Thursday night saw her still sitting with her form, trying her hardest to make herself look an attractive candidate. In the normal sense, that wouldn't have been a problem. She was darn good at makeup. To people like Ed, though? Oh, they seemed to like having her around. She did what she was told. She didn't get instructions wrong. There was nothing wrong with her memory. A couple of times, she'd been asked to help with something fiddly and requiring smaller fingers than anyone else there had. But was that going to be enough for them to want to employ her? She seriously doubted it.
No, absolute honesty was her only way. Sam laid her soul bare on the paper for all to see. Told them about her moment of revelation, how totally different this was to what she'd planned to be doing, how the placement had been a mistake - and how she loved every minute of it. Signed the form, put it with the vast pile of special exemptions into the manila envelope she'd bought, sealed it. Only then did she stop to wonder how on earth she was going to tell her family of her change in career plan. Especially if she didn't get this job. She was going to need to spend some serious time catching up on qualifications, time when she wouldn't be earning. She'd need a full driver's permit. To be taken seriously, she'd need a car.
She'd worry about that later. When she found out the result of her application. For now, there was no need to worry.
Friday morning, Sam walked into the bay she'd had to herself for most of the week and found it occupied, light on under the car, cold coffee on the table, and a familiar jacket slung across the chair. She was on the verge of turning and walking back out when she realised Jason was watching her from the driver's seat.
"Is that envelope what I think it is?"
Sam clutched it to herself, realised what she was doing, and forced herself to relax. "I don't know what you think it is."
"Can't think of too many reasons why you'd be sending a pile of paper that size to the head of personnel. Good luck."
"But you said -"
"You said you couldn't do it. I've no time for can't."
"I don't think I've got much hope." Sam offered him a wavering smile. "But I've got nothing to lose. They can only say no."
"They won't say anything at all unless you give them your forms. Hand them in now, and then I can use you on this brake pedal."
Handing it in now had its advantages too, she realised - the office staff were all in a meeting, so she could leave it on the secretary's desk unobserved. She didn't think she could handle spending the rest of the day fielding questions about her application from curious mechanics. Let alone Luis, who would presumably be around this afternoon for their track session. Sam positioned the envelope carefully in front of the keyboard where it couldn't be missed, crept back out of the office, and then strolled back along the corridor feeling as if the weight of the world had gone from her shoulders. It was all out of her hands now.
The morning was spent with Jason performing some deeply complex fine-tuning of the precise weight and travel of the brake pedal in car two. Sam didn't understand exactly what he was trying to accomplish, except that it had to do with how quickly the brakes came off again after the driver's foot was removed from the pedal, but she was happy enough to stamp on the brakes to order every couple of minutes and read numbers from the screen propped on the dashboard.
"That'll do." Jason said finally, hauling himself out from under the car. "I think -"
"Ed wants to know if you're ready for lunch," one of the junior mechanics said round the door.
"Yeah, we're ready. Come on, Sam." Jason grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
"Come on where?"
"I seem to remember it's someone's last day? Or maybe not. Mick, she's applied for the job."
"Great!" The head disappeared, and Sam stood frozen in betrayal.
"I can't believe you told him that."
"You need them on your side." Jason's look was direct and unapologetic. "You need everyone who's dealt with you nagging Personnel that you're the person for the job, and you'll get it too, now that they know. Mick's the biggest chatterbox in the building."
"But...we're going to lunch?"
"Yup. And you're going to talk when they ask you questions. Trust me."
It was more than just questions. As far as Sam could tell, every mechanic in the building had decided to come out to lunch. She'd expected nothing - but was perfectly happy to forget about the sandwiches in her bag. Pizza at the track's cafe was far more attractive.
And the conversation was eye-opening. After five minutes frantically fielding questions about whether she really had applied for the job, admitting to a lack of experience that didn't seem to trigger a whole lot of surprise, and accepting encouraging comments, she finally got her nerve up enough to ask one of her own.
"Don't you want someone who knows more than me in the job?"
She hadn't expected the roar of laughter, and her initial, horrified assumption was that they'd been winding her up. That they did indeed want someone else. That she had no hope at all. Her face must have showed it, because Ed choked back his laughter.
