Young Writers Society

She breathed in deeply. The smell reminded her of her father's mechanical shop.

he rest of the junkyard bore no resemblance whatsoever to the organized workshop Skylar was used to. Parts were scattered everywhere, and boxes lined the walls and the shelves. Workers who looked as if they hadn't bathed in weeks prowled through the aisles formed by long rows of miscellaneous parts, and Skylar craned her neck to see what they were working on, with no success.

"Hey, you!" somebody barked at Skylar. "Scram now, or I'll cal the Militia!" His voice was rough and scratchy like sandpaper, and he was clearly not afraid to make a scene.

"I work here," Skylar yelled back. "I was told to report here."

The man burst into raucous laughter. "You work here?" he chortled, wiping his eyes.

"Yes." Skylar felt her cheeks heating. "Got a problem with that?"

"You will. This job is for people with brawn, not beauty."

“Skylar's cheeks burned. "I'm here to work, and if you have a problem with that, you can go find somewhere else to work." She took a deep breath, about to continue on her tirade, but saw movement out of the corner of her eye and hesitated.

"Break it up," a man shouted as he shoved his way through a crowd of workers who had stopped what they were doing to watch the altercation between Skylar and the other worker. Once he reached Skylar, he wiped his hands on his cargo pants and extended one. "I'm Jim."

"A pleasure," Skylar said tersely, glancing over where the man who had questioned her credentials was skulking back into the shadows.

Jim followed her gaze. "I apologize for the behavior of some of my employees. They're not used to working with a female. If you're capable enough to be hired, I don't care about anything else. I'll give you a short tour, and then put you right to work. Sound good to you?"

Skylar nodded, scanning the workshop. Aside from her interaction with that one man, it seemed to be well-run, and most of the workers paid her no heed. She had expected a little bit of sexism, and this management exceeded her expectations by far.

"Perfect. Right this way, then." Jim led Skylar through an aisle of miscellaneous parts and past some men who were sorting the parts. They paused to gawk at Skylar, and Skylar felt the familiar flame returning to her cheeks.

"Just ignor them. They won't do you any harm. I'm the supervisor, and it's my job to make sure you guys work hard and treat each other decently. All I ask of you is that you meet your quotas, and I'll make sure you have the best work environment in which to do so. I hope to be promoted someday to general manager of this junkyard and to keep climbing my ranks from there, so I will tolerate no setbacks, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir." His ambition was admirable, but Skylar knew that his ambition meant he wouldn't hesitate to trample people if it helped him to reach his own personal goals.

"Excellent." They reached the end of the long aisle, and Jim pointed to a large, fenced-in yard with half-dissected cars and aircrafts scattered everywhere. "This is where all sorts of mechanisms that are no longer usable are brought. We tear them apart, find the parts that can be refurbished and resold, and discard the rest of it. For the first few days, I'll have you on sorting. It's tedious, but not difficult. If you graduate from there, you might be promoted to a stripper." He saw Skylar's eyes widen and laughed. "It's not what you think. You'll strip the pieces from whatever piece of machinery is brought to us, and deliver the parts to the sorters. Any questions?"

Skylar shook her head, even though she had many questions about how the place worked. Who was in charge of buying and selling the pieces? How did they acquire so much machinery? Who ran this place? How long had it been here? Why didn't her father know about it?

"Great. I'll have Frank and Sam show you which pieces we can salvage and which ones we need to discard. You'll sort them into boxes, and then once you've filled a box, you'll take the usable parts over to one of these shelves and the unusable parts over to this large dumpster." He pointed to a big green dumpster with big black letters that read "Garbage ONLY". "Any questions for me before I go?"

Skylar shook her head. "Thanks for the tour."

"You got it, kid. Good luck. If these guys give you any trouble, just let me know and I'll put them in their place."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Skylar gave him a mock salute as he walked away before surveying the workshop ahead of her.

She approached a group of men sitting on the ground, chatting as they separated parts into two separate boxes. "Where can I find Frank and Sam?" she asked them.

The man sitting opposite her climbed to his feet. "I'm Frank," he introduced himself, holding out a grubby hand. "This here is Sam." He pointed to one of the other men sitting to his right, who acknowledged her with a nod.

