"No, sir."
"Good. Because you don't know anything about this motorcycle."
The boy lowered his gaze.
The mechanic's voice dropped.
"And you need to remember that."
Something cold settled in the teenager's stomach. He recognized the tone. It wasn't the ordinary irritation of a man who had been embarrassed in front of his coworkers.
It was a warning.
Before the boy could answer, the club president called from the workbench.
"Leave him alone."
The lead mechanic straightened.
"I was just telling him not to get involved."
"I can see that."
The president approached, his boots heavy against the concrete floor. Up close, he looked even larger than before, but his expression had changed. He glanced at the teenager's wrinkled jacket and the red marks around the collar where he had grabbed him.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked.
The boy hesitated.
"No."
"That's not what I asked."
The teenager looked away.
"My shoulder's okay."
The president stared at him for a moment.
Then he nodded slowly.
"I shouldn't have put my hands on you."
Nobody spoke.
The apology sounded strange coming from him. He rarely apologized in front of other club members, and several of the men exchanged surprised looks. The teenager seemed equally uncertain about what to do with the words.
"Okay," he said.
The president exhaled.
"Have you eaten?"
"Yes."
"When?"
The boy looked toward the doorway.
"This morning."
"What did you eat?"
The teenager didn't answer.
The president knew enough to recognize the silence.
He looked toward a club member standing near the garage entrance.
"Get a couple of sandwiches from the diner. Something hot if they've got it."
The boy immediately shook his head.
"I don't need anything."
The president turned back toward him.
"I didn't ask whether you needed it."
That sounded too much like another order. The boy's shoulders tightened, and the older man caught himself. He had spent years believing that kindness was something you demonstrated through action, but he was beginning to understand that his manner could make an offer feel like a threat.
He tried again.
"If you want something to eat, we'll get it. No strings."
The teenager studied him.
"Really?"
"Really."
The boy said nothing for several seconds.
Then he nodded.
"Maybe a sandwich."
The president gave the club member a signal.
"Make it two."
By late afternoon, the electrical connection had been restored, but the mechanics had not cleared the motorcycle for another starting attempt. The battery needed a proper charge and testing, and the younger mechanic wanted to review the wiring before putting the system under load again. He had also discovered that some of the recent repair work didn't match the notes in the service file.