"Hell, no - Sam, the last thing we want is some hotshot wannabe driver. Won't listen, thinks he knows it all, way too careless. It's an apprentice job. We need someone who does what they're told and gets the boring things right when we don't have time to watch everything they do."
"You remember that kid we had last year? Thought he was the next NASCAR champion, and put engine oil in the brake fluid?"
"Or the one who thought he'd be driving races within a week?"
"That was Jason, wasn't it?"
"Not me. I was planning on being an engineer."
"Is it true you couldn't drive when you came here?"
"I didn't have a license, no."
"And he was racing within a month," Ed added.
"Nah!"
Jason flushed. "It was six weeks."
"Course, we weren't that competitive back then." Ed clapped his star driver on the shoulder. "Still damned impressive. Plan to emulate him, Sam?"
She jumped a mile. "Hell, no! Just watching that race scared me half to death!"
There was more laughter, but now she was expecting it she could hear the friendliness behind it. She wanted this, and they wanted her. Surely that would count for something? But would it be enough for the people making the decision? The ones who had specified a GPA she couldn't get anywhere near?
And then lunch arrived, and the conversation turned to their track session this afternoon and the races tomorrow. Sam sat back and listened, drinking it in, listening to the opinions, the turns of phrase, the names of umpteen teams and drivers being bandied about, arguments on different tyres, different fuel mixes, different body shapes. She had no opinion on any of them yet - but she'd learn.
It wasn't until the plates were taken away that she thought of what else she needed to ask.
"Can I come watch in the pits tomorrow?"
"Sure! Why wouldn't you?"
Jason grinned. "Security wouldn't believe she was with us last week."
"No?" Ed extracted a somewhat dog-eared card from his pocket, one of the other guys had a pen, and he scrawled something on the back of it and gave it to her.
She glanced at it, said "thanks" and was putting it away when someone asked what she thought of it.
"Um...illegible?"
"She's got you there, Ed," Carl chuckled.
"The word you're looking for is 'unforgeable', young lady," Ed growled, but it was clearly a joke and, more importantly, meant she wasn't the only one who couldn't read what it said. "And now we have track time in a hour, so we'd best move."
Carl jumped to his feet. "I'm going straight there to meet Luis. Jason, you bring Two across."
"I'll bring One," Ed said. He groaned theatrically. "Luis? Are you serious?"
"Jeff's sick, Anthony's on some ISO course he wouldn't talk about, Phil's scuba diving in the Bahamas. The other new name I've been given's got even less experience than Luis has. I figured we'd try him when he wasn't a concussion away from being our second driver. David O'Something - know him, Jason?"
"O'Leary - yeah. Arrogant little sod. Good driver, but - no, save him for the off-season."
"Not one for the job, then?"
"Apprenticeship? He's an Academy kid. He won't apply for that."
"Sounds like we should be grateful."
Jason frowned. "Nah - he's good, and he'll be better than good. But he's one that'll think he should be racing right away. Better have him come in here and get used to the car when there's no racing to argue over."
Sam walked in silence, still only half daring to hope. It was starting to sound as though they actively didn't want somebody brilliant. Maybe, just maybe, she had a chance.
Their track time finished at four-thirty, and it was barely five minutes after that that they were ready to head back to the ISO Racing building. Luis had been the one out on the track when the siren went, and had sat in the car looking smug and defying anyone to suggest he wasn't going to be the one driving it back. If he'd seen the exchange of rolled eyes between Carl and Jason, he might not have been quite so smug. Sam spluttered, choked, and tried her best to turn it into a cough, and got solicitously thumped on the back.
"Fresh air. That's what she needs," Carl said solemnly.
"Yeah. Fresh air. We'll see you back at the unit."
Sam found herself caught by the arms and helped outside, before her two assistants both collapsed laughing.
"God - that guy is the biggest jerk ever!" Carl finally managed to splutter.
"I have to see him race," Jason choked out. "Have to. I'll pay good money for the tapes. He sure isn't going to make the team while I'm around."
