CHAPTER 13
Am I coming?
Aargh.
Of course, I’m coming. Who could not come after a build-up like that?
I walk over and snatch the helmet from him.
But I don’t take the hand he holds out to help me onto the bike. I get on the back of his motorcycle by myself, refusing to acknowledge him. Or the decision I just made. Even after he climbs on, and it’s time for me to hold tight again.
He doesn’t put on a helmet himself. Just turns on the motorcycle and sends us roaring up the trailer town’s center road.
Riding on the back of his bike isn’t as bad this time, I have to admit. It’s been almost two weeks since Delaware, and I’m no longer sore and bruised. So I can enjoy the rush of sailing through town on a motorcycle. If I were in a better, less self-chastising mood, I might even call the ri
