The New Kid

by Karen English

  She puts her sandwich down. Her eyes widen. Instead of jumping up and going in search of their mother to tattle, she asks, “What happened?” She seems genuinely concerned.

  “I forgot my lock. So I couldn’t lock it to the bike rack.” Gavin’s throat starts to ache again, and he feels his eyes filling with tears. He wipes them away quickly.

  “Wow,” she says. She frowns. “That’s tough. Well, I have to let you know, you’re probably going to be in for it. I predict big trouble.”

  Is she trying to make him feel better or worse?

  “You need to think about how you’re going to tell them.” She shakes her head and takes a big bite out of her sandwich.

  When Gavin gets to the top of the stairs, he tiptoes past the guest room, but the floorboard creaks under the carpet. “Is that you, Gavin?” he hears.

  His shoulders slump. “Yes.”

  “Come on in here so I can look at you.”

  Gavin doesn’t know what that means, but he does what GAM says.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks as soon as he’s standing before her.

  “Someone stole my bike.” He says it quickly to get it over with.

  “How did that happen?”

  “I accidentally left my bike lock at home.” He waits for her to fuss at him. But surprisingly, she doesn’t.

  “Oh, my. What did your mother say?”

  Gavin sighs again. “I haven’t told her yet.”

  “Best to get it over with. She’s out in the garden. Go on. She might be very understanding.”

  She might be, but his dad isn’t going to be. He is definitely going to give him a long lecture about responsibility and paying attention to what he is doing and not being careless. It is going to be bad.

  His mother is coming through the back door and taking off her gardening gloves just as Gavin reaches the kitchen. He stops and stands there, looking down.

  “What is it?” his mother asks. “Why are you looking like that?”

  Gavin just continues to hang his head, hoping he’s building up some sympathy in his mother.

  “Spill it,” she says in her no-nonsense voice.

  Somehow it’s harder than spilling it to Aunt Myrtle. He takes in a deep breath and sighs once more. “My bike got stolen.”

  His mother frowns as if she doesn’t fully understand what he just said. “What?”

  “Someone stole my bike,” says Gavin, and then he starts to cry and wipe his eyes at the same time.

  “Sit down,” his mother orders. She tears a paper towel off the roll and hands it to him to dry his tears. “Start at the beginning.”

  He explains that it wasn’t until he got to school that he realized he didn’t have his bike lock, and he thought it would be okay. His bike was there at recess, and he saw it there at lunchtime, too. But after school, it was gone. Someone took it.

  In the middle of his explanation, his mother starts shaking her head. Then she sighs this big sigh and shakes her head some more. “Not good,” she says. “You’re going to have to tell your dad. He’ll be home in about an hour. Right now, go do your homework.”

  At dinner, Danielle is watching him. Gavin can’t tell if she has a pleased look on her face or a sympathetic one. But it doesn’t matter. He decides to just blurt it out. “My bike got stolen,” he says. Then he’s afraid to look at his dad.

  When he finally does, he’s surprised to see a calm look on his father’s face.

  “How did that happen?”

  Gavin tells him just what he told his mother. He watches his father’s eyebrows slowly sink. “Let me get this straight. You forgot your bike lock? How?”

  “Because we were all riding our bikes—Calvin, Richard, Carlos, and me.”

  “And I,” his mother says, correcting him.

  “And I,” Gavin repeats. “So I was kind of excited, and I was concentrating on making sure I had my helmet and that I put it on, and . . .”

  His father holds up a palm.

  “Does he get another bike?” Danielle asks quickly.

  “No, he doesn’t get another bike. At least not anytime soon. However, he can start saving his allowance for one.”

  Gavin frowns. That’s going to take a century.

  “Being without your bike is going to be a nice little reminder to you about the consequences of carelessness,” his father says.

  Gavin looks down.

  “You don’t even need to be punished,” his mother adds. “It’s probably going to be punishment enough to see all your pals with their bikes.”

  “So he doesn’t get put on punishment?” Danielle asks.

  “Is that your business?” GAM asks her with narrowed eyes.

