy to be here too. Even worse, since she had to fork the cash to get her car repaired. It made him slightly grateful that he didn’t own one, but then he was reminded that people with cars could drive in all weather wherever they wanted. It was a good thing he had a friend with a car, even though eh preferred to walk most places.

“Hopefully it’s nothing too big or expensive. Maybe it’s like…” He rose his hand, swirled it a little, but then found he had no idea what could be a small repair without showing how clueless he really was. “…something little that’s just loose that they can just tighten up real quick.” He was trying to be optimistic, which was hard when he rarely felt like taking that side of the situation.

Leaning back, he watched the floating blimp twirl overhead. “If I was rich, I’d buy you a car. A really nice one. Your pick and everything.” It was just one of those passing thoughts he had. Being rich. Being super smart. Being tall.

Contrary to Ladon's beliefs, the man who came out from the garage work area was actually very clean cut. He was a tall, slightly overweight man with dark hair and glasses. If it weren't for the five o'clock shadow lingering upon his face, he looked as if he belonged in a cubicle at some business office based upon how he dressed. He walked up to the counter, casually pushing his glasses up his nose as he looked back and forth to the two (obvious) high school students. High school students meant one of two things. Either a clunker of a car, or a fancy brand new car. He was hoping for the first option.

"Good afternoon," he greeted in a professional manner. It was not exactly friendly, but more a well practiced greeting. He followed it up with the all important question: "What seems to be the problem today?"

In the garage itself, a blonde girl was sitting down on a foldable chair. She would have sat on the pile of tires, if it weren't for the fact Hank would have scolded her. Those are for the customers! he'd say, his voice echoing somewhere in the back of her mind. Hank was always like that, thinking about the business first. From where she was sitting, she called out in a decently loud voice "So, Phil, ya gonna be 'round this weekend? I could totally use a break from all this studyin' I've been doin' lately."

Her voice was loud enough to be heard from the office. The response was also decently loud as he replied "Gotta hot date this weekend. Ain't gonna be around!"

Hank was very notably cringing at the banter in the garage, but he first attempted to reassure the potential customers with a "My friend's daughter likes to stop by to learn more about my line of work." He smiled apologetically before walking to the garage entrance and shouting out "Customers!" If Ladon and Tate could see the expression on his face, they would have known he meant business.

Ellie sprung up from her chair and wandered over to where he was standing. "Sorry 'bout that, Hank." She laughed a bit before glancing into the office. Normally, she was used to seeing middle aged adults waiting for a price estimate, but today there were two kids.

Wait a minute.

"Oh, hey, Shepard! What's up?!" She offered a wave from the entrance, standing on her tip toes to see the two teens better.

"I'd be rich, that wouldn't matter to me." She shrugged, one-shouldered, thumped her head against the wall. While she'd made the offer, she didn't really want Ladon to have a car; he would need her less. There would be less... reason to see him. Giselle didn't need someone to drive her, and now look. They barely spoke. It was really ******** depressing.

She paused in whatever she was going to say when Hank stepped out. "Hello, Tate Konstantin." Hand held out, she stood up just like Uncle Ivan had told her to. "Well--" an interruption. Tate scowled, looked over her shoulder at Ladon and rolled her brackish eyes at him.

Then someone was talking to Ladon. If she had hackles, they probably would be raised. She frowned. "I'm Tate Konstantin. Pleasure to meet you."

Staring at this person, she tilted her head. Yellow hair, yellow eyes, a ridiculous hairstyle, Tate didn't know if she approved of this person. Ellie? What kind of a name was Ellie?... At least Ladon didn't look like he preferred Ellie to Tate. That would be... irritating.

It seemed Hank was similar to Mr. Spectre in that he knew that Ellie was a handful and was tolerant of it. Maybe it was the only way Ellie would be allowed in a garage. Still, with meeting two people who were that easy to let things pass, he wondered if Ellie was carefree and open about her opinions because there were people who just didn’t get too much in her way. He had to wonder, but he wasn’t about to exhaust brain cells on it. Today was going to be tiring enough.

