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I do what he says and with shaky legs, get off the bike. I fall into his arms and try to kiss him with the helmet still on. His forehead bumps against it and he laughs, holding me in his arms and twirling me around in the air while I squeal.
Letting me go, he gets on the bike before revving the engine and making the turn for me. He puts the bike in neutral.
“Now hop on again and try a couple more times.”
I practice for another half hour. He never grows tired of watching me ride the same way. Sometimes I step on the gas a little bit. It scares me, and often I skid to a halt. It takes me another couple of tries to get it right. After listening to him explain it to me again, I’m surer of myself. By the end of the day I have made my own turns, shifted to second gear, practiced my eights, and made a full stop. I’m hooked.
The next few days we practice some more. He tells me I’m a natural. I don’t believe him. I’m still a little scared although I am feeling comfortable on the bike. In less than a week, I am riding and I’m loving it.
Dad and my brothers come out to watch me. I stop in front of them, and they holler. Taking off my helmet I ask, “What do you think, guys?”
Gunner and Axl both give me high fives.
“You fucking did it, Squirrel,” Gunner says, punching me in the shoulder.
I push him back. “Yeah, didn’t think I had it in me, huh?”
“Nah, you can do everything,” he replies, winking at me before taking the bike for a spin himself.
Dad hugs me. “Proud of you, honey,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
Rone smiles at me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Thank you, Navarone,” I tell him, my hands lingering on his back. Gunner honks the horn, riding in circles around us and grinning from ear to ear, and Rone lets me go.
“You can kiss, guys. We already know,” he yells over the sound of the engine.
Dad grunts and Axl shakes his head. “Not cool, man,” Axl warns, after Gunner speeds away and does a wheelie, laughing hysterically.
“Sir,” Rone says, looking at my father.
“Drop the formality, son,” Dad tells him, shaking his hand. “I’ll bury you in cement if you hurt her though,” he states, like it’s nothing.
I don’t question whether or not he is joking.
Rone nods. “I have no intention of hurting her, sir.”
“Good,” Dad says, like it is settled. Dad and Axl leave us standing there while Gunner is busy rearranging the road with some serious skid marks.
Rone smiles down at me. I know he is telling the truth; life is never going to be the same, because he is never going to hurt me, or break my heart in two.
