If Marama was sure she’d locked it, someone had cut the lock deliberately and stolen it. It was gone.
Under guise of dusting his inventory, the shopkeeper eavesdropped on their conversation.
Erin was done pretending. “If I buy the bike and my bike turns up within the week, could I return it?”
The shop owner smiled. “We take returns for malfunctions only, not change of mind.”
Of course not. Of COURSE NOT, New Zealand.
Hank jumped in. “What if she didn’t ride it? I could drive the bike home and store it in her garage for a week until we’ve done a thorough search.”
“I’m sorry. I have a customer who seems keen to buy it today so that is a poor value proposition for me.”
Erin cursed flighty Marama. Something rumbled a second before the floor started shaking. Bikes hanging from the ceiling swayed and Hank and the bike guy held the counter tightly. Erin’s first genuine earthquake. She held her breath until the room settled a few seconds later.
“Well, if that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is,” Erin joked.
No one answered. She turned to find Hank pale and wide-eyed.
“Are you okay?”
Hank nodded quickly, his expression unchanged. He and the shop owner exchanged looks.
“Never gets easier, does it?” the shopkeeper said.
“Never,” Hank said. “I can’t get away from it. Never had trouble until 2011. Now? Every single time.”
Erin asked, “What happened to you during that quake?”
Hank stared at the ground. “Can we skip it?”
“Of course.”
The other customer returned, flustered. “Not today.”
“No worries,” the shop owner said. “Are you all right?”
“It never gets easier,” she said before leaving.
Relieved, Erin pulled out her dad’s Visa. “I’ll take it.”
Erin fought back tears as Hank parked in her driveway later. Her dad was going to kill her.
Hank said, “I can’t believe you just spent a grand on a bike!”
“Yeah. My dad says if you can fix it for under a thousand dollars, it’s not a problem.”
Hank went silent. He managed the complex unbuckling of Felicity’s new bike from his bike rack.
“Guess you’re in luck. Twelve hundred is under a grand when you convert, innit?”
That was something.
He said, “I hope the bike turns up.”
“I don’t. If it shows up now, what will I do with it? What’s lost is lost.”
“Should have gotten that lady’s number. Could have made a deal.”
They parked the bike in its spot and Erin cursed. “The helmet. I can’t replace Felicity’s helmet.” That would prove another issue entirely, because Felicity’s helmet was old. As in no one was making orange helmets with racing stripes anymore.
Not to mention the fucking stickers.
“That’s less than fifty bucks,” Hank said.
“But then she’ll know.”
“I’m telling you. Being honest would be a lot easier.”
Erin would have to fess up eventually, but at least she had fixed her own mistake. Or her dad’s Visa had fixed her mistake.
Lucky for Erin, it was nearly her dad’s birthday, when Claire forbid Mitchell to check credit card statements for fear he would ascertain his own birthday presents and ruin any surprises she’d planned. Christmas followed close behind, so at the very earliest, Erin could expect a lecture in January.
FORTY-NINE
At school the next day, Jade spotted Erin and broke away from her group of friends. “Sorry to leave you buggered last night,” she said. “Did you work out the bike?”
“Sort of.”
Jade cocked her head sideways.
“The bike was stolen. I bought a new one. It’s identical.”
Jade’s jaw fell open. “Just like that, you bought a new one? How did you even find one? How did you pay for it?”
“It was Felicity’s birthday present. Brand new a few months ago, so I went to the shop and dropped twelve hundred dollars on a bike.”
“That’s quite a dear mistake.”
Erin frowned.
“Cost a lot of money, I meant. Amazing.”
It was kind of amazing. Erin had taken the problem into her own hands and handled it. So what if Felicity would know anyway because of the helmet? Erin had owned her problem and fixed it, to her own detriment. “It is kind of amazing, isn’t it?”
“Felicity might be impressed, actually.”
“Yeah.” Erin hoped.
“I was thinking,” Jade said slowly. “Marama lives in Cashmere, right?”
Erin stared at her blankly. Who the hell cared where Marama lived?
“I’m asking because if she usually comes from the south, she’s probably used to parking at the back entrance.”
Two months in, Erin became aware of Ilam High’s back entrance. With a bike rack. Where Marama, her totally responsible friend, had locked up Felicity’s inordinately expensive bike.
And had tucked a tiny chocolate truffle into the helmet as thanks.
For the first time since she was ten, Erin now had her very own bike.
FIFTY
Thursday afternoon, Erin biked halfway across the city and parked at Hank’s rock-climbing gym, The Roxx. Too late, she realized she’d forgotten climbing clothes.
“Hey!” she said when he arrived.
“Erin. Hi!” He opened the door for her.
Erin had seen a climbing wall or two online, and there once was a rock-climbing tower at the annual Cream of Wheaton festival, but Hank’s gym was unreal. Some climbers bouldered close to the ground as she had at Castle Hill, but most were attached to ropes, climbing several stories overhead.
Erin turned to find Hank laughing with Marama’s friend.
“Erin, this is Gloria, one of my best climbing partners. Gloria, Erin.”
“Hi again,” Gloria said.
“Hi!” Erin said, her cheeks growing hot at the idea of Hank climbing with Gloria.
“You went out with Marama, right?” Gloria asked as she pulled out her climbing shoes.
“Castle Hill, yes. And I was planning to climb today, but forgot a change of clothes.”
A second later, Gloria withdrew clothes from her bag. “You can wear my emergency clothes if you want.”
“Emergency clothes?”
“You know, if I’m up on a rock and someone spills his beverage from on high—”
“Once,” Hank said. “It happened once.”
“When it happened, we were a hundred kilometers away. All the ropes were set for the day. I spent the rest of the day green and sticky.”
Erin grimaced. She hadn’t heard about any
