Push-start Sherah's car

"So you wanna burn off some of your testosterone poisoning with a little pro bono work?" Sherah asks. She leans forward and her silver pearl-in-the-pussy pendant swings out from her black tank top.

"Like what?" you ask.

"Eat, you'll need your strength," she says.

You dig into your lunch. Sadly, Sherah's taste vanishes from your lips. You try your best to remember it, because it seems likely it'll be your only taste. And there's Ellen. So Ellen's visiting Widley's sexual health clinic with Amy as her buddy. That must be a good sign. You wonder what Sherah meant about Nurse Lewis being a letch.

Between bites, you ask Sherah, "What's the job?"

"My car's stalled out. Pretty sure it's the battery. It's a manual, so a push-start should do it."

"All right, let's give it a try," you say.

Sherah leads you across the street from The Reservoir, the café in the reclaimed brick water tank, down the stairs and the stone-paved path down the hill toward the Widley campus. Rather than turn toward Ellen and Amy's dorm, she leads you down a quiet alleyway to the back of a large house that must be a student rental. Under a carport in back are a couple of motor scooters -- a silver Italian Vespa and a cherry-red Japanese model, and a mountain bike locked with a heavy chain. Sherah's car is a metallic blue Honda hatchback. Where some people would stick a Christ fish, Sherah's car has the chrome silhouette of a joyful mermaid with her hands thrown up high and her tail flipped up.

You look up and down the alley. It should be long enough for a push-start once you've got the car straightened up. The alley is shady and a little damp, with occasional patches of mud amidst the crumbling pavement.

Sherah takes the wheel and demonstrates the dull twitch of the starter.

"Uh-huh," you say. "Sounds like you're right. Do you think it'll hold a charge once you've got it running?"

"Dunno," Sherah says. "Maybe I should run it around town for a while. If it doesn't start up again, you can help me change out the battery."

"Got some rags for picking up the battery?"

"Yeah, some in the back," Sherah says.

"All right, let me push you out," you say. You step up to the front of the car.

Sherah closes the door, cranks down the window, puts the car in neutral and releases the brake. The small car isn't hard for you to get moving. Sherah turns her head and looks back through the back window, steering it round a turn as you push. When the car is lined up with the alley, she straightens the wheels and stops.

"I think you want it in second gear for a push-start," you say.

"Okay," Sherah says, shifting gears. "You ready?"

You walk round to the back of the car and settle your hands on the hatchback, not touching the chrome mermaid, then look up. Sherah has a little braided pigtail with a blue bead dangling from the short hair at the back of her head.

"Ready," you say. "Got the key on?"

"Oh, right." She clicks the key round to the 'On' notch.

"Say when and I'll start pushing."

Sherah settles her hands on the dash, checks the mirrors, lets off the brake and pushes in the clutch. "Okay go."

You lean forward and put your weight into it, digging in your feet and pushing hard to get Sherah's little car going. Once you're rolling at a good clip down the alley, you call out "Okay let the clutch out!"

Sherah's Doc Marten shoes move on the pedals and the little Honda sputters to life, jerking forward.

With nothing supporting your hands, you scramble to get your feet under you, slip on a tuft of damp grass and pancake into a patch of mud. "Oof!"

You push up to a crouch and watch Sherah's car slow to a stop a little way down the alley. The engine is still running, at least. She looks back out of the driver's window and tilts her head.

You stand up, uselessly making dusting motions. Mud smears your pants, shirt, hands and chin. You walk toward the car.

Sherah succeeds in stifling a laugh, but fails to conceal a smirk. "Hop in," she says. "Vinyl upholstery."

You get in beside Sherah and strap in. The passenger seat already seems adjusted for someone near your height, maybe Amy. If any mud gets on the seatbelt, it should wipe off pretty easily.

"Thanks, Scott," she says. "We'll do something about your clothes after we get the battery charged up."

"Or after we change it out," you say.

"Yeah."

"I hope we can fix me up before Ellen and Amy get done," you say.

Sherah nods. "Uh-huh."

"So where are we going?" you ask.

"I promised you a Coke, I think," she says. "Mickey D's drive-through."

"Okay. I mean, to charge up the battery. You want to drive it for a while. And stop it at an auto parts store or your mechanic, I guess."

"I got an idea," she says.