COME TO CEDARBROOK HIGH EARLY. EVERYONE’S BRINGING THEIR CARS.
I looked toward the yellow bicycle.
School was less than two miles away.
“You think I could ride there?”
Marcus made a face.
“Today?”
“Unless you think I can’t.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You made a face.”
“It was a responsible-parent face.”
I smiled.
“Thought you weren’t my dad.”
The words came automatically.
They were armor.
I had used versions of that sentence for four years whenever Marcus got too close.
But this time—
his smile disappeared.
“Right.”
He turned toward the house.
And suddenly—
the sentence didn’t make me feel protected.
It made me feel cruel.
“Marcus.”
He stopped.
I couldn’t find a proper apology.
So I asked:
“Can you check the brakes again?”
He looked back.
“Already did.”
“Do it again.”
A small smile returned.
“Yes, ma’am.”
THAT AFTERNOON, I RODE TO CEDARBROOK HIGH SCHOOL
Marcus followed behind in his truck.
About half a block back.
The school parking lot looked ridiculous.
Madison’s Jeep.
Tyler’s BMW.
A new SUV with music blasting.
Another car with balloons.
I slowed.
My yellow bicycle suddenly looked tiny.
Marcus stopped his truck at the corner.
He didn’t honk.
Didn’t wave.
Didn’t pressure me.
He simply waited.
I almost turned around.
Then looked down.
Fresh paint.
Polished chrome.
New brakes.
Whitewall tires Marcus had waited two paychecks to afford.
Eleven weeks of nights I had mistaken for abandonment.
I pedaled into the parking lot.
MADISON SAW ME FIRST
“Wait.”
She walked over.
“Is that yours?”
“Yeah.”
She circled it.
“It’s cute.”
I immediately hated the word.
Tyler looked over.
“That’s what you got for turning sixteen?”
A few people glanced at me.
There it was.
The comparison I had been making for weeks.
Jeep.
BMW.
SUV.
Bicycle.
“Yeah.”
Tyler nodded toward it.
“Is it new?”
I looked toward the corner.
Marcus’s truck was gone.
He had only stayed long enough to make sure I arrived safely.
Then—
the words escaped before I could think about them.
“My dad built it.”
NOBODY REACTED
That was the strange part.
Madison just looked at the bicycle again.
Tyler shrugged.
To everyone else—
it was an ordinary sentence.
To me—
it felt enormous.
My dad built it.
Not Marcus.
Not my stepdad.
My dad.
Tyler shrugged.
“I’d still rather have a car.”
I looked at his BMW.
“Did your dad build that?”
He frowned.
“No.”
I put one hand on my bicycle.
“Mine built this.”
Madison ran her fingers along the yellow frame.
“Okay.”
She nodded.
“That is actually pretty cool.”
It was.
Not because the bike was expensive.
It wasn’t.
Marcus had taken something somebody else planned to throw away—
and rebuilt it over eleven weeks.
One paycheck at a time.
Because he had noticed something I had spent years pretending not to want.
