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fold appeared in his forehead.
    “You little bastard,” he whispered.
    For a heavy man he was nimble. Before I understood what was happening, he was out of his chair. He grabbed a handful of my T-shirt and yanked me to my feet. We danced awkwardly across the linoleum floor until my back slammed into the humming refrigerator.
    “I oughta knock your teeth out,” he said softly. “She's just a little girl.”
    His face was so close to mine I could feel hot bursts of air coming from his nostrils. A muscle in his cheek began to twitch. I watched his hand form itself into a fist. “What kind of rubbers did you buy, smart guy? Why don't you take them out of your wallet and show me?”
    This isn't happening to me, I told myself, but the formula had lost its magic. All at once I was terribly frightened, not just for me but for Kevin too.
    “Come on, big man. Show me your rubbers.”
    “I don't have any,” I told him. “I don't even know what they look like.”
    “I oughta knock your teeth out,” he said again, drawing back his fist until it was level with his ear. His knuckles were coated with thick black hair. “What do you say to that, big man?”
    I had spent the past several years learning not to cry, but I hadn't forgotten how. My bottom lip trembled. My eyes felt like they were growing inside my head. The first few sobs came from somewheredeep in my stomach. A jet of warm snot exploded from my nose.
    “I'm a kid,” I blubbered. “I'm just a kid.” Mr. Farrone lowered his fist and let go of my shirt. He stepped back and looked at the floor, as though he were ashamed for both of us.
    “Jesus Christ,” he said, then went and got me a Kleenex.
    My father wheeled the bicycle into the living room. My mother stood behind him, smiling nervously.
    “Happy birthday,” they said.
    This was definitely not the bike I wanted. It was a Schwinn three-speed, clunky and old-fashioned, with a chain guard, lots of chrome, and a two-tone seat straight out of
Happy Days.
    “Thanks,” I said, forcing a smile.
    “It'll be much easier to do your papers,” my mother said hopefully.
    My father slapped the seat. “She's a beauty. Why don't you take her for a spin.”
    “It's getting dark,” I said. “Maybe tomorrow.”
    A wounded look flashed across my mother's face. My father gave me the raspberry.
    “Hey,” he said, “if you won't, I will.”
    My mother held open the front door as he lugged the bike outside. I got out of the recliner and followed them down the front steps to the edge of the driveway. My father straddled the crossbar.
    “Here goes nothing,” he said.
    “Be careful,” my mother called out.
    He got off to a shaky start. The handlebars swiveled from side to side, and the bike followed an invisible slalom course down the sidewalk.
    “He fell in love with that bike the moment he saw it,” my mother said. “I hope you like it.”
    “I do,” I said. “It's really nice.”
    My father turned around at the corner and headed back in the street, looking much steadier on his return. He was grinning and breathing hard when he dismounted.
    “Give ‘er a whirl,” he told me. “She's got some pep.”
    As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. The fat tires hummed, and the bike, heavy as it was, floated luxuriously on the blacktop. I could go as fast as I wanted.
    The sky darkened as I pedaled past houses, stores, and factories, shifting through my three new gears. If Kevin had been home, I would've gone straight to his house to show him my birthday present. He would've laughed and taken it for a test ride. Instead he was sitting on a log in the woods, listening to the spooky night.
    Somehow I ended up in front of his house anyway. It was as if the bike had taken me there of its own accord. My legs felt hollow as I climbed the front steps. The doorbell button was glowing orange, like a lit cigarette.
    * * *
     
    I had been gone for a long time, but my father was still waiting for me on the front stoop when I