“Under what load?”
Leo stopped.
Dave smiled.
“Guessing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are using one fact.”
“That is educated guessing.”
“Still guessing.”
They tested.
Stator connector corroded.
Leo was wrong.
Dave made him write:
I WAS WRONG ABOUT THE REGULATOR
on whiteboard.
Leo hated.
Rusty left for week.
Then Leo wrote beneath:
DAVE WAS WRONG ABOUT THE FXR
Dave erased entire board.
Another time Leo correctly identified intake leak before anyone.
Dave bought him milkshake.
“Why?”
“You were right.”
“You never buy when right.”
“Don't get used.”
At ten, Leo learned to gap plugs properly.
At eleven, with supervision, disassembled a carburetor on bench.
At twelve, he rebuilt a lawnmower engine at home.
At thirteen, he made it worse first.
Then fixed.
At fourteen, he could explain electrical diagrams better than some new apprentices but still could not legally ride street motorcycle.
He hated.
Jim told:
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because being good with machine makes you think machine owes you.”
“It doesn't.”
Leo had heard enough dead-man wisdom to be tired.
Yet he listened.
The FXR started every month.
They kept fluids moving.
Protected tires.
Changed seals as age required.
Leo documented every repair in a new notebook.
On first page:
DO NOT TRUST MEMORY JUST BECAUSE IT FEELS IMPORTANT. WRITE IT DOWN.
That was his line.
Not Arthur’s.
At fifteen, Leo found first serious problem himself.
A faint metallic sound during warm idle.
Most people barely heard.
Leo did.
Dave listened.
“Primary?”
Leo shook.
“Top end.”
They checked.
A rocker bushing beginning wear.
Caught early.
No major damage.
Dave nodded.
“You're becoming mechanic.”
Leo smiled.
“I thought you said I wasn't.”
“You weren't.”
“What am I now?”
“Dangerous teenager who knows enough to argue longer.”
Fair.
Maria watched all with mixed pride and fear.
Arthur’s death had not been mechanical.
Cancer.
Still, the shop felt attached to him.
Some days she could enter.
Some days smell of oil made grief return so suddenly she stayed in car.
Leo learned not to force.
At sixteen, he asked mother about wooden box letter again.
“You kept yours?”
“Yes.”
“What did Dad write?”
Maria smiled.
“Not your business.”
He accepted.
That was growth.
At seventeen, Leo enrolled in automotive technology courses while finishing high school.
He had options.
Rusty expected him to choose motorcycles.
Leo surprised.