"Tom said you'll show me what to do." Skylar crossed her arms over her chest, trying her best to look confident.

"You bet we will, and if you slow us down, we'll report you to Tom and he'll get your sorry ass thrown outta here. You understand?" Frank shot her a menacing glare that he had clearly practiced and used before, but Skylar was not intimidated by his antics.

"I won't slow you down." Skylar lifted her chin and returned his cold, hard gaze.

"Look through the boxes of parts that we accepted and parts that we threw out, and memorize which ones go where. If you're unsure about one, just ask us, but if you ask us too many questions, we'll make you the Hauler."

"What's the Hauler do?"

"Carry boxes around all day. It does a number to your back, and it's a lot harder than just sitting here and tossing pieces into different boxes. Right now Todd's on it, but if we decide he's easier to deal with than you, we won't hesitate to swap you two. And most importantly, don't participate in our conversations. This is a guy's only thing. I'm sure you understand."

"Sure, whatever." Skylar rolled her eyes and sat down cross-legged next to the boxes of parts. She looked through them all, and to her surprise, she recognized most of them. She looked down so that the other men couldn't see her look of satisfaction. She kept sorting through them, eventually identifying a common thread. All the parts that had been discarded were either obviously damaged or a piece of technology so outdated it wasn't used in any current mechanicisms.

True to her word, she avoided participating in their conversations and instead opted to just listen and learn as much about each of these men as she could. None of them were shy about sharing personal information, and although some of their language and conversations were crude at best and downright vulgar at worst, she managed to keep her mouth tightly shut until Jim came back and dismissed them for lunch.

"How long's the lunch break?" she asked one of the men in her group, breaking the silence she had held religiously while she had worked.

"Thirty minutes," he replied through a mouthful of sandwich. "Don't tell me you didn't pack a lunch?"

"Course I did,' Skylar lied. "I'll be back in thirty minutes, then. I like to eat by myself outside. It's the only break I can catch from listening to you lot."

She was answered with only chuckles and tried to hide the hurry in her steps as she hastened out of the workroom and back into the front part of the shop. "I'm going to eat outside," she called to the boy who had hired her, who was now reclining in his chair with his feet propped up on the desk. "I'll be back in thirty minutes."

"You'd better be. If not, you're fired," he threatened.

Skylar didn't respond. She didn't have time. Her mind was spinning as she considered her options. It would take her a full thirty minutes just to get home, so that wasn't an option. She cursed herself for her stupidity. She had broken one of her number-one rules and had stepped outside without a plan. She vowed to be better prepared next time and to never allow herself those oversights again.

She started running at a decent-paced jog, pushing her way through the lunch crowd. Weaving her way through the foot traffic, she pushed herself into a slightly faster clip and continued to run until she spotted the extravagant sign for Forrester, a deep green with artificial vines curled around it for good measure. She was sure that she would be able to find something to eat on Forrester.

The aroma of cashews, peanuts and dried fruits blended together caught her attention, and she followed the distinct scent through the crowds of sweaty and oily people. Her father teased her by saying that she had a nose like a shark. Her unusually keen sense of smell paired with her persistent spirit meant that she almost always got whatever food her heart could desire and her nose could smell.

After following the scent for several minutes, she reached the stand where a tanned man with a thick mustache was selling bags of peanuts, cashews, dried cranberries, raisins, and chocolate morsels all mixed together to create a delicious sweet-and-salty combination. "How much?" Skylar asked him, standing on tip-toe to see over the top of the display.

"Name your price." The man folded his beefy arms over his chest and stared down at Skylar. He was clearly attempting to intimidate Skylar into accepting his price, but Skylar stood her ground. She would not let herself lose her hard-earned money to an unkempt vendor.

"I'll give you three coppers," Skylar offered, stepping backwards and forcing the man to make eye contact with her.

The man snorted. "Three coppers? You must be joking. I'll take seven."

"You're out of your mind. I'll give you five."

"Seven and not a fraction of a copper less."

"Find yourself another customers to extort." Skylar threw up her hands in mock disgust and started to walk away without a second glance.

"Six!" the man shouted at her.

Skylar just shook her head, turning her head to hide her smile.

"Fine!" The man threw a bag of nut mix at her and scowled. "Consider yourself lucky, girl. I won't cave like that again."

