The Art of Falling (excerpt)

Chapter 4

Bria leaned over the engine compartment of the Corvair, working at the tight screws on her carburetors. Music pumped through a portable stereo set up in the garage and she tapped her bare foot along with the relentless beat of a double bass drum. Nothing like thrash metal on a Saturday morning.

The top of the first carb came lose and she disconnected the fuel line before setting it aside, taking time to wipe her hands before going in again.

No matter how hard she tried to keep the car clean, inside and out, grease still coated her hands and clung to her nails by the time she removed the venturi cluster to clean it.

She pushed back from the car. The oil probably needed a change and she might as well top off fluids while she had it open. 

“Bria?”

She leaned around the hood to see Rafael at the edge of the driveway, jogging in place and holding an ear bud in one hand. “Hey.” She wiped her hands again and tossed the rag aside before pulling on her hoodie to cover the scar across her collarbone.

“This is a different look,” he said, taking in her cut offs and tank top peaking out under the hoodie. A slight sheen coated his olive skin and his shirt clung to his chest.

“Shockingly, combat boots don’t work for everything.” She picked up a socket wrench, popping a new socket onto the handle. “I’m trying to get her running again before school Monday morning.”

“You fix cars?”

“I know how to maintain this one. I can’t do anything major, but oil changes, fluids, cleaning the carbs. That kind of thing I can handle.”

He pulled out his other ear bud and walked up the driveway. “This is a beautiful car. 1960s?”

“’63. It was my grandpa’s. He gave it to my mom, then me.” She beamed at it. The shinning blue paint she carefully waxed twice a month looked as good as new and the cream leather interior was flawless. Every inch of chrome sparkled.

“Why’d your mom give it up?”

She rubbed a stubborn spot of grease on her hand with her thumb. “She died. Six years ago.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

“Anyway, I’ve been taking care of it since then. Finally got my license last summer and now the carbs keep fouling.”

“How does it run?” He opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat, running his hands over the wheel.

“Flawless when she decides to behave.”

His hand went to the gearshift. “This really is a thing of beauty.”

“I’ll turn her on for you after I finish this.” 

“That’s what she said.” Rafael grinned.

“Very mature.” She lifted the second venturi cluster free from the carb. A metal rod, half the diameter of a pencil and perforated with five little holes, came down from a misshapen bolt plate. “This is the part that gets clogged. Makes her idle out at inopportune times.”

“You can clean those yourself?”

Bria lifted up a paper clip. “I use very high tech tools.” She cleaned each of the five holes and slid the piece back into place, securing it with the screws again. “Scoot.”

Rafael slid over and she took his place in the driver’s seat. She turned the key in the ignition and the engine came to life with a growl. She revved the engine a few times, making the car rumble.