‘Shh, shh,’ she was saying. ‘Everything’s all right.’

Her voice was low. Soft. And with these last words, suddenly familiar in a way it had not been ever before. That voice I thought I’d imagined or conjured: it was her, all along. Not a dream, or a mantra, but a memory. A real one.

Everything’s all right, I thought now, as I bumped over the curb and onto the street. There was no traffic in the neighborhood, and I thought of all those mornings with Maggie, feeling her hand on the back of my seat, her footsteps slapping the pavement as she raced to keep up before giving me one last push – Go! – and I was on my own.

I just kept riding, shooting under streetlights and past mailboxes, the tires whizzing against the pavement. As I turned out of the neighborhood, I had the road to myself, all the way to the single stoplight where it ended at the beach.

It was the light I focused on, solid green, up ahead of me, as I pedaled faster, the fastest yet, my hair blowing back, the spokes of the tires humming. I’d never gone so fast before, and it occurred to me that I should probably be scared, but I wasn’t. On the other side of the light I could see the ocean, big and dark and vast, and I pictured myself hitting the sand and just keeping going, over the dunes and into the waves, the current the only thing strong enough to stop me. I was so immersed in this image, which was amazingly clear in my head, that I didn’t see two things until I was right up on them: the banged-up Toyota truck sitting at the stoplight, and the curb right across from it.

I saw the truck first. Suddenly, it was just there, although I was positive there had been no traffic when I’d looked only seconds earlier. And maybe it was a good thing that I hardly had time to process that it was, in fact, Eli’s truck. Because the next second, the curb presented itself, and it needed my full attention.

I was already zooming past Eli when I realized I had to make a decision: try to brake and turn and hope my crash was a small one, or keep going and try to jump the curb. If anyone else had been in that truck, I probably would have taken the first option. But it wasn’t anyone else, and I knew – even in those dwindling seconds, when I could feel every bit of my blood rushing through my ears – that this was probably the best way to explain to him what I’d tried to that morning at the shop. So I jumped.

It wasn’t like what I’d seen Maggie do that night at the park. Or the tons of bike videos I’d watched over the last few weeks. But it didn’t matter. For me, the feeling of rising up suddenly, suddenly being airborne – the tires spinning into nothing – was amazing. It was like a dream. Or maybe, like waking up from one.

It only lasted a few seconds, and then I was coming down hard, the bike hitting the pavement with a bang beneath me, even as it kept moving forward. I felt the shock all the way from my fingertips to my elbows as I tried to control the handlebars, hanging on for dear life as the tires skidded, trying to fall over sideways. This was the point where I’d always given into the crash, squeezing my eyes shut as the garbage can or bushes came closer, closer, closer. But now, I kept them wide open and just held on, and after a spray of sand, I was somehow back upright, and moving on.

My hands were shaking as I carefully eased on my brake, feeling my pulse thudding in my temple. It was all so clear to me – the fast approach, spotting the curb, and launching up, up, up – and yet at the same time, I could not believe I’d actually done it. In fact, it didn’t even seem real until I circled around, still shaking, and saw Eli, who at some point had pulled over to the curb and gotten out of his truck and was now just standing there, staring at me.

‘Holy crap,’ he said finally. ‘That was awesome.’

‘Yeah?’

He nodded. ‘And here I thought you couldn’t ride a bike.’

I smiled, then pedaled back toward him. It was only as I got closer that I noticed he was not in his usual jeans and T-shirt or hoodie, but wearing nice black pants, some vintage-looking shiny dress shoes, and a long-sleeved white shirt, untucked. ‘I couldn’t,’ I said, coming to a stop beside him. ‘Maggie taught me.’

‘How to jump, too?’

‘Um, no,’ I said, feeling myself flush. ‘I kind of winged that part, actually.’

‘Really.’

‘You couldn’t tell?’

He looked at me for a moment. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I could.’

‘What gave me away? The look of pure terror on my face?’

‘Nope.’ He leaned back on his heels. ‘In fact, you didn’t look scared at all.’

‘How did I look?’

‘Ready,’ he replied.

I considered this as I looked down at my bike. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I think I was, actually.’

Maybe this should have felt strange, especially after all that had happened. But it didn’t. Perhaps because it was nighttime, when things that might have felt odd in daylight instead seemed just right. Like riding a bike in a prom dress and crossing paths with only one person, and it’s the only person you want to see.

If it was light out, I would have questioned more, second-guessed, started to overthink. But now, it seemed natural to turn to Eli and say, ‘You were right, you know.’

‘About what?’

‘Me,’ I said. ‘How I always quit if I don’t get something right the first time. It’s been a big mistake.’

‘So you believe in second chances now,’ he said, clarifying.