“Can I go next, Chris?” Collin asked shyly, peeking over the handlebars of his brand new Mongoose bike. Chris didn’t even turn around from the ramp he was fixing when he responded, “What did I tell you about asking dumb questions, fatass?” Without a word, Collin got off his bike and laid it down.

Half of the neighborhood was lined up to try out the new bike ramp Chris had gotten for his 12th birthday, but not everyone was worthy. Chris wasn’t the oldest boy in the group (one of the newer additions to Oak Street), but he commanded the most respect. He had compiled a posse of five loyal followers: Dev, Steven, Ryan, and the Kilgore brothers from the block over. Together, they built the best ramps, fastest bikes, greatest tree forts, and worst reputations. Everyone wanted in.

Chris had taken the first ride off his ramp and after a solid two seconds in the air landed it perfectly. “Nice bro!” Steven hollered, and the others joined in cheers. “No dude that was bullshit, I want another go.” Chris pushed his way to the front of the line, stood up on his pedals and took another rip. After five turns, he allowed his boys to hit the jump. One at a time they landed and circled back to the yard with wind-whipped hair and big grins. This was way better than the dirt ones they had built down by the canal.

The rest of the boys from the surrounding streets rode their turns, but not Collin.

No, Collin Deitz, the overweight whiner, had lost his chances at riding. The day Collin’s mother charged across the street and explained to Chris’ mother that he and his boys had been shooting Collin with their pellet guns only made things worse.

“Cut me down you guys! Please! I’m sorry – I’ll do whatever you want!” Collin screamed as he hung, tied upside down from a tree branch by the canal. “Well you shouldn’t have run and told mommy then dipshit,” Chris answered Collin, who had now started to cry. After only a few minutes, the boys couldn’t take the annoyance. “You do realize what a huge wimp you are, right?” Ryan said, disgustedly as he brought Collin to the ground with a thud.

But the boys still let him hang around to keep his mother off their backs. So here he was sitting in the grass cross-legged, admiring the other boys and keeping track of the air they were catching. Chris made him get up and fix the ramps every other ride, and sent him down the road to buy Gatorades after a while. “Collin, you have been surprisingly good today,” Chris said, “I mean, nowhere near cool, but at least you haven’t said much.” Everyone laughed.

After Collin had fixed the ramps, Chris patted him on the back. “Alright dude, you can take a ride off my ramp.” “Really!?” Collin gasped. “Yeah, really, “Chris nodded with big, mocking eyes. Collin mounted his bike, almost tipping over the first time. He set his right foot, and glided forward, picking up speed toward the ramp. But it wasn’t enough. As his front tire left the ramp, the back one got stuck, flipping his bike forward and landing on top of Collin.

“Ah, shit,” Chris muttered as the boys walked over to a shell-shocked Collin. Bone was showing on his left arm, and the right one was most likely broken too. The boys all looked to Chris for what to do, as Collin geared up to cry. “Dude,” Chris looked at Collin with wide eyes, “That was so badass. You ripped the hell outta that jump.” Collin peered up at him with a small smile, “I did?” “Yeah man. Didn’t he guys?” They all agreed and sputtered compliments – anything to keep him quiet. “Cool. Cool man,” Collin grinned, “Thanks for letting me try your ramp, but uh… can you go get my mom?”

Chris walked back across the street calmly after a hysterical Mrs. Deitz, and the neighborhood boys helped load Collin into the minivan. From that day on (and much to Mrs. Deitz’ dismay), Chris took Collin under his wing, teaching him control and toughness, and to Collin, it was totally worth two broken arms.