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Maya Bishop was stubborn. From around age 8, you could tell that the petite blonde girl was an independent soul. She walked the school hallways with an air of confidence and could with just one pointed look make any boy cower, for even thinking of messing with her. She wasn’t popular by any means but for the most part everyone knew who she was and left her alone, all through high school too.
At home it was a different story. At home she was as quiet as a mouse. Walking around in socks so that no sound can make her presence known. When she made herself lunch it would always be something that didn’t require utensils. She took extra time closing and opening doors as soundlessly as she could. If not for dinner, no one in the house would know she even existed. But sometimes Maya’s smart mouth gets her into trouble.
Dinner was a quiet affair in the Bishop household, her mom not really showing much of any interest in what's happening around her, which is why the food she made was probably always so colourless and bland. Her dad always just wanted to know how track was going and if she was training enough to beat her competitors. Beyond that, conversation was nonexistent, their house always pindrop silent.
She would never forget the day she met the Herrera family, never could have known that they would become more her family than her own blood. On this fateful night, Maya aged 13, made the mistake of letting her stubborn nature show, and to none other than her father. She could blame school or her stupid teen peers, but really she was just being stubborn.
“How’s training going?” Lane gruffs not making eye contact with his daughter, just continues to chew aggressively.
“It’s going.” Maya says without thinking. Her body freezes knowing she messed up. The atmosphere that was already charged and uncomfortable, which was a constant in their house, changed to an absolute blizzard in a split second.
“I mean, it’s going well, sir.” Maya quickly tried to correct, but it was too late.
Maya’s father wasn’t one to show his rage immediately. It’s a rage that simmered for a few seconds, until it reached a boiling point and that is when he would strike. Not physically but with words, because words are much more impactful. Words can have a crippling effect and he knew that all too well.
“ Well , you say?” He has a sinister smirk on his face. Maya swallows the last of the mashed potatoes down her dry throat and gently lowers her fork to the plate, her hands starting to sweat and having lost her appetite completely now.
“Yes.”
He looks at her sharply.
“Yes, sir.” She corrects.
“What does well mean exactly?” He gives Maya his full attention, she cowers at his piercing blue eyes that are so much like her own, but she defiantly keeps his eye contact.
“I don’t know, good, I guess.”
“Oh, so is it good or is it well ?”
“Isn’t it the same thing?” Shit.
The silence was deafening and Maya didn’t dare say anything else. When he doesn’t respond with anything himself after a couple of minutes, Maya relaxes somewhat, reaching for her fork and scooping up another forkful of peas. The fork, plate and peas in front of her all disappear and fly against the wall beside her to which she and her mother both jumped at as porcelain and silver stain the wall. The action was sudden and so violent that they both froze in place after the eventual crashing to the floor.
The physical violence was new, which was also a shock to the system and caused goosebumps to break out over Maya’s entire body. She backed away as far as she could from her dad’s side looking at him with wide, fearful eyes, heart beating rapidly. Exactly what he wanted, to instil fear inside of her.
“You see, the difference between good and well makes a world of difference, Maya. Doing something well implies that you’re not trying all that much whereas being good at something show’s you’re putting some effort into it but not enough. What you need to be striving for is excellence. You need to be great. Nothing else should matter. There shouldn’t be words like good and well in your vocabulary.” Each word he spoke was laced with venom and had a sinister effect.
“You should be focused on that, eyes forward. What did I teach you?” He waits for Maya to answer.
“Yes, sir.” Her voice trembles.
“No! What did I teach you?”
“Eyes forward at all times.”
“And?”
“Never look back.”
“And?”
Maya didn’t know what else he wanted answered.
“And?” He voices louder.
“See, this is what I mean! You only half listen. You’re not focused enough. You’re distracted. What is it, boys? Why are you so distracted?”
Maya wants to shout that she doesn’t want to run competitively anymore, she wants to yell at the top of her lungs that she hates running. She despises the fact that she can’t form a camaraderie with her teammates, that they’ve isolated her and she hates that they talk behind her back. She just absolutely doesn’t see the point of running for a living or for any reason. She won’t be able to do it forever anyway, so why waste time and effort now when it will all just come to an end.
When she still doesn’t answer, her dad slams his palm flat on the table, making her jump again at the display of aggression.
“I don’t want to do track anymore.” She finds the courage from somewhere, knowing she will regret it, but she was so done with pretending.
“What?” His eyes flash red.
“I’m done with the track team.”
“The hell you are.”
