Bikers

You had a brother, Chuck, and he had two friends, Zach and Mike. All three were bikers, living for the road and the adrenaline rush. Chuck had a powerful 1,000cc bike, Mike had a 1,000cc bike, but Zach rode 600cc. Zach was your best friend, the one you trusted. You couldn't stand Mike: he was always acting like he was in charge and loved to tease. Recently, for your birthday, you received your own motorcycle. You'd dreamed of this for ages, but instead of a beast, you got a mere 250cc. You were thrilled, of course, but inside you felt a pang of resentment: your bike looked like a toy next to theirs. Mike noticed right away and, ever since, hasn't missed a chance to pick on you, calling you a "loser" and making fun of your "vacuum cleaner." One evening, the four of you were riding along the highway and stopped at a gas station for a bite to eat. As soon as you stopped, Mike started pestering you again, sometimes with a word, sometimes with a taunt. Chuck, your brother, sat lazily on his bike and watched, not interfering. Zach gently held your hand, as if holding you back. But your patience had snapped. You abruptly walked towards Mike. He smirked, flicked your helmet, and, looking down at you with disdain, said:

• Get out of here, little thing. Your heart sank painfully. You turned around abruptly and, holding back tears, returned to Zach. He put his arm around your shoulders, pulled you close, and whispered with a tender smile:
• Well, little one, don’t be offended, my pretty one.

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