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coveted “M” on our licenses. We had to score at least a seventy-five to pass. Reba and Lily passed with flying colors. Opal let out a sigh of relief when she discovered she’d gotten a seventy-six, and we all cheered. But when my turn came to learn my score, the teacher scowled at me with a serious expression on his face. He looked me in the eye, and then…he smiled.
    We were ready to rumble.
     
     
     
     

7
     
    “OK, now that we have our motorcycle endorsements, we should get together and have a bike naming ceremony. You know, like the natives do.” Reba grinned and took a loud sip of her cherry cola.
    “The natives name their bikes?” Opal asked.
    “No, silly, they name their babies.” Reba cuffed Opal upside the head. “Don’t be difficult. Take me seriously.”Reba’s loud voice carried clear across the restaurant.
    Someone eating a brownie fudge sundae turned to stare.
    I hid behind my candy bar flavored ice cream treat.
    “Why should we name our bikes?” Lily bit into her hamburger, and a pickle slid out and landed on her shirt. She scooped it up and ate it.
    “Because that’s what you do . Bikers name their bikes. You named your horse, didn’t you?”
    “Well, yeah, but that’s because it’s a living thing,” Lily said. “A bike is a machine.”
    “Haven’t you ever named your car or your tractor?”
    Lily chewed another bite of hamburger and looked up in thought. “You know, now that I think of it, my grandpa used to call his pickup Barbie . Especially when he tried tostart her. He said she ran kind of cold.”
    “OK, then. So, when do y’all want to get together and reveal bike names?” Reba looked at us with her left eyebrow up.
    “This is silly.” I giggled.
    Reba glared at me.
    “Well, it is.”
    She glared again.
    I took a bite of myice cream.
    Opal came up for air from eating her banana split. “How about we do it after our practice ride next Saturday?”
    “Sounds good to me,” I said.“OK with you, Lily?”
    Lily nodded, swallowed, and took a swig of her lemonade. “Sounds silly, but OK.”
    All week long, I thought about my bike and what it should be called. First, I needed to decide its gender. I was pretty certain it was a girl, but I wanted to be sure.
    “What should I name my bike?” I asked at the supper table.
    “Name your bike?” Aaron looked at me and crinkled his forehead. Did he think I’d lost my mind?
    “Yeah. Reba says it’s proper to give them a name.”
    “Proper?”Aaron scowled.
    “Name him Pinky and the Brain.” Timmy giggled and sucked on his three middle fingers. “He’s Pinky and the Brain.” He laughed, flapped, and rocked so hard he almost fell off his chair.
    I wanted to throttle the caregiver who let him watch Pinky and the Brain. I never allowed my kids to watch certain cartoons, and now Timmy echoed all the ones I avoided.It was part of his language disorder. He could repeat anything on TV, but he couldn’t hold a conversation.
    “How about Lightning?”Daniel popped another shredded potato bit in his mouth.
    “That’s an idea.” I nodded but rejected it in my mind. “I’m thinking of something a little less dramatic.”
    “I think it’s stupid. No real biker wears pink and rides a pink Harley,” Patrick said. “I’m going to be the laughingstock of town.”
    Aaron dropped his fork on his plate and cleared his throat. “Don’t talk to your mother that way. Do it again and you’re going to your room.” Aaron rarely got angry, but when it came to defending me, he became an alpha wolf.
    “Aaron, it’s okay.” I rested my hand on my husband’s arm to let him know I was fine. “Never mind, boys. I’ll think of a name.”
    That night I got on the Internet and looked up baby names. I wanted something that sounded pretty. My bike glowed pearlescent and blushing pink, like a bride. It needed a moniker like Cinderella or Snow White. I knew Reba would hate it, but it was my bike, not hers. It was a girl motorcycle and