  “No,” Danielle answers in a small voice.

  “Then why don’t you just stick to your own business?” GAM says, and Gavin could just hug her.

  At least his mom drives him to school the next day so he doesn’t have to walk alone and watch his friends ride by. He arrives before Richard, Carlos, and Calvin and goes directly to the bike rack to see if a miracle has occurred during the night and his bicycle is returned and sitting there waiting for him.

  The rack is empty except for this really ugly orange bike that looks as if somebody spray-painted it and did a super-bad job. It’s not even locked up, and Gavin can see why. No one would want that ugly thing anyway.

  He’s still staring at it when his friends pull up like a third-grade motorcycle gang.

  “Whose bike?” Carlos asks, jumping off his own bicycle and rolling it toward the rack. Calvin and Richard are already locking up theirs.

  “Yeah, whose bike?” Calvin asks.

  “Sure is ugly,” Richard says.

  “It looks like it’s been spray-painted,” Calvin adds.

  “But why that ugly orange?” asks Gavin.

  “Kind of looks like your bike, Gavin, if it was silver and blue,” Richard says. “Same extra-wide seat and everything.”

  “That was my mother’s idea,” Gavin informs his friends. “She said in the long run, it would be more comfortable.”

  “Same crisscross spokes, too,” Calvin notes. “Just like yours. Except for the color.”

  Gavin studies it some more. “Yeah,” he says slowly. It does kind of look like his bicycle.

  “Wouldn’t it be funny if that was really your bike and the person who stole it thought that just spray-painting it would fool everyone?” Richard asks.

  Gavin is wondering the same thing. What if that orange bike is really his silver-and-blue bike? Spray-painted orange.

  But before he can say anything, the lineup bell rings and the four of them head toward Room Ten’s designated area.

  For some reason, the picture of the orange bicycle just pops into Gavin’s head during independent reading. There was something about that bike. It kind of looked like a BMX. Like his. Plus, a BMX is a great bike. Why would anyone want to spray-paint it orange unless they were trying to disguise it? Could that bike really be his? No, he decides. He’s just doing some wishful thinking.

  At recess, while his friends run to the foursquare court, Gavin looks over at the bicycle rack. He can see the orange bike, and now he studies it some more. It does have a similar seat. And there are those same spokes. And—it’s definitely a BMX. But the ugly orange color . . . He frowns and turns toward the foursquare court. He notices Khufu sitting on the bench in the lunch area, reading, as usual. Gavin doesn’t understand. Why is Khufu reading a book? Doesn’t he like to play? Maybe that’s what everyone did in genius school. Gavin makes his way over to his friends.

  Later, while they all stand in line waiting for Ms. Shelby-Ortiz, he tells Carlos, who’s standing right behind him, that he plans to find out who owns the orange bike because he’s thinking it just might be . . . his.

  Carlos’s eyes widen. “I’ve been thinkin’ that too. That bike looks just like yours, only spray-painted orange. I mean, for real. But how are you going to do that?” he asks.

  “I’ll figure somethi
ng out.”

  And he does. Just before the dismissal bell rings, Gavin raises his hand and asks to go to the bathroom. He puts a look of urgency on his face and kind of wiggles in his seat.

  “You may go this time,” Ms. Shelby-Ortiz tells him. “But take your backpack with you, since it’s so close to dismissal.” Then she decides to make this a teaching moment. She stands up behind her desk, where she’s been recording their math quiz scores, and says, “Who can tell me what morning recess and lunch recess are for?”

  Sheila Sharpe’s hand shoots up. Ms. Shelby-Ortiz calls on her.

  “Both are so we can get exercise, because kids are getting fatter and fatter because they don’t get enough exercise.”

  A few kids look over at Yolanda, who happens to have a few extra pounds on her. Yolanda frowns a little and looks down at her hands.

  “Yes, we all need exercise, but what else?” Ms. Shelby-Ortiz asks.

  “So we can eat our lunch, and morning recess is for snacks,” calls out Ralph.

