45 #4
I grin. See? I’m basically a mechanic now. If he went on a break, I could probably finish the whole thing by myself. There are a lot of bike rules in there already.
Don’t touch the exhaust when it’s hot. Don’t put your fingers near the chain when it moves. Always wear the helmet. Don’t tell mom how fast we actually went. Super important.
I pay attention to everything. Where he puts the tools. How he always checks something twice. How he listens to the tiny weird noises.
One day I’m gonna do all of that by myself. "Dad," I say after a minute, "if the bike breaks somewhere on the road, I can help you fix it."
"It’s not that simple, champ. But yes. You’re learning." I nod, serious. It’s true. I am learning.
I’m nine and I already know more about bikes than half the planet. Probably.
"Dad?"
"Mm?" He’s wiping his fingers now, checking some bolt. "When I grow up, I’m gonna have one too," I say. "A bike. A big one."
He glances at me. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." I nod hard. "She’s gonna be red. Not just red. Like, SUPER red. Tomato sauce red. Ferrari red. And huge. Like—"
I spread my arms. "—this big."
"If your bike is that big, Gio, you won’t reach the ground with your feet."
"I will, I’m gonna be very tall. You’ll see. I’ll grow more. I drink milk."
"Ah, right. The milk." He nods. I scoot off the crate and walk around the bike, touching the seat with my fingertips.
"She’s gonna be very loud. Louder than this one. When I start her, everyone in the neighborhood is gonna know it’s me. They’ll be like ‘oh no, here comes Gio again,’ and I’ll be like ‘yep.’"
He leans his hip against the workbench and watches me. "Everyone is going to be annoyed with you."
"I know," I say. "That’s the best part."
He shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. "You know what else? We’re gonna race."
"We?" he repeats.
"Yeah. Me and you. You with this bike, me with my big red one. We’re gonna start from the old bridge and go all the way to the big roundabout. First one there wins."
"And what does the winner get?" he asks.
I think for a second. "Bragging rights forever. And gelato."
"Loser buys?" he asks.
"Obviously. You’re gonna spend a lot of money, dad."
"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "You’re that sure you’ll win?" "I’m faster than I look," I say. "And I’m gonna be even faster when I’m big. I’ll know everything about bikes. You’re teaching me.
So when I get mine, I’m not gonna be stupid with it.
I’m gonna be fast, but fast on purpose. Not fast by accident. "
He chuckles. "Fast on purpose. Good. I like that."
"I bet my friends are gonna be jealous," I say. "They already are a little. Nobody’s dad has a bike like this. Nobody’s dad picks them up from school and makes all the windows shake."
He looks at me. "You think I’m cool?"
I snort. "Obviously. You’re like… top three."
"Top three?" He pretends to be offended. "Who’s the other two?"
"My future bike," I say. "And me."
He reaches out and messes up my hair with his greasy hand and I yelp. "Hey! My hair!"
"You’ll survive," he says. I can’t wait for this race.
I will be so much ahead that it will look like I’m racing all alone, with no one next to me.
"When do you think I can get one?" I ask. "How old do I have to be?"
"At least eighteen," he says. "License, helmet, good boots. No arguments."
"Eighteen?" I almost choke. "That’s in a million years."
"It goes faster than you think," he says quietly.
"So promise," I say quickly. "That when I get my red bike, we’re really gonna do it. The race. Not fake talk." He comes back and looks at me properly. "Come here."
I step closer.
He sticks out his pinky. "Pinky promise. When you get your bike, we race from the bridge to the roundabout. Loser buys gelato."
I hook my pinky with his, squeezing tight. "And no backing out. Even if you’re old and slow."
"Even if I’m old and slow," he repeats, smiling.
"Deal," I say and sit back down because he takes forever. I finished my stupid homework already and now I’m just waiting so we can go to the swings.
Everyone’s gonna see me on the back and they’re gonna be shocked because I’m so cool.
Everyone except Rava.
Rava says I’m dumb.
Sometimes in class, he looks at me with this face like he’s wondering if I even have a brain.
Rude.
I think he’s just jealous his dad is always mad and mine has a bike and takes me for rides and lets me touch real tools.
His dad only likes math and history. Boring.
Mine likes speed.
But my mom keeps making me talk to him when our parents hang out. "He helps you with your homework, Gio, be polite. He’s a good boy, you should be more like him."
Yeah okay, sure. Let me just erase my entire personality. The only annoying part is that he actually does do my math. And gives me the notes when I forget to write stuff down.
Which is not often.
Just like…every day.
"Dad," I say, sitting on the floor next to him. "Are you almost done?"
"When you stop asking me every two minutes," he says.
"I didn’t," I lie.
"You did."
"We’re still gonna go to the swings, right?"
"Yeah. That’s the deal. I fix the bike, you don’t complain, we go to the swings."
"I already don’t complain," I say.
