Chương 2
They saw red paint.
Low bodywork.
An exotic badge.
Money.
Maya saw six years of Saturdays.
Her phone vibrated again.
She pulled it out.
Seventeen messages.
Most were from people she barely spoke to.
One was from her friend Lena.
CALL ME BEFORE YOU OPEN ANYTHING.
Maya stared at it.
Then another message arrived.
This one from a number she did not recognize.
YO ARE YOU THE GIRL WITH THE RED CAR???
She opened Lena’s thread.
A video attachment waited there.
Maya pressed play.
Ryan’s cup hit the hood.
“Clean that up before the owner sees what you did.”
The framing was close. Noah had captured Ryan, Maya, and most of the car. He had also captured his own quiet laughter behind the phone.
Maya watched herself pick up the cup.
“Seriously, this car costs more than your whole life.”
Then her own voice.
“Then you probably shouldn’t be leaning on mine.”
The clip cut immediately after the mirrors unfolded.
Text had been placed over the top.
BRO PICKED THE WRONG GIRL 💀💀💀
Maya watched it again.
The second time, she noticed her shirt.
A faint gray stain near the hem from primer sanding that morning.
She noticed Ryan’s face during the unlock chirp.
She noticed Eli’s hand covering his mouth.
She noticed the license plate.
“Damn it.”
Denise looked through the office window.
“What?”
Maya held up a finger.
The video had 183,000 views.
She refreshed it.
191,000.
Her stomach changed in a way the confrontation itself had not managed.
Lena called.
Maya answered.
“You saw it?”
“Yeah.”
“I told you to call me first.”
“You also sent me the video.”
“I panicked.”
“Reasonable system.”
“Maya, it’s everywhere.”
“It has two hundred thousand views.”
“That repost has two hundred thousand views. The original has like seven-fifty.”
Maya was silent.
A compressor kicked on in the rear of the shop.
For several seconds Lena said nothing either.
Then, quietly, “You okay?”
Maya looked at the car.
“I’m fine.”
“That answer is suspicious.”
“I’m standing in a body shop.”
“Also suspicious.”
Maya walked toward the rear bay where an old white pickup sat with its bumper removed.
“Do you know who posted it?”
“Some guy named Noah. I found his account. Soccer people. College people. I don’t know. He posted it to his story, somebody screen-recorded it, now every account with the word ‘viral’ in the username is stealing it.”
“Great.”
“You look good.”
“That is not useful.”
“You look extremely calm.”
“I was deciding whether I wanted to throw the cup back at him.”
Lena laughed.
“You should have.”
“No. Then the video would be about me throwing trash at somebody.”
“True.”
“And I’d miss.”
“You would.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve seen you throw things.”
Maya leaned against the workbench.
The ordinary stupidity of the conversation helped.
For about ten seconds.
Then Lena said, “People found your name.”
Maya straightened.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“My account’s private.”
“Your account was private. People are tagging an old school photo. And somebody found the shop.”
Maya closed her eyes.
“Of course they did.”
“Your plate is visible.”
“Yeah.”
“You need to tell your mom.”
“No.”
“Maya.”
“She’ll panic.”
“She owns a business with the same last name as you.”
“I know how last names work.”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you get sarcastic because you’ve already decided to handle everything yourself.”
“I don’t have a thing.”
“You absolutely have a thing.”
Denise appeared beside her.
“Who found the shop?”
Maya turned.
Her mother held out one hand.
Maya gave her the phone.
Denise watched the video once.
Then again.
She did not react to Ryan’s insult.
She did not react to Maya’s answer.
She reacted to the license plate.
“They left the plate in.”
“Yeah.”
“Who filmed this?”
“One of the guys.”
“Do you know him?”
“No.”
“Did they touch you?”
“No.”
“Did they touch the car?”
“He leaned against it.”
“Damage?”
“No.”
“The cup?”
“Paper. It was basically empty.”
Denise kept watching the frozen final frame.
The mirrors were halfway extended.
Maya was standing beside the driver’s door, one hand visible with the key.
The image looked staged.
Too clean.
Like an advertisement designed around a comeback.
Denise returned the phone.
“I hate this.”
“I gathered.”
“Do not answer anybody.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Do not post.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Do not tell people where you live.”
“I wasn’t planning to start a newsletter.”
Denise looked at her.
Maya exhaled.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re scared.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re rude when you’re scared.”
“I’m rude when I’m comfortable too.”
“That is unfortunately true.”
The front phone rang.
Denise stared at it.
It rang again.
Neither moved.
On the fourth ring, Denise walked back into the office and picked up.
“Carter Collision.”
She listened.
“No, we don’t rent the car.”
Another pause.
“No, it is not available for music videos.”
She hung up.
Maya stared at her.
Denise stared back.
The phone rang again.
By six-thirty, there were forty-three missed calls.
By seven, someone had created a fake account using Maya’s name.
By seven-fifteen, the shop’s business page had received more reviews than it had in the previous four years combined.
Most were five stars from people who had never been customers.
One read:
QUEEN BEHAVIOR. TAKE MY CAR ANYTIME.
Another said:
BEST SHOP IN AMERICA. DESTROY THE RICH KIDS.
Denise read that one twice.
Then she said, “They understand we fix bumpers, right?”
Maya was eating a turkey sandwich at the front desk.
“I don’t think understanding is central to this.”
Denise refreshed the page.
A one-star review appeared.
FAKE VIRAL STUNT. CAR IS PROBABLY RENTED. THESE PEOPLE ARE CLOUT CHASERS.
Denise blinked.
“That person lives in Ohio.”
Maya chewed.
“So?”
“They gave us one star.”
“They probably feel strongly.”
“They have never been within a thousand miles of my alignment rack.”
“Mom.”
“This affects my rating.”
“I know.”
“I spent nine years getting that rating.”
May you like
“I know.”
“I had a man give me three stars because his insurance company took too long to send a check.”
