Cameron "Don't think shop's open yet." Caleb said, slamming the tailgate close after we muscled my motorcycle out from the bed of his truck to the ground. I shrugged. "You sure about this?" he asked dubiously, surveying the surroundings. He knew how scrupulous I was when it came to my motorcycle. "Yeah," I answered, turning around to look at the area with him. The shop was an old, gray rectangular box built in the middle of a dirt lot. There was a big sign on the roof with the words HAWTHORNE AUTO REPAIR SHOP, with their phone number in smaller block letters on the lower right. The paint on the W was peeling. The roof looked ready to be replaced ten years ago. Cars were parked neatly in rows of two on the front left side of the building, and on the right side was a dirt road leading to the back of the lot. "Alright then. Let's go get me some coffee," he announced. "Get a job so you can afford it." "Drove you here, didn't I? Pay up, cheapo." "I bought last time. It's your turn, asshole." "No, it's not." "Sure, it is," I said easily. "Basketball practice on Monday. Loser buys." "You got it." His phone chirped. "It's Rick," he said after reading the text message. "Better get your ass to the site, then. I'll get a cab as soon as I'm done here and meet you there." He leaned against the side of the truck, tucked his phone in his jacket pocket, crossed his arms, and yawned. "Rick's used to me late," he said. "But, man, the guy's a tyrant. Remind me again why we haven't quit." Because he saved both our lives, I thought. I knew Caleb was thinking the same thing. The night I flew to Esther Falls City in Manitoba—a place where everything familiar to me was far away—, the night when my dad picked me up from the airport, was the same night I met Rick for the first time. I've lived there before until I was eight years old and then my parents divorced and my mom moved us to Toronto. She would fly me there to visit my dad now and then. I didn't know what the point of those visits were when we both hated each other's guts, but she'd keep sending me to him. Until one day, she sent me there for good. I hated it. I was the new kid in town. A teenager who hated everything and everyone. An angry kid looking for trouble wherever he could find it. And when he didn't find it, he created it. Instead of having dinner with my dad and his family, I escaped into town and looked for trouble. Trouble came in the form of a newly constructed building. It was ten stories high and so pristine that the windows gleamed, and the walls shined. I broke into it and found it empty. Some of the walls still needed paint. I found unopened cans of paint, brushes, and tools. I opened the cans, abandoned the brushes, and threw the liquid on walls and ceilings instead. I picked up tools and used them to break thousands of dollars worth of windows and doors. That was when Rick found me. He was the contractor and he came to check the building that night. He was so angry I thought he was going to kill me. But I was fast, and confident I could beat him up if he tried to hurt me. I ran away, but he caught me easily, shocking me with his strength. He told me I could pay for the damages by working for him for free. I told him to fuck off. He said he'd call the police on me if I didn't. The next day was the first day I started working for Rick. I didn't know what compelled him not to report me to the police. Didn't know what made him take me under his wing. But he did. And changed my life. I still help him out now and then. I'd paid for those damages with my labor a long time ago, and now he was the one paying me. I'd have worked for him for free if he let me. Caleb and I first met at one of Rick's reno projects. We were troubled teens, angry at the world and blaming ourselves and everyone else around us for the mess that was our lives. We were uncontrollable, didn't give a damn about anything, and on our way to throwing our future to whatever trouble we could find. I was already doing demos for Rick for a couple of months before Caleb started. The crew knew to stay away from me. I didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't give a rat's ass eating lunch with them or going for drinks after work. I wanted to be alone and destroy as much as I could. I hated everything. Especially myself. And then Caleb joined the crew. His brother Ben was friends with Rick and had asked him a favor to let Caleb work doing demolitions. I heard Ben quit a semester in college to focus on his troubled brother. Just for that, he had my respect. The Lockhart brothers were what the crew called pretty boys. They came from a wealthy family and clearly didn't need the work. They had a gleam of sophistication even when they were covered in dirt and doing grunt work, and both seemed to enjoy it. After Caleb started working for Rick, my peace and quiet went out the window. Alone seemed to be a foreign concept to the guy. He annoyed the hell out of me, picked on me until I gave him what he wanted. What he wanted was someone he could fight with, and who could fight back and didn't hold back. He found it in me. It didn't take much to rile me back then, and we beat each other up almost every time we saw each other. Eventually Rick sat us down and we figured it was less painful and saved us trips to the emergency room if we focused our anger on demolitions instead. And then one day, we became friends. It happened in the middle of summer when we were doing a demo for a twenty-story apartment. The sun was scorching hot, the air heavy with humidity. It was the kind of day where just breathing alone made me sweat. The windows were open, but there was no wind coming in. I glugged water like a camel and seemed to sweat it out instantly. I was irritable, hungry, and desperately needed a shower, but I kept pounding the brick fireplace with the sledgehammer. I found satisfaction in destroying it. "Hey, asshole." I turned around. It was Caleb and he had two monster sandwiches in his hands. He placed one on top of my backpack. "Want a sandwich? Made two. You can have this one. My dog didn't want it." I ignored him and went back to work. A couple of hours later, the foreman called for a lunch break. I kicked the sandwich to the ground before grabbing my backpack and walked toward the elevators. "Hey!" It was Caleb again. I kept going. "Does your mama know you're an asshole?" I stopped in my tracks. This mouthpiece just wouldn't shut up. I was about to turn around and read him his last rights when I felt something hit the side of my face. And exploded. I smelled mustard, ketchup, and the mouth-watering aroma of burger meat. I grabbed the tomato on my cheek, popped it into my mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. My anger faded. We looked at each other, assessing, watching. "Got another one?" I asked after a moment. Surprise flickered in his eyes. Then he grinned. "Yeah. I got two more, but you're paying for drinks." I studied his face and determined I didn't detect any deceit. I thought about it for a beat. "Deal." From then on, Caleb Lockhart became my friend. Rick gave us both the chance to purge our anger by giving us sledgehammers to break walls, destroy fireplaces, rip sheetrock. Eventually we were promoted to framing, replacing shingles on roofs, painting, and everything else that involved building houses. I had taken to it naturally. At first, I went because I wanted to focus on something else other than my miserable life, but eventually I came to look forward to doing renos after school. It was something I was really good at and I found joy in it. It gave me a sense of purpose. It made me... less miserable and not focus so much on my problems. "I'm going to ask you again. You sure about this?" Caleb indicated the building behind me. "Yeah, I'm sure. Go ahead to the site. I'll come over soon as I'm done here." He yawned again. I yawned. "Get your ass out of here, man. You're making me sleepy," I grumbled. "Need that first." He nodded at my beanie. "Cold as hell for a demo today." I thought about it. "You owe me for this morning," he pointed out. That sounded reasonable. I woke him up with a phone call this morning, so he could drop me and my motorcycle off at the shop. "You're right," I acknowledged and threw it at him. "Don't sleep with it under your pillow tonight." He caught it easily, put it on, and shot me a grin. "Hey, how'd you know?" He gave a feminine wave of his fingers before sliding in his truck. He slid his window down. "Cam," he called out. "Yeah?" "Want a sandwich?" I heard him laughing as he drove away.