Present Perfect(7)

“Tweet, don’t worry about it. Really. I can still practice my tricks. Your mom will let you ride to my house soon. You’re riding really good now.”

Soon, but not soon enough to suit me. I had an itch that needed to be scratched.

I rode up beside him keeping my voice low. “Let’s do it.”

“Do what?” He asked confused.

“Let’s take these babies for a spin around the block to your house.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Your mom will be mad and we’ll get in trouble.”

“She’ll never know. We’ll only go one time and then, come right back. Pleeease, Noah. You said I was riding really good.”

He looked away then back at me and said, “We’ll ride to my house then back, but that’s it.” I nodded excitedly, agreeing with anything that came out of his mouth. “One time. I mean it, Tweet. Promise me.”

“I promise,” I said, crossing my heart at the same time.

We made sure my mom wasn’t peering out of any windows. Then we started to ride. It felt the same way it had for the past two weeks, until we went past the Porter’s house. The excitement started to build. I was really doing this.

Adrenalin pumped through my veins as my heart pounded against my chest. Noah stayed ahead of me, making sure the road was clear. We rounded the corner. The wind was whipping through my hair. It felt amazing, like I was flying.

Noah rode up alongside me cheering. “You’re doing fantastic. Tweet! We’re almost to my house.”

He rode off, returning to his position in front. It made me so happy to know Noah was proud of me, there was no better feeling in the world. Then it happened.

I don’t know what I did, but all of a sudden the handlebars shook, and I lost control of the bike. In a split second, I was face down on the road. My legs twisted around the bike. Noah must have glanced back and saw that I was no longer behind him.

I heard him yelling, “Tweet!”

He rode over to me as fast as he could, jumped off his bike, and let it fall to the ground. The palm of my hands started to burn, and I could feel the blood dripping down my left leg.

I heard Noah’s panicked voice. “Hold on, Tweet. I’m here. Can you move?”

He pulled the bike slowly away from my knotted legs and tossed it to the side. He knelt beside me and helped me sit up. Tears and sobs started coming out of me. My hands felt like they were on fire. I held them up as Noah blew on them, trying to cool them off. My left cheek was red and covered with dirt and gravel. Taking the bottom of his shirt, he wiped as much of it off as he could. My left knee was the worse casualty. The skin was completely scraped off and hanging to the side. The knee was covered in bright red flesh with blood oozing from it. When I looked at it, I started to cry harder. Noah wrapped his arm around my shoulders, trying to calm me down.

Pulling me into a hug, he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Tweet. I should have stayed with you. I’m going to take care of you. I promise. Can you walk?”

He helped me try to stand. I put my weight on the left knee, pain shot through me like a knife, and my knee gave out.

It was hard getting the words out through my sobs. “I can’t walk. It hurts too much.”

Needing to get out of the street, Noah helped me as I limped to a neighbor’s front yard and sat on the grass.

“Will you be okay here while I go get your mom?”

I shook my head rapidly. “No, no, no, you can’t tell my mom. Please, Noah. She’ll take my bike away and ground me forever.” I held my breath, waiting anxiously while he made his decision.

The next thing I knew, I felt his left arm under my knees, his right arm against my back as he scooped me up off the ground. “Grab around my neck.”

I did as he said. I rested my head on his shoulder as Noah carried me down the street. “I’m not too heavy for you to carry me?” I asked. I was still a lot smaller than Noah, but I had grown a little taller over the past year.

“You’re light as a feather,” he said, smiling at me.

“Where are we going?”

“To my house, we have a first aid kit.”

Noah’s parents were out back doing yard work, so we were able to sneak into his room, unnoticed. He gently sat me down on his bed and left to get the first aid kit.

As I sat waiting for Noah to return a million thoughts ran across my mind about how my mom was going to punish me if she or my dad found out. The sound of the bedroom door opening distracted me from my thoughts of impending doom. Noah closed the door quietly and sat down on the bed in front of me. He stared down at my knee. When he looked up, his eyes appeared watery. He leaned in and draped his arms around my shoulders as mine found their way around his waist.

“Thank you, Noah,” I whispered.

“For what?” He said into my hair.

“For taking care of me.”

Wiping his eyes, he sat back on the bed, and began to gently clean my face with an antiseptic wipe. As the alcohol hit my raw skin, I winced in pain. I saw Noah cringe each time he started to wipe my face.

“I promise, I won’t let anything bad happen to you again, Tweet”

I gave him a small smile. He opened another wipe and cleaned my hands and knee, trying hard not to hurt me.

Once he finished, my face and hands didn’t look bad at all. A lot of the redness and burning had gone away. My knee was the worse injury. Noah gently applied antiseptic ointment and a large Band-Aid. I stayed in his room while he left to put the first aid kit back. It felt like a lot of time had passed before he returned. Finally, the door opened and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Where’ve you been? You were gone for like an hour.”