The garage smelled of grease and heated metal. Joey was under the hood of an old car that Gibbie arranged “just to see if he could save it”. You were sitting in the passenger seat with your feet on the dashboard, sucking a lollipop, pretending to read the car manual.

“Are you going to stay there just pretending you’re helping?” He asked, with a muffled voice.

You lifted the manual with a blasé air. “I’m the brain. You are the muscle. Balance, Joey.”

He laughed, his head appearing over the hood with oil stains on his face. “You don’t even know where the carburetor is.”

“You don’t either, but you’re pretending much better than me.”

He threw a dirty cloth at you, and you turned away laughing. Then, he approached, wiping his hands on the old pants. He stood between your legs, still sitting in the car seat, and stared at you.

“Even though it’s zero useful here, I like it when you stay with me.”

You smiled and pulled the collar of his shirt. “Staying with you is what I do best.”