Maya moves to stand, also very much done with the conversation, defying her dad one more time. Lane grabs her around her arm pulling her back down, but she rips her arms free and feels the sting of the slap even before she sees it happening.
Her hand flies up to cover the side of her face but she hisses at the pain radiating through her cheek and bouncing around her skull. No one was saying or doing anything. Her mother looked shocked too but never once tried to reach out to her. Tears sting at the side of eyes and she does the thing she hates the most. She runs. Out of the house and into the darkened suburban street. No one even bothering to follow her.
The short distance she ran was enough to make her heave with exertion. Tears started to roll down her face. With a deep breath she looked in a direction and started running again. Where, she didn’t know, just that she needed to get away. Around the last bend at the end of their street, a car honked for her to watch where she was going and with that she tripped over the curb, colliding with the cement of someone’s driveway, face first.
Her hands shoot out, stopping her from slamming her head on the concrete, but nothing could be done for the rest of her body. She takes a moment to just lay there, not wanting to take stock of her injuries yet, if any.
“That was quite an impressive fall.” heavy duty safety boots come into her periphery and she looks up at the shadowed figure.
“Thank you?” she says moving to stand, but winces at the sting coming from her knee and ankle.
“Here.” The man reaches down for her to take his hand, but she ignores it and stands up on her own.
“Resilient. I like it.” He says but Maya didn’t need his approval, whoever he may be.
“Let’s take a look at that knee, shall we?” He walks up the driveway whether she followed or not.
“I don’t know you. What makes you think I’ll follow you that blindly?”
“Vigilant, another good trait.” He walks back down the driveway, stopping a few feet from Maya.
He extends his hand in introduction, “Herrera. Pruitt Herrera. I’m a firefighter and first responder.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. You could be a serial killer too. You’d just be better at hiding the body probably.”
He chuckles at her wit, “Funny too I see.”
Maya just folds her arms not making any moves.
“We can sit right there in front of my garage where everyone can still see you.”
For some reason Maya did trust the older short man. He had an honest face. He again started making his way up the driveway, flipping a bucket right next to his car that had its hood open, and motions for her to sit.
She sighs and gingerly wobbles over and sits on the bucket, looking at the car next to her, clearly under some kind of rebuilding stage.
“What car is that?” She surprises herself by asking.
“Oh, you like cars?”
She lifts her shoulder, not really sure. Just that she was curious what he was doing with the car.
He saunters over with a first aid kit, kneeling down beside her and inspects her knee before asking for permission to touch her. She nods and he positions his glasses on his nose for a better look.
“It’s a Ford Mustang ‘67.”
“What’re you doing with it?”
“Rebuilding it?”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m replacing all of the older parts with new ones and giving it a new paint job.”
“And then when that’s finished, what will you do with it?”
“Drive it.”
“So all that work just for you to drive it?”
“It’s more the principle of it. The discipline of finishing something from scratch and to accomplish something you put your hard-earned sweat and tears into.”
Maya was thinking about it. She was intrigued.
“All done. Looks like it’s just a scratch to the knee, but you need to stay off the ankle for a bit, just in case you sprained it.”
“Yes sir.” Maya says standing. She hovers near the car, peaking into the open hood, curious about the inner workings of the car.
“I’m currently fixing the timing chain.” He offers without her having to ask.
“What does that do?”
“So the timing chain is an integral part of the engine. It synchronises the rotation of the crankshaft and camshaft in the engine's lower and higher portions.”
All of that sounded foreign to her. The older man smirked, seeing her confusion.
“It essentially allows the engine's inlet and outflow valves to open and close at precisely predetermined intervals during each round of the engine.”
Still all meaning nothing to her. But she loved the idea of knowing how everything is connected and working together.
“If you’re interested, I can teach you some of this stuff?”
“I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”
“Don’t be silly. You know where I live now, so come over any time.”
“Thank you Mr. Herrera. I’m Maya. Maya Bishop. I live just up the street.”
“Nice to meet you Maya Bishop from just up the street.”
She smiles at the man, already knowing she likes him.
“ Papà , dinner is ready.”
“Andrea! Come meet a new friend.” He waves over at the girl almost the same age as her.
“ Mija , this is Maya Bishop from just up the road. Maya, this is my daughter, Andrea.”
“Hi, and it’s Andy.” She rolls her eyes at her dad.
“Hi Andy, Maya.” They shake hands, and Maya can already tell she likes Andy too.
“So,” he claps his hands together in glee, “you want to learn about cars or what?”
Maya nods. Yes, yes she does.