Rachel Elizabeth Cole

“No, I said I wanted to come, too. I went to ask Mom.” “Sorry, I didn’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe next time. Come on. Let’s head home. I need to get that grease.” I start walking and glance back to be sure she’s following. She’s still standing on the trail staring at the huge stump. “Y’know, there’s bears up here,” I say. That gets her going. She trots down the trail after me and doesn’t slow down until we’re safely back on the road. As soon as we’re home, I go into the garage and make a bunch of noise hunting for the grease until I hear the front door slam and I’m sure Libby has gone into the house. Then I run back up the street and around the corner. I plop down under a tree and count to 100. While I’m counting, I study the tube of grease in my hand. I sure wish this was all my bike needed. I’m pretty sure it’s going to need a whole new front suspension fork. How much is that going to cost?”
― Rachel Elizabeth Cole, The Rabbit Ate My Homework