You paid to ride a bike that goes nowhere. I checked. The wheel spins and spins and the room stays the same room. When I got my bike, the one with the tassels, the whole point was to go. Down the big hill by the Petersons', so fast my eyes watered, so fast Mom yelled to slow down and I pretended not to hear. Where are you trying to get to in the dark like this?
The lady up front is yelling but she's not mad. And you're smiling even though your face is doing the crying-shape. That part I don't understand yet.
But here's the thing. You're still doing it. You still get on the bike. You still push the pedals until your legs shake and your heart goes so loud you can hear it, which was always the best part, the loud heart, I forgot until just now that you know that too.
You still want to go fast. You just do it in a room now, with the lights low, next to strangers, all of you pedaling toward the same nowhere as hard as you can.
I thought you'd stop. Everyone said the growing-up would take the fast out of you. Did you hide it somewhere? Is that what this is, is this where you keep it?
You can still hear your heart.
That's all I really wanted to know.