Page 2 of Jingle Belle's Biker

“Okay, but you two can help me in the meantime.”

“Yes, Miss Rosso,” Noah says eagerly.

And Oliver’s eyes shine bright as he nods.

It’s not their fault their parents and guardians need to work. This time can be tough for the working class at the best of times but with Christmas around the corner . . .

My phone buzzes in my shoulder bag, but I ignore it and dump it on my desk as the storm darkens the afternoon into an approximation of evening. I pick up the worksheets for tomorrow.

Noah’s eyes round with horror.

“For tomorrow,” I say, handing them to him. “One on every desk, please.”

This time, the drum roll of thunder sounds in the bones, followed by a clap and a bright flash of lightning.

“Oliver, can you tidy the story time corner, please?”

He nods and runs off.

As for me, I pull out an eraser and go over the blackboard, ignoring the brewing storm and the time marching away from me at a brisk pace that feels like running.

I’ve got my bike.

I’ll make it home and to the council meeting.

After all, how late can their parents be?

Mr. Sweet, the janitor, shakes his keys and sighs above the storm as I dash out the door.

“Hope you don’t expect me to clean up the blood, Miss Rosso.”

He cackles as I slide him a dark look. But I race out the door, my jacket open.

“Nope,” I throw over my shoulder, “got the kids to do it.”

His cackle of laughter follows me as I round the corner to the bike rack.

I stumble to a halt just as the first drop of rain hits me.

My bike is toast.

Not actual toast, because that’s delicious. And does its job. This . . . this is just metal with wheels that theoretically work. I say theoretically because these don’t.

Not one, but two flat tires.

I don’t have a bike pump on me or a puncture kit. I should have packed them, because this morning I noticed the wheels weren’t at full firmness, but I didn’t want to be late.

And now?

Now, it’s almost five. I’m not going to make it home, and I don’t have my umbrella. “Shit.”

If I run, I can make the town council meeting. I take off at a wet jog. The afternoon traffic and the incoming deluge slow me to a brisk walk and, finally, taking shelter a few streets in.

The school’s located in the inner part of the city—if you can even classify Sweetwood a city, it should be called an overgrown large town. We have a main stretch where you can find thegrocery store, a shopping center, and a farming store. There’s a couple take out places and a few restaurants. Mostly Mom and Pop stores.

What makes the school a part of the inner city would be the fact there’s a few schools and one of them being on the ‘wrong side of the tracks’. Ironically enough, there’s an actual train track that divides the city up between the good part of town and the bad.

In the end, I hail a cab because riding my bike would take fifteen minutes. Walking? In this weather?

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