The girl showed up on a Tuesday.
Adam was under a pickup truck, replacing a rusted exhaust, when Teresa called out from the office.
“Boss, someone here to see you. Says she wants to join the training program.”
“Send her to the classroom. I'll be there in five.”
He slid out from under the truck, wiped his hands on a rag, and walked to the back of the garage where they'd set up the training bay. Six bays, twelve lifts, a small classroom with a whiteboard and secondhand desks.
The girl was young. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. Thin, with dark circles under her eyes and a tattoo on her wrist – a small bird, a swallow. She wore jeans and a hoodie that was too big for her. Her hands were shoved in her pockets.
“I'm Adam.”
“I know who you are.”
“What's your name?”
“Jenna.”
“How did you hear