"In his dreams. Sorry, Sam," Carl said, more under control. "We needed an excuse."
"I'm not surprised. Is he that bad a driver?"
"He thinks he's better than he is. That's worse than being bad." Jason straightened up. "Seriously, Carl, you'd be better off with Dave. That guy's a liability."
"I'll take that under advisement. I certainly don't want Luis out there any time soon. Anyway - Friday night, home time. And an early night before tomorrow."
"Yes, mom." Jason grinned, and started walking back towards the unit.
They got within fifty yards before Sam realised what she was seeing. An old blue pickup, one door in primer grey. Leaning against it, a guy of roughly Ed's age, unshaven, tight T-shirt showing bulging chest muscles. He was looking directly at them, and it was far too late to hope he hadn't recognised her.
"Friend of yours?" Jason muttered.
"My stepfather."
"Going to be a problem?"
"I don't know."
"Just keep walking, then."
"Well, Sam," Steve drawled as they got to within a few yards. "Funny thing happened. I showed up to pick you up on your last day, and what do you know? The beauty parlour's never heard of you. Couple of your school friends, though, they say you're having some fun over with the racing team guys. These some of them?"
She felt rather than saw Jason stiffen beside her. Carl spluttered an indignant "now hold on a minute" before Steve cut in again.
"I don't know what you think you've been playing at, but you're coming home now. And I'll be having words with that school of yours - putting you in a place like this! What sort of work experience is this for a girl?"
"Sam's good at it," Carl put in. "Why shouldn't she? She's got just as much right to work here as anyone else."
"Sam? Work for ISO?" Steve laughed. "She's a sweet kid, but not the brightest, know what I mean?"
"No, I don't." Jason stepped forward, a glint in his eye. "I think she's going to make a darn good mechanic."
"And I think she's going to make a darn good beautician." Steve put out his hand. "Come, Sam."
She hesitated.
He sighed. "I don't believe it. You had your future all mapped out. Don't throw it all away because these guys want a bit of skirt around. Which one is it, Sam? I'll deck him for you, and we can go home."
"You -" Carl jumped forward, and Jason put out a long arm and hauled him back.
"Don't."
Sam looked back and forward. Her new friends, the job she desperately wanted. Or her stepfather and her family. She couldn't choose between them - it wasn't fair! Why couldn't she have both?
Could she have both?
"Steve - I know this sounds weird, but I changed my mind." God, she sounded stupid. "I really do want to be a mechanic."
"No, love. You'd need piles of qualifications. It's too hard for you."
"I mean it. I want to go to classes. Get my grades up."
"Oh, Sam. This isn't for you! You need to get out there, start earning. Forget all this nonsense. Your mother's found a job that would be ideal for you. Junior in a hair salon. You can start just as soon as you graduate. Come home and we'll show you the advert."
Time slowed. Junior in a hair salon. Sweeping hair up off the floor, hoping for the chance to do just that little bit more, being promoted to washing hair. Cutting it, eventually. Making polite conversation about the weather, people's children and grandchildren. Never again worrying about how fast a car could go.
"I'm not coming."
"Yes, you are." Steve stepped forward, and Sam backed away. "You're a minor. You're coming home right now, and you're going to see sense. This has gone on long enough."
He reached out, and Jason stepped between them. "I think you should leave. She said no."
Steve, six foot three of bodybuilder's muscle, laughed in his face. "Out of my way, kid."
Jason didn't flinch. "This is your warning."
"Warning?"
"Jason - no!" Sam squeaked, and buried her face in her hands. Steve was twice his weight, easily. More than that, he knew how to handle himself. He'd been a boxer when he'd met her mom - not a terribly successful one, but when he'd hit someone they stayed hit. These days, he was a bouncer. It was still true, from what he'd said.
There was a squeak, a crash, and when she looked again Steve was flat on his back, cradling his left wrist.
Jason stood over him, face impassive. "Like I said. Leave."
And her stepfather struggled to his feet, backed off, climbed awkwardly into his truck and drove away.
Sam suddenly found herself unable to catch her breath. "Oh, my god...you...did you break his arm? I thought he'd kill you."