He laughs. "Sure, Gio." I keep spinning the screw, then I stop. "When we go, can we not tell Rava?"
"Why would I tell Rava?" he asks.
"I don’t know. Just don’t. I don’t want him there."
He slides out from under the bike a little so he can see me. "What did Rava do now?"
"Nothing," I say too fast.
He squints. "So why are we mad at him today?"
"We’re just mad." I don’t even fully know why.
He just annoys me. Existing. My dad looks at me over the bike. "Gio, that’s not very nice. I accept that you might have… people you don’t really like just because you don’t click, but Rava hasn’t done anything to you. On the contrary, he keeps helping you."
I roll my eyes.
"And if you want to ride my bike in a few years, when you’re a teenager and full of energy, I won’t let you unless you also take him to school on the bike. Save him some time."
My eyes almost pop out of my skull. "Dad?! No way! Nerds are not allowed on your bike. Or on my bike. Ever."
He raises his eyebrows. "Nerds?"
"Yeah. Rava is not touching my red beast. Not even with one finger." I cross my arms. "He’d probably be scared anyway. He’s scared of everything.
I swear he probably gets scared by the toaster sound. And I mean it. I don’t know what his problem is. He flinches at literally everything.
I go "boo" in the hallway and he jumps like someone shot him. One time Elio exploded a juice box next to us and Rava hid behind me. Behind me. He grabbed my arm too.
Then when he realized it he moved away really fast like, oh no, can’t hide behind the loud idiot.
I laughed. I felt so strong.
For three seconds I was a shield. That was cool. Anyway. Point is, he would not survive my bike. I want to go fast. Not slow. Slow is for boring people.
"He’s going to be one of those. The ones that sit behind and go ‘Giovanni, slow down. Giovanni, this is dangerous. Giovanni, you will die riding that bike.’ Bla bla bla. Like a fly in my ear."
Dad is trying not to laugh.
"We will talk about this later. Also, when we come back, you promise you’ll help your mom clean the house. She’s been working all day and she’s tired. We’re the only men in her life. We have to show her we’re thankful she takes care of us every day, right?"
I nod. "I do know I’m a man. But I’m still a small one. And small men are supposed to play tag with their friends, not dust furniture like they’re girls."
"Dusting isn’t for women, Gio. In your own house, you’re not going to dust?"
I shrug. "My house is gonna be clean. It won’t need dusting. I’m gonna live alone. No tiny hands touching things. No sticky fingerprints. No toys on the floor except my bike stuff, which is sacred. So obviously the place won’t need dusting. Easy life."
Dad freezes and turns to look at me. "Alone? That’s it? The bloodline ends with you?"
What bloodline?
Am I a vampire?
"What do you mean?"
"No kids? No marriage?"
Ew. Why is he talking to me like I’m forty?
"Dad, I don’t want babies. I wanna be a pro racer, not a pro diaper-changer.
The world needs to know me as Gio, the best racer in Italy.
Not Gio, father of the crying potato. Lorenzo can continue the bloodline.
He knows everyone, he’s always smiling, he got asked out by a classmate on Tuesday.
He’ll probably have like ten kids. A whole army. "
Dad laughs.
"Yeah, but what about me? No grandkids? You don’t wanna give your kid my name? You could race together when they grow up. I’ll be old."
I groan internally.
Ugh.
I’m nine.
Why am I planning generational legacy right now?
"Dad, by the time that baby grows up enough to race, I’ll be old too. It takes forever. I’m bored already. I don’t have time to wait for a baby to become a person."
But then I think…Antonio is a cool name.
I could name a cat Antonio.
Same vibe, no diapers. Perfect.
"Gio, do you think I’m a good racer?"
Oh my god. Did he forget again?
I tell him he’s the best literally every day. Adults seriously have the memory of goldfish.
"Yes. You’re the best."
"You see? And I have a kid. You. And you’re my best friend. Why wouldn’t you want a little friend too? Someone you can teach everything about bikes."
Hm.
I could be the cool dad who picks his kid up from school on a bike. I can be the iconic parent maybe.
And if Rava’s kid is there too, and Rava sees me pull up, he’ll explode.
Because obviously I’ll be the cool dad, and he’ll definitely be married to some…girl who reads dictionaries for fun.
They’ll spend their free time alphabetizing things.
Meanwhile I’ll be pure chaos, pure speed, pure legend.
Yeah.
Maybe having one kid wouldn’t be that bad. "Come on," he says, patting the seat. "Hop on."
Finally.
I thought he was never gonna say it. I almost had a kid before going to the swings.
I climb up on the back, and he puts the helmet on my head, adjusting the strap under my chin.
"Hold on," he says.
I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze as hard as I can. I can feel him laughing from his back. "Not that hard, I need to breathe!"
"Sorry," I mumble, loosening a tiny bit.
"Just don’t want to fall."
"You won’t fall, Gio. I’ve got you."