– George, don’t let this guy help with your bike. He’s bad luck. He touches your bike and it’s gone.

Andy yanks on the rag.

– Get off, dickmo.

– Make me.

– Get. Off.

Andy pulls harder and Paul lifts his foot and Andy falls back on his ass.

– You’re such a feeb.

– Dick!

George holds out his hand.

– Give me the rag.

Andy throws the rag at him.

Some big brother. Think he could take his side against Paul just once. Just today. Fucking bike. Still can’t believe he was so stupid not to lock it up.

George lifts his finger from the puncture in the tube and starts drying the rubber around it.

– Did you see who took it?

Andy gets off his ass, takes the puncture kit from the toolbox and pops the shiny tin lid from the cardboard cylinder.

– No. If I had I would have kicked their ass.

Paul reaches up, grabbing a lower branch of the maple tree alongside the driveway and chinning himself on it.

– Yeah, George, what are you thinking? If he’d seen them he would have kicked their ass. He’s such a badass ass kicker. Asses all over town are afraid of him.

Andy flips him off and hands George the top of the puncture kit.

George drops the rag, takes the lid, and uses its ridged upper surface to score the rubber around the puncture.

Paul hauls himself up onto the branch, hooks his knees around it and dangles upside down, long curls falling over his face.

– Come kick my ass, Andy, I’ll just hang here and you try to kick my ass.

Andy stays where he is, watching George fix the leak, taking the lid back and handing him the metal tube of cement.

He’s imagining picking up the hammer from the toolbox and swinging it at Paul’s face. He’s picturing finding whoever stole his bike and stabbing them in the throat with a screwdriver.