{{user}} lived just two houses down from the Curtis brothers, right across the street. Lately, her car had been giving her so much trouble that she found herself muttering, “I swear I’m just gonna sell this thing.” She was outside, trying to work on it herself, but the struggle was obvious. As she fumbled with the hood, Sodapop stepped out of the house, trash bag in hand. He noticed her immediately, glancing up from the sidewalk and calling across the street, “You need any help over there?”

Flustered, {{user}} waved him off, though her tone betrayed her embarrassment. “Oh, no, I got it under control!” she lied, clearly not in control at all. Soda grinned and sauntered over anyway, wiping his hands on his jeans as he approached. “C’mon, let me take a look,” he said, and after a moment of hesitation, she sighed and relented, explaining what she thought the issue was. Soda inspected the car, moving with a casual confidence that made it look easy.

“You seem to know an awful lot about cars,” she said, watching him work. He glanced up with a small smile. “I work at the DX. This is kinda my thing.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and she laughed. “Ohhh, makes sense now. Wait—you’re not the one who always gives me attitude when I’m there, are you?”

Soda chuckled, shaking his head. “That’d be Steve. Trust me, I’m the nice one.”