Skylar just smiled as she counted out five coppers from her coat pocket. She only had six silvers left in her emergency stash of coins for days like today when she was too busy moping to properly prepare for a day of work. She hurried over to another stand where the vendor was selling mini beef sandwiches. Her mouth watered as she watched him hand two sliders over to a woman toting a bright red purse that matched her intense lipstick.

"How much for the sliders?" Skylar edged up to the counter, much to the complaint of the people queued behind her.

"One slider's three coppers, two slider's five, three sliders are eight." The vendor's voice was slightly reedy, and Skylar realized that he must not be much older than her.

"I'll take two sliders." Skylar knew that there was no way he would give them to her for less than that, and it was a reasonable price, anyways. Besides, she didn't have much time. She would have to eat while she walked.

He slid two sliders over to her in a specially designed disposable tray with an indentation for each slider. Skylar handed him five coppers and then waved apologetically to the rest of the people she had cut off. Biting into her sliders, she smiled with satisfaction. It wasn't a huge lunch, but it was enough to sustain her, and it had been inexpensive as well.

Her satisfaction was short-lived as she glanced at the clock tower and realized she had less than 10 minutes before her shift would resume. She would have to hurry if she wanted to make it back on time.

She started to walk a little faster, again weaving through traffic with skills honed by years of wading through crowds of people. She polished off both her sliders in no time, wishing that she had a third so she could once again enjoy the toasted bread and savory meat. She started to eat her nut mix, scooping out big handfuls and shoveling them into her mouth as she bumped shoulders with crosstraffic.

Turning onto Willow, she finished the last of her nut mix moments before she came in sight of the junkyard. She tossed her trash into a nearby receptacle and ducked into the shop. She pushed her way through the door just as everyone was returning to work.

"Right on time," Tom noted, sounding surprised. "I never caught your name, kid."

"Skylar. Skylar Rennedon."

Her name generated a buzz among the workers, and Tom raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't happen to be related to the owner of Rennedon Repairs, would you?"

"I would, sir. My father's the owner." The declaration made Skylar stand taller with pride.

"Well,, it's good to have you on board, Skylar. Back to it, everyone."

Just like that, everybody continued with their own tasks without giving Skylar a second glance. Skylar felt her feeling of pride dissipate as she joined her own group, but she was sure that she had earned some more respect now that her family history was revealed.

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly as Skylar separated parts and even began to interact with the other workers, cutting into the conversation hesitantly at first and gradually gaining confidence until she was a part of the social circle. The junkyard wasn't nearly as enjoyable as working in the repair shop, but Skylar developed valuable skills and wasn't totally miserable. For 40 silvers, it wasn't a bad job at all. She was lucky to have found this opening, and to have negotiated a reasonable price.

After the 8-hour workday had ended, most of the workers left almost immediately, with only about a dozen people, including Skylar, remaining. Tom assigned them some clean-up work, and they worked in silence for the next two hours, a silence only broken by the occasional query or laughing comment. When they were eventually allowed to leave after 10 long hours had passed, they traipsed out of the junkyard in silence through the door that led them into the main reception area.

"Skylar, can I hold you back a second?" the teenager who had hired Skylar called as they stepped outside.

Skylar hesitated but nodded. "Sure. What do you need?"

"Are you planning on sticking around much longer?"

Skylar shrugged. "I'm not sure where life will take me. I'll be honest, if my father's repair shop opened again, I'd get a position there, but for now, I'm happy here. I'm not a hopper, if that's what you're after," she added quickly, glancing back at the teenager to see how he responded.

His expression didn't change, but Skylar thought she was a flicker of compassion in his brilliant green eyes. "It's just that I pay the rest of the guys by the month, but I get the impression you want to be paid by the week."

Skylar had almost forgotten to collect her money and kicked herself for once again being dangerously careless. "By the day would be best," she said apologetically. "We—my family, I mean— don't have a steady income at the moment. Maybe after a few weeks we'll have saved up enough for you to pay me every week."

"Not a problem." The teenager reached into his cash register and counted out 4 stacks of ten silvers, stuffing them into a paper bag.

"See you tomorrow." Skylar tucked the parcel into her jacket and stepped out into the cool air, the temperatures once again plummeting as evening overtook the afternoon sunshine.