"Machines don't care about deadlines."
"My mom says that too."
The president laughed.
"I think I'd get along with her."
For the next hour, the teenager helped organize donated tools for the youth workshop. A club member showed him how to inspect hand tools for visible damage and how to separate items that needed professional attention. The work was ordinary and unexciting, but the boy enjoyed it because nobody treated him as though he were incapable of doing anything useful.
He carefully arranged screwdrivers, sockets, and measuring tools into labeled trays.
The retired technician watched from a nearby bench.
"You're pretty organized."
The boy shrugged.
"Things are easier when you can find them."
The older man smiled.
"That's half the battle in a workshop."
The teenager returned to sorting.
For a while, he forgot about the accusations, the missing ground strap, and the uncertainty surrounding his mother. He was simply a fifteen-year-old learning something he loved.
Then the lead mechanic walked through the side door.
He was not scheduled to work.
The president had instructed him to remain away from the Shovelhead while the invoices were reviewed, but the garage still contained his personal tools. He had told the treasurer he needed to collect them and had been allowed to enter under supervision.
The teenager noticed him immediately.
The mechanic's eyes moved across the room until they settled on the backpack beneath the sorting table.
He didn't say anything.
He simply smiled.
The expression made the boy uneasy.
A club member approached.
"You're supposed to be getting your tools."
The mechanic nodded.
"That's what I'm doing."
He walked toward the rear storage area.
The teenager returned to his work, but the feeling of being watched remained.
Twenty minutes later, the mechanic emerged carrying a small toolbox. He nodded toward the club member supervising him and left through the main entrance. Nobody saw him go near the teenager's backpack.
At least, nobody believed they had.
The boy finished sorting the tools shortly before noon. He thanked the retired technician, picked up his bag, and started toward the office to ask whether he could use the telephone again.
He was halfway across the garage when the treasurer appeared.
"Hold on."
The teenager stopped.
The treasurer looked uncomfortable.
"We have a problem."
The boy's stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Something is missing from the parts room."
The teenager glanced toward the workshop.
"Okay."
The treasurer continued.
"An expensive component."
The boy shifted his backpack.
"I didn't take anything."
"I haven't accused you."
"But you're asking me."
The treasurer hesitated.
The club president emerged from the office.
"What's going on?"
The treasurer turned.
"We just got a call about a missing part."
"From who?"
"The lead mechanic."
The president's expression changed.
"What part?"
The treasurer explained.