"Wrist. I didn't break it, but it'll be darn sore for a few days."
"But how?"
"I work for ISO, remember? Even their chauffeurs have to know self-defence."
"Some self-defence." Carl had come back to them. "Okay, Sam, you would appear to have a problem. Do you have a place to stay? I don't think you should go home just yet."
Jason snorted. "I don't think she should go home at all."
"Let's not be over-drastic here." Carl looked her over, concern in his brown eyes. "How long will it take him to calm down?"
"Depends if I agree with his point of view."
"That's not good."
"It's not that bad." Sam felt her voice waver. She wanted to throw up. She'd known, deep down, that her stepfather wouldn't approve of this at all - but to have him find out like this? Dr Allen had said that some people would assume she was interested for all the wrong reasons. She hadn't put Steve in that category. Though, thinking about it now, it did rather fit.
"That's not the impression I got."
"No - Jason, you shouldn't have hit him. He'd not have attacked you. He just likes to throw his weight around. He likes to be right."
"I didn't hit him. He pushed me. I pushed back." Jason snorted. "Maybe next time he won't assume he's going to be better at pushing."
Carl was still frowning. "This is all very well. Sam, I still don't think you should go home tonight. And I want to know if he's likely to take it out on you physically. You're under age on a placement here, and it's still working hours. We're responsible. Quite apart from the fact that I care."
"No, he won't hit me." Sam was quite sure of that. "He'll try to talk me round." She felt the tears start, suddenly and without warning, and had no way to stop them. "Endlessly. Until I agree with him. He'll never let me do this."
"When are you eighteen?" Jason asked.
"Four weeks."
"That's not so very long."
"Just because she's old enough to leave home doesn't mean she wants to, Jase." Carl put an arm round her shoulders. "The question is, where's she going to go tonight?"
There wasn't an answer to that, and Sam allowed herself to be led back into the unit, sat down, and fed coffee practically strong enough to dissolve the spoon. Half a cup of it, and she jumped up.
"I have to call my mom. She'll freak out if I don't come home."
"Send her a text," Jason suggested.
Sam gave him a desperate look. It would take her a ridiculous length of time to construct something that came even close to being reassuring - but she did see his point. Steve would be home by now, and she wasn't going to get through having to explain what was going on at the moment.
"Give me your phone - I'll draft something," Carl suggested.
She couldn't hand it over quickly enough. Carl sat back, muttering to himself and typing rapidly, and she went back to the coffee.
"Got it!" Jason exclaimed, and the last few drops went flying. "Sorry, Sam. That trailer next to mine that Jeff's trying to sell - he hasn't yet, right?"
"Don't think so," Carl said without looking up. "Give him a call, see if he minds Sam using it for one night. He's got a streaming cold, so he should be home."
"Hold on a minute," Sam said. "Where is this? I'm not sure about a trailer park."
"Just round the back here," Jason told her. "Not your average trailer park. It's respectable enough. I think so, anyway."
There was an edge of scorn in his voice, and Sam flushed, belatedly processing the fact that he'd said this trailer was next to his own. "Sorry. I do appreciate it."
"Steve doesn't approve of trailer parks?" Jason snorted again. "Leave that bit out of the message, Carl - besides, I wouldn't put it past him to come find her, if he knows where she is." He wandered out of the room, dialling a number, and Sam took a series of deep breaths and tried to calm down.
"Done. How's this?" Carl handed the phone back, and Sam squinted at what he'd put there.
"I'VE UPSET STEVE. STAYING WITH A FRIEND TONIGHT. SEE YOU TOMORROW. LOVE SAM."
"What, no textspeak?" Jason joked, coming up behind her and reading over her shoulder. "Jeff says that's fine - at least I think that's what he said, he sounds bloody awful. He left the key in the office - remind me to grab it on our way out."
"I wouldn't use it with her anyway," Sam said. She found textspeak no easier than ordinary writing, and having to remember two sets of conventions was even worse than one. Taking a deep breath, she sent the message. "Okay. I need to get my stuff, then can you show me where this trailer is?"