I should have never stolen that kid's bike.
I suddenly feel as if people are looking at me closely ... I guess, to see if they can really see the guilt that is probably written all over my face. I am sure that they are waiting for me to "fess up" and face my punishment like a man.
That is probably true , but there is but one small problem: I am not a man. I am only a kid, a kid of 13, just past of becoming a teenager. (I turned 13 last month, on December 24; in fact, it hasn't even been a month since my birthday.)
I really wanted this kid's bike. Man, it had all these fancy bells and whistles on it and the color: dark cobalt blue with harvest orange lightning bolts running along the frame, fancy white-walled tires, not to mention, state-of-the-art featues: this bike was the Rolls Royce of bicycle-dom!!
I was embarrassed because I was riding my older sister's "hand-me-down" bike. Brown in color, paint peeling off, bent handlebars, tires that were worn and threadbare, a seat that squeaked when one sat on it, chains that tried to have my pants (or my feet) for dinner (they were always getting caught!) .... let's face it, man: my bike SUCKED. Totally, positively SUCKED!!
That's when I saw this kid riding his bike. I knew once I laid eyes on it, I had to have it. I knew his folks had to have paid a pretty penny for it 'cause it looked expensive. I knew that bike belonged to me, so one day last week, I went riding on my girlie-bike to the ice cream shop up the ways frmo us, and this kid who had the fancy bike happened to be there. His bike was parked on the side of the street.
A golden opportunity for me to "test it", to see how it rode and how I handled such a beautiful machine. I hoped the kid would stay inside for a while; he would never know I borrowed his bike for a quick jaunt around the block. No problemo. So I took it for a drive and man, oh, man, but the bike seemed tailor-made for me. It was a perfect fit; it rode like a dream!
I was enjoying myself so much, I didn't notice the time; I was having too much fun, riding this way and that, taking the hills at top speed, hollering with joy. Then that rock appeared, and I happened to hit it. I (and the bike) both went flying. When we landed, the bike landed right on top of me. I wasn't really hurt, but I shakily got up once I got my breath back; that was when I saw the terrible scratch on the front fender.
Oh, boy! I knew at once I would be in trouble if I was found out. I knew by now the kid would probably be on the lookout for his bike. In my sudden burst of panic, I raced home on the kid's bike, parked it in the bushes and tried to hide the evidence, and quickly went to my room, where I slammed the door.
Good! My parents weren't home. I was safe ... for the time being.
I thought I had outsmarted myself at my own game, but then I started having feelings of guilt creeping on my conscience and ever since, these bad feelings have only gotten worse. I have not had much sleep or much of an appetite. I keep thinking about the rich-looking kid and THE BIKE.
I know I am eventually going to have to fess up for my crime, but right now, I am too scared to and am afraid that if I DO admit my wrongdoing, I'll end up being thrown in jail! And jail is one place I do NOT want to be: I am only thirteen years old, just a kid!!!!
~To be continued.~