By Rita Feutl
Nick simply desires to exchange the television his sister by chance broke ahead of their foster mom and dad discover. To pay off the debt, the sixteen-year-old has to scouse borrow motorcycles, holiday them down and rebuild them to promote. however the debt and the violence continue to grow. Even Nick’s personal liked fixed-gear bike—the fixie he equipped together with his dad—is up for grabs.
Should Nick recruit more youthful “runts” to do his soiled paintings? may still he have the opportunity to offer again the motorbike of the lovable lady on the diner now that he kind of likes her? and the way can Nick defend his little sister from the creepy man with the colours?
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Extra info for Bike thief
This is going to be easier than I thought. Chapter Three The next day I skip social studies and ride my fixie to the meeting with Dwayne. I zip around to the back of an abandoned strip mall, tires humming. He’s standing in the shadows, swinging a set of keys. I skid to a stop right next to him. Pebbles go flying. “Smart-ass,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s mad or not, so I don’t say anything. Dwayne unbolts the door and steps into what looks like a long, dark cave. He switches on a light. I follow, pushing my bike inside.
It wasn’t a car,” says Alex. Katie looks at him. “How do you know? ” Alex says nothing. Katie turns back to me. “And he had a gun. That’s what Laura said. Stevie’s mother came to the school this morning. Laura was in the office getting a late slip and she heard everything. ” I can tell she’s proud of being able to use the word jacked. Alex rolls his eyes. ” I ask. “They’re sending him to a new school. ” “Get on your bike,” I tell her. “Mrs. ” Alex looks at me. ” I nod and ride off. Katie chatters on beside me.
Kris is my social worker. I haven’t seen him since the week after Katie and I moved in here. He’s tall and skinny, and he does that thing where he hangs on to your hand for an extra half second when he shakes it. Then he stares at you, forever, like he’s trying to see inside you. It’s beginning to piss me off. I pull my hand away. “I’ll just go wash up,” I say. No one else says anything. When I get back, everyone’s in the living room. Even Katie. She’s curled in a ball at the end of the couch, far from anyone else.