Free This Journal Belongs to Ratchet by Nancy J. Cavanaugh

Mom,” Hunter groaned.
    As I walked home leaving a trail of water on the sidewalk, all I could think was I hope it’s exactly how you treat a girl if you want her to be your friend.

WRITING EXERCISE: Life Events Journal
    Dad had not only agreed to let the boys work in our garage, but he said he’d help them when he had time. I thought working with Dad again would help soothe my guilt, but the first thing Dad did when the boys got there was hold up his bandaged hand. I couldn’t look at anybody.
    â€œDoesn’t matter how good you are with the tools or how much you know about engines. What really matters?”
    The boys all mumbled the word “safety” because the safety rules were the first thing Dad had taught them, and now thanks to me, he had a great excuse to review them.
    â€œAccidents like this can happen to anyone, anywhere, anytime.”
    As Dad told the story of me “accidentally” lowering the jack too fast, I felt as if the weight of a semitrailer truck filled with the heaviest load it could possibly carry inched closer and closer to my chest getting ready to crush my soul.

WRITING EXERCISE: Life Events Journal
    Today out in the driveway, Dad had all the boys in class try to start their engines. Everyone’s engine worked except Hunter’s. I didn’t know why his wasn’t working because I’d helped him with so much of it. Hunter tried and tried and tried. After the sixth time, he mumbled, “I gotta go,” and walked down the street toward home. I wondered if he was crying again. I couldn’t run after him. I wanted to. But I didn’t know if Hunter wanted me to. I didn’t even know if Hunter thought we were friends. And even if he did, I didn’t know if he wanted anyone else to know.
    If Dad were clued into more than just global warming, he might have realized that I would want to go after Hunter. But, since Dad’s head is always somewhere in the disappearing ozone layer, he told Jason to go get him, and I missed my chance.
    Jason came back by himself. He told Dad that Hunter just wanted to go home. So while the rest of the kids high-fived one another about their engines working, Hunter walked home by himself probably feeling like a failure. I wanted to find a way to make him feel better. Because I didn’t want to fail as a friend.
    If Mom were here I could ask her what I should do.
    These are the kinds of things moms know.
    Instead I sat wondering if Hunter even wanted my help.

WRITING EXERCISES: Life Events Journal
    I didn’t have to wonder very long about Hunter. He came back after all the boys left. He told Dad and me that the other day when I’d helped him in his garage, he had been so excited about getting his engine together that after I left, he took the whole thing apart again so that he could put it back together by himself. Obviously Hunter hadn’t learned very much because his engine was a mess.
    When we looked at it together, I couldn’t believe how many things were wrong. He hadn’t even lined up the timing marks on the camshaft. There’s no way an engine will run if you forget to do this. How could he have missed that? He also had the oil rings and one compression ring in the wrong place. Half the things he did didn’t even make any sense.
    â€œWell, I’ve got some phone calls to make,” Dad said. “So Ratchet will have to help you.”
    And Dad went inside, leaving me with Hunter and his messed-up small engine. Maybe Dad’s head wasn’t as far up in the ozone layer as I thought.
    At first Hunter was real quiet, and the only sound was Dad’s oldies station playing in the background. I think Hunter was embarrassed about needing so much help again, but by the time we got the engine apart and were ready to put it back together again, Hunter seemed to be in a better mood. And by the time we were putting in the spark plug, we were singing to the radio.
    Hunter