The Great Bike Rescue by Hazel Hutchins Page B

stolen bikes?” said the city workers with the garbage truck. “People are crazy not to lock things up.”
    I wasn’t crazy!
    â€œIf it’s not locked…” said the guy at the gas station. His name was AJ, or at least that’s what was written on his shirt. He finished the statement with a what-do-you-expect kind of shrug. But then he looked sympathetic and added, “I’ll keep an eye open for it. I see a lot of things from this corner.”
    After AJ, we saw the perfect sisters. They aren’t really sisters, but they dress alike, talk alike and always do what they’re supposed to. Even their bikes are the same.
    â€œWatch out if you’re headed to the corner store,” Riley called to them. “Levi’s bike just got stolen!”
    In unison, they swerved across the street toward us. Synchro-biking. Maybe it could be a new sport.
    â€œWas it locked?” they asked together.
    â€œI was only inside for a minute,” I said. “It was the middle of the day. It was right in front of the store.”
    â€œWe always lock our bikes,” said Julia.
    â€œNo matter how long we’re going to be,” said May.
    â€œOr where we leave them,” said Julia.
    Of course they did. They were the perfect sisters. They smiled at each other and pedaled away, side by side.
    It was the first question Riley’s mom asked too. Except Riley’s mom is really nice and her very next words were, “Sorry, Levi. No matter how it happened, I know how much you and Riley like your bikes. You must feel awful.”
    She was right. I do like my bike. Riley and I have all kinds of adventures on our bikes. I did feel awful.
    Besides his great mom, Riley also has a dad, a little sister, an older brother and a bunch of cousins that come and go. Usually I liked to stay at Riley’s house for a while. But I knew it was time to go home and tell Dad. Telling Dad was going to be the hard part.
    My dad doesn’t yell or shout—he’s not that kind of dad. But he’s big on responsibility. It’s one of a whole list of things he says Mom would have wanted me to learn. Locking up my bike was the responsible thing I was supposed to do. I couldn’t even argue with him about whether or not that kind of stuff was important to Mom. My mom died when I was too little to remember. I guess you already know the first thing he asked.
    â€œWas it locked?”
    I could feel the word yes forming on my lips. If I asked Riley to go along with it, Dad might never find out!
    But I didn’t lie. I shook my head no.
    Adults always say that it’s best to tell the truth. I’m not so sure. Dad was even more disappointed than I’d expected. He looked tired and he looked discouraged. He poured himself a cup of coffee. He goes through a lot of coffee these days. He is trying to work from home because I’m too old for a babysitter, but he doesn’t want me on my own all summer either. Responsible kid, responsible parent. I’m not sure it is working out.
    â€œI know,” I said. “I should have locked it.”
    â€œLocked or unlocked, it needs to be reported to the police,” he said. “Give me a few minutes to finish what I’m doing. We’ll take the car.”
    As we drove, I looked hard out the window, trying to see through fences and behind trees just in case I saw my bike. I didn’t.
    If you’ve ever thought that a police station might be a fun place to visit, forget it. Cameras watched us walk from the parking lot to the door. We had to ring an intercom buzzer and ask to come in. The door was made of heavy metal—really heavy, as in bulletproof. It closed behind us with a loud metallic click . Yup. First we’d been locked out. Now we were locked in. Visiting the police station makes you feel like a criminal.
    A uniformed officer was doing paperwork behind a tall counter. For a moment, I thought things might be