Despite Ronin's threats, I'm excited for my first day running the shop. So what if I'm not supposed to take "big jobs"? The definition of a big job is up to interpretation, and anyway, it's not like we have that many nice cars coming in day-to-day. Like Ronin loves to complain about, most of the cars we're expected to fix are pretty much hunks of junk.

Halfway through the morning, to my surprise, a young man–more of a boy, honestly–enters the office. He's dressed much more formally than our average customer, and he looks familiar somehow, but if I've seen him before, I can't place the memory.

"Good morning." he says.

"Hi." I say, knowing I sound awkward. "Um . . . do you need something?"

"Well, um . . . I need you to fix my car. I mean, well, it's my dad's car, but . . . that's what you do, right? You fix cars?"

"Yes!" I say. "I mean, obviously. What exactly needs fixing?"

"Well . . ." He looks around sheepishly, avoiding my eyes. "I . . . kinda sorta messed up the engine. But like I said, it's my dad's car. It's not his favorite one, but it did kinda cost a lot. It's electric, and it was made by Borg Industries just for my father."

"Why did you mess with the engine, then?"

"Well, like I said, it's really unique. And I love cars, inventing, and tinkering with stuff. I've taken apart my car lots of times. But, well, I was just looking at the engine, making a few adjustments to see if I could optimize the power usage, and then . . . I think something exploded. Or multiple things."

"Goodness!" I shake my head in disbelief. "Why'd you do that? Mr. Borg made it the way it is for a reason, you know."

He looked very embarrassed. "I know it's stupid, but please tell me you can fix it. I sort of had to steal my dad's tow truck to bring it here, and I should be taking that back soon."

I stare at him. "What exactly does your dad do, that he has all those vehicles?"

The boy blushes. "Well, he's, um, an actor. The tow truck was from a film set. His name is Cliff Gordon–maybe you've heard of him?"

"Of course!" I say. Going by his expression, he's not pleased with my answer. But how can I not have heard of Cliff Gordon? I don't usually follow all that celebrity stuff, but he's a pretty famous actor, and my little cousin loves his movies.

"Well . . . yeah. I'm his son. Jay Gordon, at your service." He gives a mock bow. "And before you ask me why I didn't just buy my own cool car, or ask Mr. Borg to fix this one, I'm not exactly rich. I mean, my dad is, but I'm not allowed to have a real job, so . . ."

I sigh. I'm pretty sure this is exactly the kind of big job Ronin would murder me for taking, but I feel kind of bad for Jay, and besides, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"When do you need it fixed by?" I ask cautiously.

"I kind of need it by Christmas Eve, if you can." He says. "My dad's on a business trip right now, but he'll be back late that night."

"Okay." I take a deep breath. "I'll do my best. I can't promise it'll work, but it'll be better than nothing."

"Definitely better than nothing." Jay agrees, holding his hand out to me. "Thanks, um . . ."

"Nya." I shake his hand, and smile. This could be my chance–if only I don't mess the whole thing up.