Good thing I brought the backup from the sidec car. He pulls out another chair. Newer, sturdier, motorized, but with manual options, too. Where did you get this? Mom asks.
Club had it. Patch says vaguely. For emergencies. I wheel myself around in the new chair. The controls are responsive, smooth.
This is amazing, I say. Patch grins. Wait till you see what it can do. Mom checks her watch. I have to go.
I'm late already. I'll take Eli to school. Patch offers. Mom bites her lip, then nods. Straight to school, she instructs.
No detours. Yes, ma'am. Patch says. After mom leaves, Patch shows me the chair's features. Higher speed settings, tougher wheels, even a small compartment under the seat.
For emergencies, he says, slipping another patch and a prepaid phone into it. Mom would freak if she knew, I say. Patch nods. That's why we're not telling her. On the way to school, Patch is quiet, focused.
Something wrong? I ask. He glances at me. Nothing for you to worry about. Is it club stuff?
He doesn't answer for a moment. Hog thinks someone's targeting you to get to us. My stomach drops. Who? We're working on that.
Patch says, "Just be careful, okay? Stay where people can see you. " At school, Patch walks me all the way to my first class. Eyes follow us down the hallway. Patch's size, his tattoos, his leather vest. He's impossible to ignore.
I'll be back at 3:00, he says. Don't leave with anyone else. The day crawls by. I keep checking the new chair, half expecting it to fail, too. It doesn't.
At lunch, Emily joins me again. She eyes the new chair. Upgrade? She asks. I nod.
The old one broke. She studies it. Looks expensive. I guess I don't mention who provided it. Emily unwraps her sandwich.
My dad saw you with the bikers. I tense. So he says I shouldn't talk to you anymore. She takes a deliberate bite. I told him that was stupid.
I blink, surprised. You did? She nods. I make my own friends. The word hangs between us.
Friends? Is that what we are now? Thanks, I say. She shrugs. It's whatever.
But her small smile says it's not whatever. It's something. After lunch, I head to history class. The hallway is crowded. Someone bumps my chair hard from behind.
I nearly tip over. Sorry. A voice says, not sounding sorry at all. I turn. Tyler Reed, one of the boys from yesterday.