The bicycle I received on my sixth birthday was by far my favorite present I had ever gotten.  It was pink and white with a banana seat big enough for my sister and I to get to the park easily and quickly.  I had secretly named my bike Lady and when Sarah started calling her Gertrude, I promptly intervened.  I couldn’t imagine riding a bike named Gertrude as I didn’t want to be seen as the old lady of the street. 

On the first day of my sixth summer, I was up with the sun. I couldn’t wait to see where and how far Lady could take Collette and I. We had been planning for weeks on where we would go and what candy we would buy with all the nickels, dimes and quarters we had been saving. We picked up every bit of loose change on our way to and from school and saved it in an old coffee can we had found at our grandfather’s house. As I made my way to the kitchen, I noticed the back down slightly ajar. 

Had somebody left? Or had somebody come in? I tiptoed toward the door only to see my younger sister crashing my brand-new bike into the fence. As the front wheel twisted sideways, I began to scream. My plans. My summer. Our friendship. Could they be saved after such a disaster? 


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