The next morning, Maia woke to birds chirping noisy and sunlight streaming in through the window on her face.
Blinking she glanced at the clock on her dresser and realized she had slept past her alarm.
Throwing aside her covers, she hastily got dressed and made her way outside. The banging of her father in the garage could easily be heard.
He must still be working on forming that front bumper. Maia sighed. She hated how her father was always around the house and never went out-it was going to kill him.
With a sigh, Maia climbed onto her bike and headed to the junkyard. Upon arriving she made her way right to the shed. When she opened the door she was surprised to see that the tarp had fallen off.
"Chris, did you take the tarp off the car?" She asked the older man as he walked past.
"No," the man shook his head. "I wouldn't think of disturbing your work."
"Oh, thanks," Maia stared back at the car. I guess it just must have fallen off overnight when the wind tossed it or something.
With new invigoration , Maia set about getting a pale of water and some rags. Chris lent her the hose and soon the car was sparkling bright.
When she finished, she was surprised to see that the car did not need a coat of paint after all. Its colors–from the black racing stripe down the center to the glossy red body—looked vibrant as new as the day it must have come off the assembly line.
Setting her bucket on the ground, the teenager ran her hand down the hood. "You're beautiful."
"MAIA!!!" A loud yet familiar voice shouted, breaking the stillness of the air. There was the sound of a door slamming.
Maia's eyes widened. She looked up from the hood of her car to see none other than her father storming away from his truck towards the junkyard entrance.