Myths And Facts About Boys That Every Girl Should Know [#1]

Myth 1: All Boys Understand and Can Fix Motor Engines

Fact: This not being true doesn’t stop them being jerks about it.

xxx

Brrrmm

Oh, no. Not this morning, please God, I’ll do anything.

Brrrmmm

“No, please just stop now, I can still go back…” I whimpered into my pillow where it was stuffed up around my ears.

BRRRRMMMMMM BRM BRM BRM BRRM

“Aaaaargh, whyyyyy? Why now, why this morning? And why aren’t you helping??” I again pleaded with my pillow, but it remained silent and unsympathetic, not even bothering to muffle the noises of my idiot neighbour’s exhaust properly.

I rolled over again, contemplating going and getting earplugs for the remaining hour I was allowed to sleep before school. But that meant getting up and putting me feet on the cold floor. Which would just make it harder to go back to sleep.

Or, I could just get up and actually go for a run for once. Which will hurt.

Oh, decisions.

Sleep… or exercise. Both are good for me… but, I realised as the excessively loud engine of That Stupid Rev-head Loser Next Door (AKA, my nemesis, Isaac Harlow. Ike to his friends, of whom I am certainly not one) idled louder than my car revs, only one was going to be possible. I cursed him for about the thirty-sixth time that morning and slid out of bed. Exercise it is.

I tried rubbing the sleep off my face as I stumbled into the bathroom but it didn’t seem to do much good. Looking blearily into the mirror to try and flatten my auburn, black streaked hair didn’t do much good either. It still stuck up at weird angles anyway.

Once I was done in there the next hurdle presented itself. Clothes. I opened my too-small wardrobe and managed to spill all my clothes onto the floor in the hunt for tracksuit pants and a long sleeved shirt. Curse it. I ignored the pile, pulling the clothes on anyway, before grabbing my runners and hoodie to complete.

No, not complete. There was something missing. I wracked my half-asleep brain for the answer but nothing came. That damn engine was still there in the background. I wondered how the rest of my family could even still be asleep. I mean, I guess my brother does sleep with his iPod in, somehow -

Wait. Of course! My iPod! How could I even forget it? And there is was, sitting all innocently on the desk, waiting for me. I wrapped the headphones over my neck, hitting Shuffle on the way out of the house.

Forgive Me – City and Colour.

No, too quiet and slightly depressing.

Can’t Catch Tomorrow (Good Shoes Won’t Save You This Time) – Lostprophets.

Mmm, noo, too boppy. I’m running, not happy.

Nymphetamine – Cradle Of Filth. Augh! No, too loud! Too loud!!

I hit it one more time. End of the Line – Devildriver.

Ah, much better. The perfect blend of heavy pump-up and rhythm.

In went the headphones and out the door went I. I turned by usual way – that is, away from Stupid Rev-head Loser’s house – only to walk straight into a sprinkler.

I spluttered. Curse this half-awake state! I did an about face, wiping myself down with my hands, and noticed none other than Stupid Rev-head himself, snickering at me from the driver’s seat of his Stupid Rev-head car.

“Shut up, Harlow.” I muttered, looking for any possible route except for the one which led directly in front of the hood of his car. There wasn’t one. Damn.

I started to walk along the footpath, waiting for the inevitable, and wasn’t disappointed. Just as the heavier part of the one-and-a-half-minute introduction started, I got a nudge and a roar from the front end of his damn car and almost fell over. I slammed my hand down on the hood in order to keep my balance and his laughter abruptly stopped.

“Hands off the merchandise, Kitty. You might chip the paint with your claws,” he mocked. One more rev and he peeled out, almost taking my arm out with the side mirror at the same time.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t try and run me over with it I wouldn’t have to!” I screamed after him, but I knew he wouldn’t hear. His music is almost as loud as his motor.

With a frustrated half-yawn, half growl, I turned around again and set off, settling into a familiar pace. Inhale, two, three, four, exhale, two, three, four. The concrete thudded under me, the music filling my ears. It wouldn’t even be that bad, I reasoned, if he wasn’t so damn good looking as well. Or if he didn’t live near me. Or if he didn’t enjoy mercilessly tormenting me at every chance he go- goddamnit. It still seemed like that stupid car was following me.

I looked up for a second but saw nothing which looked like the right car. I put my head down again.

And there it was, that same engine rumbling. I looked up again, spun around and discovered I wasn’t going insane. There he was, following me. Great.

I stopped. “What, come to finish what you failed and run me over?”

He leant over to yell out the window but was cut off by the sound of his car keeling over and dying. It just suddenly stalled and spluttered to a stop.

“What? What the hell just happened?” he almost-shouted, hitting the steering wheel. Forgetting me, he swung out of the driver’s seat and opened the hood of the car. I snickered. Something was smoking but I couldn’t tell what. Oh, well. Not my problem.

I started off again, annoyed that he interrupted my rhythm but delighted nonetheless. I managed to do a circle of a couple of streets further on, as well as a few laps of the local playing oval. I was on my way back down the same street when I saw a familiar car, hood still up and a very frustrated looking Isaac Harlow leaning against it with his hands in his hair. Ha. Karma strikes again, this time with good taste.

