Mother always said Stewart was a dangerous combination of charm and chatter.
“That boy could sell snow to Eskimos and I don’t like you mixing with his sort.”
Father simply said Stewart came from the wrong side of town and I was strictly forbidden to have anything to do with him.
Maybe I should have listened because here I was two days after my eighth birthday experiencing the worst day of my entire life.
I had broken so many rules I believed I couldn’t ever go home. I would have to live on the run with my ruined bicycle.
Sniffing and wiping the stray tears on the back of my sleeve I desparately tried to look brave.
Stewart looked straight at me without passing judgement or even mocking me for crying.
That day he taught me a valuable lesson.
“There’s more than one way to ride a bike you know.”
Thanks to Angela at her Anonymous Legacy blog for setting another great picture challenge.
Can you write a story in 150 words or less to go with the picture?