Leon studied the dark circle of metal. It was hard for him to imagine that a thing so small could move a whole motorcycle. The Shovelhead had been enormous; the Honda's engine could nearly fit between his hands. The similarity between them amazed him. Both depended on a few basic relationships being right, and both could be rendered useless by one relationship going wrong.
Frank turned the cylinder beneath the bright inspection lamp. "See the surface?"
Leon leaned closer. "It's rough."
"And it's supposed to be smooth. Not pretty, necessarily, but smooth and even enough to do its job. The rings have to seal. Oil has to do what oil is supposed to do. If we make it move and ignore the damage, it'll give you a few exciting minutes and a much bigger repair."
"Then do we need a new one?"
"Maybe. We'll know more after we inspect it properly. That's why I won't promise this is ready to ride just because we hear it run."
Leon accepted that answer with visible disappointment. He had dreamed of the little bike carrying him across empty ground, wind pressing his shirt against his chest. Frank's words reminded him that making an engine speak was only the beginning. The tires were cracked, the fuel tank was unusable, and the brakes had not been inspected. Even if the machine came alive on Friday, there would be more waiting ahead.
Frank took over the stubborn mechanical work. He set up the tools he trusted for this kind of repair, checked the material condition, and kept Leon on the far side of the bench while the most demanding procedures were performed. The shop's ventilation fan rattled steadily overhead. Frank talked through his decisions in ordinary language, explaining why sudden force could destroy a part that patient work might save. Leon listened and asked questions until Frank told him he had enough questions to run his own school.
"Would you send me?" Leon asked.
Frank glanced up. "To what?"
"A school where they teach this."
The mechanic paused. He had been prepared to make a joke, but the boy's expression stopped him. "If that's what you want when you're older, there are places to learn. Technical schools. Apprenticeships. People who know things and get paid to teach them."
Leon stared at the metal assembly. "Do they let kids like me go?"
Frank set down the tool in his hand. "What kind of kid are you supposed to be?"
"From Whispering Pines. With old shoes." Leon said it as though he were listing facts from a school enrollment form. "Kids at school say we don't get to be engineers. They say we work at the gas station."