The Great Bike Rescue Read Free

building. The waitress at the café was outside, talking to a man in a black T-shirt. One of the perfect sisters was dropping a letter into the mailbox down the street. No one was looking in my direction. I took a few steps and ducked into the unused doorway, the one the store keeps locked.
    It’s a spot that most people don’t notice, a little alcove—deep and narrow. Like everywhere else along the storefront, the plate glass is lined with posters. I sat with my back against the door and pulled in my legs. Instantly, I was hidden. Only someone looking directly sideways at the exact moment they passed the doorway would see me.
    But I could see out. By peering through the cracks between the posters, I could see the street, The Flame and a stretch of sidewalk in either direction. Perfect.
    The next minute, Riley walked around the corner and sat beside me.
    â€œHey!” he said. “This is going to work great. It’s a stakeout, just like on the cop shows. We should have brought coffee and donuts.”
    â€œWhere’s your bike?” I asked.
    â€œLocked at the back,” he said. “Bikes get stolen in front of this store, in case you haven’t heard. And I can’t watch it if I’m helping you wrestle some thief to the ground.”
    Wrestling wasn’t part of the plan. As soon as the thief laid a finger on The Flame, we’d both step out of the doorway. The thief would abandon his plan and take off. But I’d know what he looked like. Our city is big, but our neighborhood isn’t. I’d ask around and find out who he was. Maybe I’d even find out where he lived. I’d tell the police.
    Riley’s head was swiveling back and forth. “See anyone suspicious yet?”
    As far as I was concerned, everyone was suspicious.
    Two teenagers were pooling money at the bus stop. A bike, even one as small as The Flame, could save one of them the cost of bus fare.
    A summer student hurried down the sidewalk, headed to the college across the ravine. A bike would get her there way faster.
    A bottle picker ambled down the street, looking in garbage cans. He could tie his bulging bags to the bike and push it, like a cart. Way easier.
    Nope. None of them even looked at The Flame. But I wasn’t discouraged.
    If the bike thief needed a bike for transportation, he now had one—he had my bike.
    I should be watching for someone who wasn’t going anywhere. Someone who was hanging around. Someone who was stealing things because that’s what he or she did.
    The man with the black T-shirt was now walking back and forth on the opposite corner. I could see tattoos all down one arm. Definitely suspicious. And when I thought about it, I was pretty sure I’d seen him around before.
    A gray-haired man on a bench was pretending to scratch lottery tickets. I could tell he was doing a lot of peering around from beneath his bushy eyebrows.
    Two women wearing frayed jeans were looking in shop windows across the street. They could be using the reflection to case out opportunities. I held my breath as they crossed at the corner. Nope, they passed by without a glance.
    The only one who did look at The Flame was a little boy. If he’d taken it, his mom would have made him put it back.
    That’s when someone in blue jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt slid around the corner and sat down beside us.
    â€œHey,” she said.
    I couldn’t believe it. Emily Grimshaw.
    Emily is tiny. She’d squeezed herself into the corner next to Riley, her knees hugged up tightly. With her sharp chin and bright eyes she looked like a rodent—a rodent in a wrinkled T-shirt. Riley looked at Emily and then he looked at me. Back and forth. Emily. Me.
    When I was little, Emily Grimshaw had made me so mad I’d felt like a cartoon character—you know, the kind with steam coming out of its ears? Instantly that feeling returned. Or maybe there really was steam, because the puzzled