“NO!” everyone else shouted in unison.
“For God’s sake, Dave,” Everett’s mother muttered.
“This is, actually, going in the book,” Gretel said, her pencil scratching across her notebook.
Everett smiled and took another bite of falafel.
7
At one point in her life, believe it or not, Teddy had been a daredevil.
She didn’t remember using the training wheels on her bike—from the moment she started riding, all she wanted was to fly down a hill, hands up, no inhibitions. She climbed trees and fell out of them. She was the first to put her hand up in class, whether or not she knew the answer to the question. She would go anywhere, do anything, regardless of whether her parents wanted her to. In fact, as any rebellious child knows, sometimes it was the mere fact that they didn’t want her to do something that made her try in the first place.
It was one of those days, though, that had changed her life. She was going to the movies with her best friend, Vicki, a girl whom Teddy loved but also slightly judged for not having her joie de vivre. Vicki never wanted to do anything, Teddy had moaned to her sister, Sophia, that morning.
Sophia had smirked into her cereal bowl. “Not everybody can be hell on wheels, Teddy.”
And that was what Teddy felt like that day, riding her bike to the three-screen movie theater to meet up with Vicki, the wind blowing her hair and her feet pedaling harder, faster. She was twelve years old, she was hell on wheels, and she was going to see a movie she wasn’t permitted to watch.
Her parents and Vicki both thought she was going to see a movie about missing dogs who were trying to find their way back to their family. And this was, technically, true. But then she and Vicki were going to sneak into a horror movie that was playing on another screen. Of course, Vicki didn’t know this yet, but she’d go along with what Teddy wanted. She always did.
When the movie was almost over, Teddy leaned over to Vicki and whispered, “Okay, I have a plan. Let’s go.”
Vicki slowly turned to look at her, tears streaming down her face. “What?”
Teddy tried to tamp down her impatience. “Come on. We’re sneaking into the movie next door.”
“Blood Sacrifice?” Vicki squealed, and Teddy shushed her. The last thing they needed right now was someone complaining about them to an usher.
“But that’s an R-rated movie,” Vicki said, her tone of voice as scandalized as if Teddy had suggested they commit their own blood sacrifice. “We’re not even allowed to see PG-13 movies by ourselves. And this movie isn’t over! I want to know how it ends!”
Teddy rolled her eyes. “I mean, how do you think it ends? The animals find their way home.”
Vicki’s mouth dropped open. “Did you ruin the ending for me?”
Finally, unable to hide her frustration any longer, Teddy grabbed Vicki’s hand. “Come with me.”
The two of them ducked and shuffled down the aisle, spilling popcorn as they went. “Teddy!” Vicki hissed as dogs barked on-screen. “Do you really think we should be doing this?”
They reached the theater doors, and Teddy peeked her head out into the hallway. No one was watching. Without giving Vicki another chance to balk, she grabbed her hand and pulled her into the next theater, where Blood Sacrifice was in progress. Both the movie and one of the actual sacrifices, if all the blood on-screen was to be believed.
The girls took their seats, and Vicki slouched down. “I can’t believe we did that and— Oh! What happened to that guy’s eye?”
“It’s all fake,” Teddy said, happily shoving popcorn into her mouth.
“I don’t know how you can eat at a time like this,” Vicki muttered before someone shushed them, and they watched the rest of the movie in silence.
When it was over, Teddy deposited her empty popcorn container in the trash can, said her goodbyes to a visibly shaken Vicki, and walked out to unlock her bike. As she rode the few blocks home, she felt exhilarated. Someday, she’d be old enough to see whatever gruesome, gory, disgusting movies she wanted without sneaking into them. Someday, she’d be able to do whatever she wanted. The thought filled her with a happy sort of anxiousness, a bubble in her stomach that rose to her heart and made her feel like she was flying.
And then, without knowing what was happening, she truly was flying. Over the handlebars, through the air, onto the pavement. Her helmet slammed onto the ground and her knees skidded through gravel. But the worst parts were the smash-pop of her arm as it struck the road and the searing pain that roared through her.
“Oh, no,” Teddy muttered. She was only twelve, but she knew this wasn’t good. Arms weren’t supposed to feel or look like this. She picked up her bike with her one working arm and dragged it beside her. Luckily, this had all happened a few houses away from hers, and no one had been outside to witness her spectacular crash.
She dropped her bike in the front yard and pulled herself up the steps, but stopped outside the door when she heard her parents through the open windows.
They were yelling at each other as usual.
“She was supposed to be home an hour ago!” her mother said, a thin, frantic note in her voice. “Should I call someone? I should call someone.”
Teddy already knew who “she” was. Sophia didn’t do anything to warrant yelling.
“Didn’t I tell you,” came her father’s voice, “that she was too young to be riding around the city by herself?”
“She rides within a three-block radius—” her mother started, but her father cut her off.
“This is a slippery slope. Do you understand? From day one, that girl hasn’t listened to anything anyone told her. If you let her keep running around town like that—”
“Then what?” her mother said dryly. “She’ll end up pregnant?”
Teddy held her breath.
“Maybe if she had a father who actually—I don’t know—did some parenting, then we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“What situation?” her father asked. “Is me being miserable a situation for you? I can’t stand this. I can’t do this anymore. I—”
Teddy opened the door. “I’m home,” she attempted to say brightly, but her mother’s eyes widened when she saw her.
“Teddy!” she cried, running across the room. She grabbed Teddy and pulled her into her chest. “What happened?”
“Wrecked my bike,” Teddy tried to say nonchalantly, but she started crying. Not just because her mom was pressing against her arm (which she would later learn was, indeed, broken), but because she suddenly didn’t want to be hell on wheels. She didn’t want to be a grown-up who decided what to do. She didn’t want to hear her parents arguing or know that her dad was miserable with them. All she wanted was a hug from her mom.