“YOU SPENT ELEVEN WEEKS ON THIS?”
“I could only buy parts a little at a time.”
He touched the tires.
“Had to wait two paychecks for these.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re sixteen.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Why a bicycle?”
Marcus wheeled it outside.
The yellow paint glowed in the morning sun.
Then he said:
“Because somebody should’ve taught you years ago.”
I already knew who he meant.
“My father was supposed to.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
“He left.”
“Yeah.”
“So I missed it.”
Marcus shook his head.
“No.”
I frowned.
“He missed it.”
I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND
Marcus adjusted the seat.
“Teaching you.”
“Running behind you.”
“Watching your face the first time you realize you’re doing it without help.”
He looked directly at me.
“Those were things he missed, Sophie.”
His voice softened.
“Not things you were supposed to lose.”
I looked at the bicycle.
Marcus held out the handlebars.
“You didn’t miss them.”
I swallowed.
“You expect me to learn today?”
“I took the day off.”
I stared.
“You never take days off.”
He shrugged.
“I do when my kid turns sixteen.”
My kid.
Marcus said it so casually that I don’t think he noticed what those two words did to me.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I WAS TERRIFIED
Marcus held the back of the seat.
“Eyes ahead.”
“They are ahead.”
“You’re staring at the front tire.”
“The tire is actively trying to kill me.”
“Pedal.”
I pushed down.
The bicycle moved.
I screamed.
Marcus laughed behind me.
“Keep going!”
We made it maybe twenty feet.
I slammed both shoes to the pavement.
“No.”
“Again.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Again.”
So—
again.
Twenty feet became thirty.
Thirty became half a block.
Once, I rode directly onto Mrs. Palmer’s lawn.
She stood at her window laughing.
By 9:30, Marcus’s shirt was soaked with sweat.
By ten—
I could ride almost the entire length of Hawthorne Street as long as I felt his hand behind me.
That hand became everything.
When I wobbled—
it steadied me.
When I panicked—
Marcus said:
“Look where you want to go.”
I PASSED THE RED MAILBOX
Then the big oak tree.
Then Mrs. Palmer’s driveway.
“I’m doing it!”
“You are!”
I pedaled faster.
“Marcus, look!”
Nothing.
“Marcus?”
I looked back.
He was twenty yards behind me.
Standing in the middle of the street.
Grinning.
I panicked.
Hit the curb.
Landed in somebody’s grass.
Marcus came running.
“You okay?”
“You let go!”
“You were riding!”
“You promised you wouldn’t let go.”
“I promised I wouldn’t let go until you were ready.”
“I was not ready!”
Marcus pointed back down the street.
“You rode half a block.”
“Because I thought you were holding me!”
He smiled.
“Exactly.”
I stared at him.
Then—
started laughing.
Marcus held out one hand.
“Again?”
I took it.
“Again.”
BY NOON, I COULD RIDE ALONE
Then my phone buzzed.
Madison.
