Marigold wiped a streak of grease from her brow and leaned against the motorcycle propped up in the shop. It was an AJS 18s-- sleek, though clunky and difficult to start up.

Marigold liked to think of herself as a doctor and the vehicles she repaired as her patients. This particular patient's outlook was grim.

Mr. Cerbus, a 35-year-old man who had the posture of someone much older, watched her from a distance with a doleful look on his face. "Well?"

"You said you got her during the war?" Marigold asked, wiping her oily hands on a clean rag.

"That I did. Fresh off the line in England, should still be brand new."

"That's your problem," Marigold replied. "This model was built to hold the low-quality fuel back then. You're filling her up with what we have now and it's the wrong type of gas."

It was hard to tell who was sadder as they both looked at the motorcycle.

"You'll either have to import fuel from England or make her a nice home in the garage," Marigold said. "Sorry, Mr. Cerbus."

"Ain't your fault."

"Maybe I can find a new engine," Marigold suggested.

Mr. Cerbus's eyebrows raised with hope. "You think so?"

"I'll look in town today and see what I can do."

"That'd be real swell. I'll pay you on Friday for the work you've already done."

Marigold waved at him as he left the shop, which was actually just a garage-turned-mechanic attached to the hair salon (which was always why it smelled like shampoo and motor oil inside).

Marigold wiped off the rest of the grease from her hands and checked the clock. It was almost three.

She swept the two dollars she'd made that day into a tin can labeled "College Tuition" and hid it behind the rack of tools.

She was almost at fifty dollars now after five summers of working and doing repairs after school. Almost halfway there.

She would need one hundred dollars to pay for tuition and she only had two more summers to earn it if she wanted to enroll in college by the time she was eighteen.

Marigold took a deep breath.

Her grades were the highest in all of her classes, though Marigold would never describe herself as an academic. She was "driven" as her teachers described her, which was another way of saying that Marigold looked ahead to what she wanted and adjusted her goals accordingly.

It's about the trajectory, she told herself, locking up the metal cupboard of tools and untying the bandana protecting her hair.

The bridge club used the garage to play cards after their hair appointments on Tuesdays, so Marigold had to pack up her things and leave the space tidier than she would've liked.

She had to go to the store before going home and she kept repeating her mother's grocery list in her mind.

Onions, parsley, starch. Onions, parsley, starch. Onions, parsley, starch...

Allen's Grocery & Market was always crowded.

At any given time it would seem that the whole population of Nowhere was crowded into the seven aisles provided for shopping.

Today, oddly, was not one of those days.

Marigold was alone in the store. At least, she thought she was until she was counting the onions in the bag (there were four), and she heard her name.

"Marigold?"

She looked over to find Wyatt Best standing beside the hardware.

She lifted a hand to wave. He waved back.

"What're you looking for?" Marigold asked, forfeiting the checkout and going over to peer down at the nails Wyatt was holding in his hands.

Wyatt looked up and Marigold could've sworn she saw the tinge of a blush come to his cheeks.

"I'm trying to fix a hole in the hay wagon," he replied.

"That'll be real nice," Marigold said. "But what you've got there is a pack of screws. You need nails."

She reached over and handed him a bundle of long nails, which he took with a sheepish grin.

"Thanks."

They both straightened and walked to the checkout counter together. "We keep running into each other whenever you need help," Marigold said.

"In a town like this, I'm surprised we don't trip over each other," Wyatt stated.

Marigold laughed, though Wyatt didn't see what was funny.

"Maybe it's fate," Marigold suggested.

"Fate?"

"Sure." Marigold put her onions, parsley, and starch on the counter for Allen to ring up. "I don't think it's a coincidence that I saw you on the road that night. Or that you're working on our farm. Or that you don't know the difference between a screw and a nail."

Wyatt agreed, but he didn't think he'd call it fate. They were statements of fact. "And?"

"And maybe we should go to the drive-in one night," Marigold replied, taking the paper bag in her arms as Wyatt paid for his supplies.

"You're asking me on a date."

"If you want to call it that." Marigold shrugged, but there was a mischievous gleam in her eye.

Wyatt took the bag that Allen handed to him and regarded Marigold in full. She did not seem like the types of girls he'd encountered at Brambleby. The ones who flitted from interest to interest, luring in clueless young men only to break their hearts later on.

Marigold would never be that cruel. But Wyatt knew that she hadn't thought this through all the way--not because she lacked the intelligence, but because she didn't know Wyatt.

What would be an innocent fling to the drive-in for Marigold would be a calculated, serious step for Wyatt. Once he decided to sit down at the table, all of his chips were on it, which was probably why he'd never been in a relationship before.

So Wyatt said, "I think once you get to know me, you'd like to call it anything but a date."

He opened the grocery store door for her and they began the walk back to the Penny's house.

"I think I'd like you just fine," Marigold argued.

"Maybe." Wyatt shrugged. "But not in the way you'd need to like me if you wanted to go to the drive-in."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't like the drive-in. Movies are a waste of time and so is dating."

Marigold rolled her eyes (a little offended by his comment about the movies and dating) as she swung her paper bag beside her. "You sound like my sister."

"Which one?"

"Birdie. She doesn't believe in romance either." Marigold squinted up at the blue sky above her.

Wyatt nodded thoughtfully as they passed by what he assumed was another ghost. It was hard to see in the sunlight, but he spotted a glimmer as the ghost shifted to move out of their way. He'd seen several spirits in the week he'd been in Nowhere and was almost growing used to it. Almost. He still couldn't get rid of the chill that spread up his arms when he got close to them.

"Anyway," Marigold said, kicking at an old Coca-Cola bottle blocking her path, "how do you like it? Working on our farm?"

"I like it," Wyatt replied. "It's different. In a way, it reminds me of Holland."

Marigold smiled wistfully. "I almost forgot you lived there."

She said it as if he'd been on a luxurious vacation. But it was where the Bests met both their beginning and their end. Wyatt's jaw worked uncomfortably. Being on the farm reminded him of Holland because it reminded him of hard work, which was what his father used to do before he got rich. He shouldn't have mentioned it.

"What was it like?" Marigold asked.

Wyatt swallowed hard. Fire and bombs and death, was he wanted to say. He couldn't remember much else. What he really said was, "There were a lot of people. It was crowded. Sweaty."

Marigold immediately sobered as she observed his face. "Hey," she said softly. "Did I say something wrong? If it was about the drive-in..."

"No," Wyatt said quickly. He knew he should have steered clear of this conversation. "No, not at all. I was just thinking."

Marigold looked down at the ground as they passed by the peach trees that were only a block away from Anubis Avenue. "You don't think I'm some sort of cad, do you?"

Wyatt snorted at this. "No. I just think you're far too smart and have way too much potential to waste your time with me."

He was relieved when Marigold laughed at that.

They rounded the fenceline that looped around the Penny farm. Marigold said, "You should come with us to NiNi's on Saturday. They have Coca-Colas for fifty cents on the weekends, what do you say?"

Wyatt considered it for a moment. He hadn't expected to make friends in Nowhere, but going to a soda parlor sounded a lot like the start of it. Wyatt had never been friends with a bunch of girls before, but somehow he couldn't describe the Penny's as a "bunch of girls". So he said, "Alright, sounds swell."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey everyone! Wyatt is slowly becoming part of the Penny Squad XD

~What do you think of Marigold?

~General thoughts?

Thank you so much for reading! Don't forget to comment, vote, and share!