  Ms. Shelby-Ortiz sighs because he didn’t raise his hand first, but she seems to let it go. “Yes, and there’s one more thing,” she says.

  Antonia is the only one who raises her hand.

  “Antonia?” Ms. Shelby-Ortiz says.

  “It’s also for taking care of our restroom needs.”

  “You are so right, Antonia. Nicely put,” Ms. Shelby-Ortiz says, looking like she wants to maybe laugh a little. She turns to Gavin. “I’ll let you go this time, but from now on, please take care of your restroom needs during one of the two recesses.”

  Five

  The Owner of the Orange Bike Is . . .

  Finally, with backpack in tow, Gavin leaves while the rest of the class cleans up in preparation for the last bell.

  He heads straight for the big trash bin on the side of the main building. From the far side of the bin, he has a good view of the bike rack. All he has to do is watch to see who claims the orange bicycle. If he had waited for the regular dismissal bell, the owner could have gotten to the rack and ridden off before Gavin even arrived.

  Sure enough, lots of students are let out before any of Room Ten’s kids. Ms. Shelby-Ortiz is probably making the class finish cleaning up before they can go. Stuff like straightening the library corner, taking stray papers out of their desks to put in the recycle bin, making sure all the mancala pieces have been returned to the box and all the markers in the can in the center of the table have their tops on. Irritating stuff like that. Made even more irritating when you just want to be dismissed already.

  Of course Gavin recognizes his friends’ bikes. And he knows which one belongs to Gregory Johnson (who’s in the fifth grade). He recognizes Gregory Johnson’s friend Paul Michaels’s bike. And the one that belongs to this other fifth-grader named Thomas Murphy.

  One by one, Gregory, Paul, and Thomas make it over to the rack, unlock their bicycles, slip on their helmets, and ride off. That leaves just Gavin’s friends’ bikes and the super-ugly orange one.

  Gavin waits and wonders if anyone can see him. He steps back behind the trash bin until he hears the fast footsteps of someone approaching the bike rack. Someone who sounds like he’s in a hurry. Gavin chances a peek. Khufu? Khufu is the owner of the orange bicycle?

  Hmm. Maybe Khufu didn’t really have to leave class early the day before for that dental appointment. That dental appointment might have been fake! Maybe Khufu just wanted to get out early so he could take Gavin’s unlocked bicycle.

  Khufu probably changed the time on his dentist’s appointment slip himself. He needed some time to get the bike and get out of there before the dismissal bell. It was Khufu. The new kid stole his bike!

  Now Khufu’s backing the orange bicycle away from the rack, jumping on it, and riding away—without a helmet. Gavin is momentarily amazed. Khufu has no helmet and seems to feel fine. But aren’t helmets the law? Can’t Khufu get arrested for being on a bike without one? Ha! That would serve that thief right! He hopes a police officer sees Khufu and hauls him off to jail.

  Gavin comes out from behind the trash bin, and by the time Richard, Carlos, and Calvin show up, he’s pacing next to their bicycles. “What took you guys so long?”

  Carlos groans. “Ms. Shelby-Ortiz did a surprise desk check and had us take everything out of our desks and put all the stuff back in again—neatly. Oh, and we had to put all stray papers in the recycle bin, and Rosario found the hair ornament she accused Beverly of taking, and then we had to listen to this boring lecture about accusing people falsely.”

  “So where’s the orange bike?” Richard asks.

  “With Khufu,” Gavin says simply.

  “That’s Khufu’s bike?” Carlos asks.

  “No, it’s my bike, painted orange.”

  Calvin shakes his head. “You can’t be sure.”

  Gavin feels himself waver. Then he says with fresh certainty, “It’s a BMX like mine, and—”

  “Gregory Johnson has a BMX, and so does his friend Thomas. The one in Mr. Willis’s class,” Carlos reminds him.

  “Their bikes are way bigger,” Gavin counters.

  “Not way bigger. Just bigger,” Carlos says. “And anyway, a lot of kids have BMXs.”

