We were at the clearing by the jump park, bright and early the following morning, and one thing was now clear: I did not know how to ride a bike.

If I had, it would have come back to me, along with the confidence that I did know what to do once I was up on the pedals and rolling forward. Instead, each time I got moving – even at a snail’s pace – I panicked, wobbled, and fell. I’d managed to go about forty yards once, but only because Maggie was holding on to the back of the seat. As soon as she let go, I veered off into some bushes and wiped out once more.

Of course I wanted to quit. I had since the first wreck, which had been over an hour earlier. It was completely humiliating to have to keep picking myself up off the ground and wiping sand and gravel off my knees, not to mention facing Maggie’s cheerful, go-team expression, which was usually paired with a thumbs-up, even after I’d gone down hard. This was just such a simple thing. Little kids did it every day. And yet, I kept failing. And falling.

‘You know,’ she said, after the next crash, which involved full-body contact with a garbage can, yuck, ‘I’m thinking I’m approaching this the wrong way.’

‘It’s not you,’ I told her, picking up the bike again. ‘It’s me. I’m terrible at this.’

‘No, you’re not.’ She smiled at me, which made me feel even more pathetic. ‘Look, riding a bike involves a great deal of faith. I mean, you’re not supposed to be able to be aloft on two skinny rubber tires. It goes against all logic.’

‘Okay,’ I said, picking some gravel off my elbow, ‘now you’re really being condescending.’

‘I’m not.’ She held the bike as I climbed back on and flexed my hands over the bars. ‘But I do think that maybe we could use some reinforcements.’

I looked at her. ‘Oh, no. No way.’

‘Auden. It’s all right.’ She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, flipping it open.

‘Please don’t,’ I said. ‘Leah will laugh me out of town. And Esther… she’ll just feel sorry for me, which would be even worse.’

‘Agreed,’ she replied, punching some keys. ‘But I’m calling the one person you literally cannot make an ass of yourself in front of. It’s guaranteed.’

‘Maggie.’

‘Seriously.’ She hit another button. ‘Trust me.’

At the time, I had no idea who she was talking about. But ten minutes later, when I heard a car door slam in the parking lot behind us and turned my head, it made total sense.

‘This is a 911?’ Adam said as he walked up. ‘You know you only text that when someone is dead or dying. You scared the crap out of me!’

‘Sorry,’ Maggie told him. ‘But I needed you here fast.’

He sighed, then pulled a hand through his curly hair, which, I now noticed, was sticking up on one side. Also, there were sheet crease marks on his face. ‘Fine. So what’s the emergency?’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘Auden can’t ride a bike.’

Adam looked at me, and I felt myself flush. ‘Wow,’ he said solemnly. ‘That is serious.’

‘See?’ Maggie said to me. ‘I told you he was the right person to call!’

Adam came closer, checking out both the bike and me on it. ‘All right,’ he said after a moment. ‘So what method of instruction have you been using here?’

Maggie blinked. ‘Method of…’

‘Did you start with the buddy system, and then move on to assisted riding? Or do assisted riding first, with the intention of a slow, incremental build toward independent movement?’

Maggie and I exchanged a look. Then she said, ‘I just kind of put her on and let her go.’

‘Oh, man. That’s the fastest way to make a person hate the bike.’ He gestured for me to get off and roll it toward him, which I did. Then he climbed on. ‘Okay, Auden. Get on the handlebars.’

‘What?’

‘The handlebars. Climb on.’ When I just stood there, clearly doubtful, he said, ‘Look. If you want to learn to ride a bike, you have to want to learn to ride a bike. And the only way to do that is to see how fun it is, once you know what you’re doing. Hop on.’

I shot a look at Maggie. When she nodded encouragingly, I eased myself up on the handlebars, trying to be graceful about it. ‘Okay,’ Adam said. ‘Now hold on tight. When we get going really fast, you can let go, but only for a second, and only when you really feel ready.’

‘I’m not letting go,’ I told him. ‘Ever.’

‘That’s fine, too.’

Then he started pedaling. Slowly at first, and then a bit faster, so that the wind was blowing back my hair and ruffling my shirt. Once we reached the end of the parking lot, he hung a right and kept going.

‘Wait,’ I said, looking back at Maggie, who was watching us, her hand shielding her eyes. ‘What about…’

‘She’s fine,’ Adam said. ‘We won’t be gone long.’

We were on the main road now, moving swiftly along the shoulder, the occasional car passing us on the left. The sun was fully up now, and the air smelled sweet and salty, all at once. ‘Okay,’ Adam yelled as another car passed us, ‘tell me what you’re feeling.’

‘I’m hoping I don’t fall off the handlebars,’ I told him. ‘What else?’

‘I…’ I said as we bumped off the road, onto the boardwalk, ‘I don’t know.’