"Unbelievable," Victor muttered, and the word traveled across the room. Noah watched Greg lift the hood farther, then watched a mechanic point to a diagnostic report that appeared to confirm everything was normal. He could not read the numbers from the doorway. He did not need to. He heard a part of the story that no chart had adequately explained, and the longer he remained quiet, the more it troubled him.
He took a small step forward. Angela noticed immediately and shook her head. Noah stopped. Then the mechanic turned the key one more time, and the same uneven dying sound shivered through the room. Something about it reminded Noah so strongly of his father's lesson that he heard Marcus's voice as clearly as if the man were standing beside him. Find the first thing that stopped being right.
"That's not an engine problem," Noah said. He did not mean to speak loudly. He only meant to give the thought somewhere to go. But the garage was quiet after the failed start, and the words crossed the concrete floor without difficulty.
Greg's head came up. Two technicians exchanged looks. Victor stopped pacing with one foot still turned toward the door.
"What did you say?" Greg asked. Noah felt his mother's hand settle on his shoulder, firm enough to warn but gentle enough not to embarrass him. For a moment he wished he could withdraw the words and hide them among the tools.
Then he looked at the car, remembered that the trouble was still there, and answered honestly. "I think the engine is trying to work," he said. "Something else isn't letting it."
Greg gave a short laugh. The younger technician beside him smiled before he knew whether the joke was safe. "Kid, this is a Ferrari 250 GTO," Greg said. "It's one of the most complicated historic machines you'll ever stand next to.
People train for years before they even get near one." Noah nodded. He knew what the car was. He had seen pictures in a book borrowed from the library and watched a long documentary about its races, though he had never expected to stand in the same room as one.
"I know," he said. "That's why you have to be careful." The answer did not sound like a challenge, which made it harder for Greg to dismiss as childish showing off. Victor turned slowly toward the doorway.
He noticed Angela, her mop, and the small figure beside her, and then he looked beyond their clothes at the boy's expression. There was neither insolence nor fear in Noah's eyes. There was the concentrated discomfort of somebody watching a mistake continue after he had recognized it.
"Angela," Victor said. "Is that your son?" She took a half step forward, smoothing the front of her uniform. "Yes, Mr. Langston. The school closed early because of a water problem.
I asked permission to bring him here. I'm sorry if he disturbed anyone." Victor waved away the explanation, impatient with everything except the car. "Does he know anything about engines?" Angela hesitated because she had learned that telling rich people how remarkable your child was could sound like asking for something. "His father taught him a few things," she said.