Rising up, he walked beside Tate and shook Hank’s hand, wishing he knew the man’s full name. “It’s nice to meet you.” Another handshake, easy, well-practiced, but his hand felt too slender and small inside of the man’s calloused palm. As Tate was prompted to tell about her car troubles, his attention drifted away. It wasn’t hard to notice Ellie’s shaking shoulders, and he raised an eyebrow slowly. What was so funny? He didn’t get it. He looked back at Hank and Tate and tried to figure it out, and not finding any reason for it, started to purse his lips.

While Tate talked to Hank, Ladon slipped up to Ellie and whispered at her. “Hey, what are you laughing at? It better not be Tate.” People didn’t pick on his friends.

Ellie was not exactly the most truthful teen in existence. The question that was literally right behind her head was enough to jolt her eyes into searching the garage for something that could have been laugh-worthy. It was a good thing she was already facing the garage, otherwise it would have been less convincing.

"Don't worry, short stuff, I ain't laughin' at yer girlfriend." This was a lie.

"I was laughin' at Phil. He was makin' stupid faces like a douche!" This was also a lie, but it was said loud enough for Phil to hear. The redhead glanced up from the motorcycle magazine he had been glancing through and nodded his head, as if to let his friend know he'd cover for her.

Noting the signal from Phil, Ellie finally turned around to face Ladon. It was still hard to get over the fact he was a shrimp. Her gold eyes had to look down a bit further than she was used to when dealing with people her own age. With the blunt force of cement truck, she asked "So, are ya guys past the hand-holdin' stage in yer relationship?" She grinned and waited for some sort of reaction.

Hank had been listening to the customer's problem, his eyes almost intensely looking into the girl's murky eyes. He nodded his head as he listened, and when she finished her explanation, he offered his opinions. "Well, it sounds like your uncle knows a thing or two about cars." He chuckled out in a good natured fashion. "It doesn't sound like anything too serious. I can get Phil to take a look at the belts for you. Or would you rather get a price estimate first before we take a look?" These teenage types were usually very thrifty from his experience. This was the wise thing to do. At his own silent observations, he pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. They were always sliding down every few minutes.

She took the compliment on her uncle gracefully, saying a thank you as she listened to the rest of Hank's dialogue. "Price estimate, please," said Tate, who remembered at least she had to do that before she could do anything with her money. And then she shifted, trying to see what Ladon was doing. At least it didn't sound like they were friends, she could live with that. She could!

It should be noted that Tate was beginning to like this Ellie girl less and less.

At the we're just friends line, she felt... a little disappointed, lowering her eyes and counting on Hank's form to keep her hidden from friend and growing opponent. Then she shrugged. "Do you think it will take long," she asked Hank instead, one hand coming up to rub her arm. It was sort of chilly.

It didn’t surprise him to hear that Ellie only had guy friends. It seemed she was surrounded by men and was clearly proud of it. As a polar opposite, Ladon’s few friends (very few friends) were all girls. He had yet to meet any guy that really was someone he could tolerate, and he knew that this only made him more odd. He wasn’t sure if he was envious of having no male camaraderie his life. For him, most guys he knew now were the ones he recalled from previous years, boys who threw him into the janitor closet or tossed his book bag into the sewer drain. These boys he could never imagine being friends with as he only wished the worst for them. Spinal injuries. Decapitation. Parasites. Just to name a few.

The other boys he knew were just not kids he could bring himself to walk up to. He felt forever as an outcast, and lacked their lingo. He didn’t punch shoulders, go “DUDE!” whenever he had an epiphany, and was horrible with video games. The closest bro he currently had was Tate. The only reason he felt he needed a male influence is when he had lingering thoughts that he never felt right talking to a girl about, which was why he never talked about them.

He looked at Ellie and could see her easily blending in with a group of guys, and for a split moment, he envied her.

“She drives a 2001 Ford Focus. It’s parked up front but should Hank look at it or are you the one doing that sort of thing?” That sort of thing being tinkering with Tate’s care. The idea of Ellie not only having more guy friends but also knowing more about cars was really putting his own masculinity, however small, to shame. “Why don’t you hang out with girls? Not that there is anything wrong with hanging out with more guys than girls, but I was just wondering.” Did she hate other girls? Did she feel she didn’t fit in? Did one of them pull her hair or put gum in it?

He looked over to Tate and waved again, showing her that he was still here if she should need him for anything. “Um, do you want to meet Tate?” It was only polite, and Hank seemed close to being done talking to her.