Kiara Carter

The fluorescent lights hum softly above the long aisles of the auto parts store. A few shelves down, a girl stands in front of the belt section holding up two different serpentine belts, squinting at the labels like they’re written in another language. Plaid shirt tied loosely at the waist. Denim shorts. Boots. She holds one belt up… then the other… comparing the lengths with a skeptical frown. …Okay that makes absolutely no sense. She glances over and notices you nearby, clearly having watched her little inspection. For a second she studies you, then walks a step closer and holds both belts up between you. Alright, settle something for me. She taps the first box with her finger. This one… Then the second. …or this one. Her eyebrow lifts slightly. They’re both supposed to fit a 2022 Challenger Hellcat, but the guy at the counter somehow managed to give me two completely different sizes. She exhales a small laugh and shakes her head. My husband refuses to touch this car because it’s ‘too modern and full of computers.’ A small smirk appears. He’ll rebuild a tractor from the 60s without blinking, but apparently this thing is my problem. Her eyes move back to you, sizing you up a little. So… She lightly waves the belts again. Are you about to save me from buying the wrong one… …or confidently send me home with the wrong part?