“Not still having engine trouble? What a terrible shame,” I mock-sympathised at him as I walked up. I stopped to get a better look. A frustrated enemy, I thought to myself, really is a beautiful sight.

“Shut your meowing trap, kitty-cat.” He tried for scathing but it just came out tired.

“Want me to take a look?” I asked, still mockingly sympathetic.

“Yeah, right. Like you, a girl, would know more about my car than I do,” he said scornfully, which just made me angry. I hate, hate, hate, boys who think girls don’t know anything about anything useful, like cars.

“Bet you I do.”

“As if.”

“No, seriously. And if I’m right, you owe me.”

He smiled condescendingly. “Alright then. Come have a look, see if you can fix it. And if you can, I’ll… I don’t know. Mow your lawn for a month.”

It was my turn to smile. “Done.” I hate mowing the lawn. I don’t even know why it’s even my chore in the first place. Stupid parents and their lax gender stereotyping. I walked up to his car and took a look at the engine.

“Ok, let’s see…” I murmured, taking a good look at the inside. “Will it start?” I asked Harlow, still leaning against his car.

“If it did, do you think I’d still be here answering your dumb questions?”

I half-smiled. “Touché. Do you think you could get in and try for me anyway?”

Isaac made a huge show of sighing and pushing off the car to get in the driver’s seat. He turned the key but nothing but clicks came from the engine.

“Do it again.” I ordered.

He turned the key in the ignition but still only clicks came on. I had a look down at the battery, and found that one or two of the connectors was in a weird position and wasn’t ‘connecting’ properly at all. That was why the battery and starter motor weren’t firing the engine properly. I had no idea what made it break down but I thought I could fix the current problem. In fact, the ‘current problem’ was so simple I was surprised its owner couldn’t deal with it. He may be annoying but I thought he had more brains than that. Goes to show, I guess.

“Have you got a rag or something I can use? I don’t want to break a nail.” I said sarcastically. Technically I should have gloves and glasses if I were messing around with the battery but I was fairly sure those weren’t in the boot.

Surprisingly there was no sardonic retort, and he just handed me a dirty rag. I readjusted the battery cables and made sure it was all connected properly before motioning him to try starting the car again.

Again, there were a couple of clicks, but this time the engine cranked properly. Heartened, I indicated for him to try again and this time it not only cranked but fired as well. His car began to rumble along almost normally.

I looked up triumphantly. Isaac was staring at me with his mouth open. “Fixed it,” I said in a sing-song voice. “You can go home now. Oh, and then you can mow our lawn.”

“How – how did you do that?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“It was just the battery connectors. Don’t you know anything? My six-year old brother could fix that.” I replied, puzzled. "Well, he could if he was allowed to touch our car battery, that is," I corrected. Shouldn’t stupid Rev-heads know stuff about their cars? Wasn’t that the definition of a Rev-head?

“Yeah, well, whatever. I would’ve figured it out eventually.”

“Uh huh. Sure. You can tell yourself that while you’re pushing our lawn mower up and down and up and down our front lawn.” I said, pulling my sleeves down over my hands again and crossing my arms.

“What? You can’t seriously think I meant it. I was just saying it ‘cause I thought you couldn’t do it!” he said with a scornful smirk. “There’s no way I’m mowing your lawn.”

“What?! You said you would! You can’t welsh on a bet! That’s cheating!” I protested incredulously.

“I had my fingers crossed.”

“You – you can’t DO that!”

“Can too”

“No you CAN’T!”

“Yes I CAN!”

“CanNOT!”

“Can TOO!”

“No, you can’t. You made a deal and if you don’t stick to it I’ll just reverse what I did to fix your car and then you’ll be stranded. Again.”

“Pfft, you wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Harlow paused and stared at me, not saying anything. Maybe there was something on my face. That would be just like me, to rise from under an engine hood with a grease streak to rival Snape’s on my forehead. I surreptitiously wiped my sleeved-hand over my forehead, but it didn’t seem to make a noticeable difference.

“I’m not bluffing.” I said, but he just kept staring. I tried getting a sneak look in a nearby reflective surface but it didn’t do any good. “Ugh, stop it. Just mow it once and I’ll be happy.”

He snapped out of it and appeared to think for a moment.

“Now there’s an expression I’ve never seen before.” I smirked.

“Shut up. Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Great,” I smiled, victorious. “Try not to let our mower break down while you’re at it.”

“Oh, wow, really funny. Not,” he deadpanned, getting in the car. Which was now running, thanks to yours truly. He spun the dial on the sound system and Machine Head started blaring, the bass in the back end of the car vibrating.

“Nice of you to offer me a lift, too!” I tried saying over the music from where I was on the street, but he didn’t hear me, choosing instead to once again peel away and roar down the street.

If only he wasn't so freaking hot.

Fact: Guys may not understand how a girl or their car works but it doesn’t stop them revving the hell out of them.