Sloane
I unlock my bike after cross country practice and fling my leg over the seat. My legs are still shaking from the long run, but I don’t mind the ride home. I think getting in a car and driving would just make my body tighten up. My muscles may be shaky and weak, but pushing them just a little more—in a different way—actually feels good.
Or maybe I’m just a masochist.
My car—or the one my dad let me use—was one of the many assets seized by the government when he went to jail. So maybe I have a little bit of deserve wrapped up in riding the bike.
I definitely don’t deserve the luxury of a car, and I ought to feel ashamed I ever had one, considering where the money came from. I shake my head to remove the flashes of the days after my dad’s arrest. The faces of people who had been my
