Avery Cooper slung the bag over his shoulder, already questioning if he'd taken too much stuff.
Nonsense. One could never be too prepared.
He took one last glance towards the large house, staring at the dark silhouette he'd come to know over the years.
If everything went well, this would be the last time he'd have to see it.
Avery's tight curls blew in the June winds.
He fumbled with the lock for a few seconds, making enough noise, it felt, to wake up the whole neighborhood. Every creak of a branch felt like some old lady was opening her windows to scream at him.
He managed to lock the door without garnering the attention of any geriatrics. It gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, he could pull this off.
Avery padded down the driveway, trying not to scrape the gravel with his feet. He winced every time he did. When you're trying to be quiet, every noise feels at least 110% louder.
He cast a forlorn glance at the garage. It housed his father's two cars and several bikes. He would have loved to ride around in the red Cadillac, but it would be too recognizable.
He bit his lip. Wouldn't walking several miles be tiring? Could he even do it? Avery wasn't the most active kid. He chucked at the gross understatement.
A few seconds of deliberation later, he opened the garage and hissed curses at the loud, metallic clangs that ensued.
The garage was an all consuming black cave. It brought to mind the colour of space.
He immediately fished the flashlight out of his bag, proud of his forethought. The bluish light made the space a dash more comfortable. Emphasis on 'dash', he thought, looking around. Only God knew how many varieties of snake lived in the garage. And only God knew how many were roused awake right now, ready to bite if he got too close. He shivered, though it must have been eighty degrees.
Sitting there, light dancing on its surface, was the cherry red car. Perfectly spotless, perfectly polished, perfectly perfect. Avery almost salivated at the thought of driving it. But no, he couldn't.
His flashlight lit the bikes on the nearby rack.
He took them down, wondering why his father wasn't already woken up by the noise.
The bike he had chosen was a dull scarlet. It wasn't nearly as bright as the Cadillac, and had an almost sickening orange tint, but it would suffice. And, it had a nifty wire basket. He felt the rim with his fingertips, smiling when he found the dent. He had gotten it a few years ago when he braked for a turtle and crashed into the nearby foliage.
Closing the garage and wheeling out the dinky-ass bike, he breathed in deeply.
He was doing this. He was running away. He was going to be his own man, somewhere far away from his father.
Hell yeah.
He strapped on his helmet, making sure it was secure. After checking the bike for flat tires, loose screws, weak joints, and the like, he sat on, a bit uncertainly. But it wasn't his balance that was uncertain- it was him.
He ran through the contents of his bag three times. And then he ran through the letter he wrote for his father which was currently taped to his bathroom mirror. He remembered the wording verbatim. It wasn't like you could not remember that sort of thing- it was important. Possibly the most important thing he'd written in his life. Other than the application to Yale, of course.
It just occurred to him that the application didn't matter anymore. He felt a sizeable weight fly off his shoulders.
In the censor of night, he raised a middle finger towards his house. It was something he never could have done at any other time than now, when the adrenaline was running and his heart was pumping double time.
He rode into the dark, a goofy smile plastered across his face.
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Avery had planned all of this out. He knew where to go, what to do, how to spend his money. He had memorized his route to the nearest city, and had a thousand different alibis for anyone who would care to ask.
He didn't plan for a flat tire, though.
The limp rubber gushed out air from a tiny hole. He waved his hand in front of the airstream. How could he be so stupid?
He batted his glasses up his nose with a trembling finger.
He could do this. He was smart. A genius, for Christ's sake.
The funny thing is, he didn't feel like a genius, standing on the side of a highway with a useless, tiny bike. He felt like a little kid who couldn't think things through.
He couldn't fill his tire with air, because it was punctured. So he'd have to walk, or use public transportation. Walking was tiring, and public transportation could get expensive, quick. If he didn't save his resources, he'd have to eat at McDonalds or something. The thought made him gag.
He bit his lip, staring at the cars passing by. It couldn't be over; not so soon.
An idea came to him.
He got out his flashlight once more, and waved it over his head.