  Gavin turns to Carlos. “But they don’t paint their BMXs orange. It’s my bike. I know it is—even though he’s tried to disguise it. I know it’s my bike, and I have to get it back.”

  “How you plan on doing that?” Richard asks while slipping on his helmet.

  “I’m thinking,” he replies, noticing that Carlos and Calvin have slipped on their helmets as well. Soon he’ll be left behind to walk home alone. He has to get his bike back. He has to come up with a plan.

  Gavin watches his friends ride off. Then, just as he’s starting up the street toward home, he hears a horn honk behind him. It’s his mother. She must have decided that she didn’t want him to walk home alone. She’s kind of overprotective that way. Gavin sighs. He’s gotta think of something. He can’t have her picking him up every day like he’s some kind of baby while his friends ride off on their cool bikes. He sighs again as he gets into the back seat. His mother turns and smiles at him just like he’s her little baby boy.

  When Gavin’s mom pulls into the driveway, Gavin is surprised to see his friends sitting on his front porch. “You have homework to do, Gavin, and I’m sure your friends have homework as well,” she says as she gets out of the car. “Don’t be long.” She greets the boys and goes into the house.

  “What’s going on?” Gavin asks.

  “We have a plan,” Richard says. “To get your bike back.”

  Gavin looks at the open windows and thinks of Danielle. “Let’s go up to my room,” he says. They walk their bikes around the side of the house and leave them lined up on the lawn before following him through the kitchen door.

  Gavin leads his friends upstairs. Carlos and Richard flop down on his bed, and Calvin starts fiddling with the model airplane that once belonged to Gavin’s dad but now sits on his dresser.

  “Be careful with that,” Gavin warns Calvin.

  “This is what we’re going to do,” Richard says. “We’re going to take the bike back.”

  There’s silence. Then Gavin says, “How are we going to do that?”

  “We just have to find out where Khufu lives, then see where he’s keeping your bike,” Richard explains. “So tomorrow I’ll follow him home but make it so he doesn’t notice.”

  Gavin feels uneasy for some reason. “How are you going to do that?”

  “I’ll just ride slow. But I’ll keep him in view. He won’t even know I’m behind him. Then, after that, we can just go back and get it, like on Saturday or something. Early.”

  “But how are we going to ride our bikes over there and get the bike too?” Calvin asks. “That’ll be too many bikes.”

  They all fall quiet, thinking. “Gavin and I will do it. We’ll just walk over there early Saturday morning,” Richard says. “Gavin, you have to spend the night at my house.
”

  Again Gavin feels a strange uneasiness. Then he pictures his bike—all painted over in that awful orange. “Okay. It’s a plan,” he agrees.

  His friends leave, and he’s about to head downstairs for a snack before starting his homework when Aunt Myrtle calls his name. He approaches her room with dread.

  She starts in right away. “I couldn’t help overhearing you and your friends’ little scheme about getting your bike back, and I have a question for you.”

  She peers at him over her glasses. Gavin notices needlepoint on her lap. His mother sometimes does needlepoint—to relax, she says. “Now, what makes you think that child’s bike is your bike?”

  “I know it’s mine,” Gavin says.

  “Because?”

  “Because it’s the same type—BMX—and it’s the same size. They come in different sizes. It also has that fat seat Mom made me get—and it looks like it’s been spray-painted this color I’ve never seen bikes come in before. And it has the same type of spokes that are really different-looking . . .” Gavin trails off, running out of similarities.

  “Well, let me ask you this,” Aunt Myrtle says. “Could all that be true and it still not be your bike?”

  Gavin thinks hard. “It’s my bike,” he says after a moment. But then he wonders a tiny bit. Deep down inside.

  “Mmm,” she says. “You think about that.” She goes back to her needlepoint, and Gavin is finally dismissed.

  The orange bike sits in the rack when Gavin gets to school the next day. Gavin stares at it. It seems to be mocking him with its strange color and uneven paint job showing some places more orange than others—like it was done in a hurry. It looks like a bike that’s been disguised. Carlos and Richard ride up then. The three of them stand there, staring at the bicycle.