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“You can’t ride it.”
“Do I look like an idiot to you? Wait don’t answer that. I know I can’t get on it. I’m going to wheel it.”
“Hmpf. Have you ever pushed a bike with two flat tires?”
“You might find this hard to believe, but I’m not so deeply unpopular that I’ve ever had both my tires slashed before. In fact, I’ve never even had one tire slashed, let alone two. So no, I have not.”
“It’s hard, believe me. Not only that, but it will damage the rims too, so you’ll have to replace them as well as the tires.”
“Well I can’t levitate it back to the dorm, and I’m not leaving Hetty here to get even more fucked up, so it is what it is.
“Hetty?”
“My bike. That’s what I named her.” Of course she did. “If I inflict more damage on it, then so be it. I’m shit out of options right now.”
“No you’re not. I’ll carry it for you.”
“What? Have you ridden one of these things before? They’re heavy as shit.”
She was right; as a rule, those old school bikes were overly heavy, as far as bikes were concerned. Not to mention pretentious as fuck. It made no sense to me that something that cost the same as a small car looked that good, but was barely useable. All form, no function. They were really only an option around the college because it was totally flat. A big hill on one of those things would defeat most people.
Sure, they were heavy as bikes went—if I was the type to ride around the place, I’d go for a fast and light all-terrain model—but they were nothing compared to what I benched every day.
“You can’t ju—”
“The sooner you realize that those words are a literal invitation for me to do whatever it is you think I can’t or shouldn’t do, the easier your life will be.”
I picked up the bike and threw it over my shoulder like it was a man bag, and started toward Honey’s dorm while she stood at the bottom of the stairs, seemingly frozen in shock.
“Are you just going to stand there gawking, and leave me walking around with a pink bike on my arm like a fucking purse, or are you coming with me? My genitals aren’t going to wait forever, remember?” I made sure to boom the word genitals again. She was totally going to regret ever trying to silence me the way she had. I gave zero fucks about the attention I was drawing, either with the bike, or with my language. After her outburst in the cafeteria, I was bound to be trending on Wildfire—Heathcote’s own internal social media network. I figured I might as well give people something to really talk about.
“Come on, or else I can’t guarantee I won’t get jack of carrying this thing and just dump it in the lake.” Actually, that sounded like a great idea. Clearly, she believed I would do what I said, as she trotted after me, catching up a few moments later.
“God, even when you’re doing me a solid, you still find a way to be a douche about it.”
“What can I say, baby, it’s a God-given talent. You’re either born with it or you’re not.”
“Don’t call me Baby, my name’s Honey.”
“Which really isn’t that different.”
“I suppose not. Just like Bear and Moose are essentially the same.” Ha! I had to hand it to her, that was actually funny.
“What’s with that, anyway? Honey I mean. It’s your real name, right? Honey Estelle St George.”
“Now who’s been doing their research?”
“What can I say? I like to know who I’m dealing with—in sport, in business, and in bed. And you didn’t answer the question.”
“Because there wasn’t one.”
“Sure there was. What’s the story behind your name?”
“The short version is that my parents had hippyish tendencies.”
“And the long version?” I glanced at her as I spoke, noting her reaction. She stiffened, staring straight ahead.
“The long version is none of your damned business.”
