There's something wrong with this picture. Three muscle-bound guys are chasing a wiry teenaged boy down the sidewalk. I hit the brakes on my bike to get a closer look, and the teenager crashes into me, sending us both sprawling on the pavement. The musclemen thunder along after the boy, who keeps running. When I look up, my bike tire is totalled, twisted into a mess of broken spokes and bent rim. Those heavy guys ran right over it, damn them! Jerks. I get up, wheel  my bike into the alleyway beside the coffee shop, and chase after them with the intention of making them pay for repairs. It may end up being a bad idea, but I haven’t got a better one.

The four of them lead me all over town, running up and down streets with no regard for other people’s property or the law in general. Finally the men stop, apparently having lost track of the boy. Puffing, I screech to a halt behind them and clear my throat. All three of them turn, hostile eyes looking me up and down. This is definitely a terrible idea.
“What do you want, kid?” An accusing stare is pointed down crossed arms at wimpy little me.
I clear my throat again, trying to ward off the squeak I know will come out of my dry mouth. “You guys broke my bike,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster.
“And what? You want us to pay for it?”
“Well, yeah.” This is not going to end well.
They laugh at me, which I guess is better than getting beaten to a pulp. Still, my bike’s gotta get fixed. I attempt to think. What can I do for them to make them do what I want?
Lightbulb. “I know all the backstreets and nooks and crannies in this town. I can find that boy for you.”
They stop laughing. “Not a bad idea,” one of them says. “It’s not as though we can catch him.”
“Alright then. We’ll give you until tomorrow morning to catch him. Bring him to us by then, and we’ll pay for the repairs on your bike.
“Deal.” We shake hands, and they walk away, leaving words of teasing encouragement ringing in my ears. Well, I got what I wanted, anyways. Now I gotta find that kid.
He disappeared into this apparent dead-end, which was why the three men had stopped. They’d overlooked the fact that an agile person could reach the folded fire escape ladder by jumping onto the dumpster. The teenaged boy looked agile. Luckily for my bike, so am I. I climb the ladder and swing myself onto the roof. Now the chase becomes difficult. He could have gone in any direction. I search the rooftops for a clue.
“Did you lose something?”
I spin around and see the boy standing behind me, a stupid grin on his face. I examine him. Crap. He looked wiry from a distance, but in reality he’s got enough muscle to toss me on my head on the concrete without breaking a sweat. So much for bringing him to those guys.“What do you think?” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “Why are they after you, anyways?”
“Complicated reasons.”
“Great. I hate complicated.”
He laughs. “It’s not a secret or anything. It’s just a really long story.”
I shrug. “Whatever you say. As long as it’s not something illegal, I don’t really care. I just need my bike fixed.”
“Why’s it so important? Can’t you just get it fixed yourself? Your parents would pay for the repairs if you told them what happened, right?”
“They don’t have the money.” I look at the ground, my cheeks burning.
“Oh.” Silence. I scrape my shoe on the concrete.
“Uh, sorry,” he says.
“You better be. So, help me out.” I know what he’s going to say.
“I can’t do what you’re asking,” he says.
“I figured.” I sigh. “Goddamn money problems, complicating my life.”
“Sorry. I wish I could help, but-“
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “Forget about it.” So much for the bike. Then again, I can’t kid myself forever. I was screwed the second he knocked me over. I climb back down and head for the coffee shop. Maybe I could sell the parts and buy something second-hand.
The streetlights come on as I reach the alleyway. May as well not go home, now. I’ll be in a whole heap of trouble no matter what I do.
I pull out my house keys and turn on the mini flashlight. The alleyway is empty. Who the heck would steal that twisted mess of a bike, I don’t know, but they did, and now I am very screwed.
“What gives?”
I jump. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, goddamnit!
“Sorry. Why haven’t you gone home?”
“Maybe if I don’t show ’til after school tomorrow, they’ll forget to yell at me. At any rate, it’ll take me an age to walk home with my bike gone, and I haven’t got cash for the bus.”
“Oh.” He stares off into the distance for a moment. “D’you want to hang out, then?
I laugh. “Why not?”
We spend the night hopping from rooftop to rooftop, talking. He tells the long story of how he ended up here, a globetrotting manhunt pitting him and his aunt against the forces of evil, or so he says. I open up to him about the freaks I call my parents and how all our money goes to their weird projects and God knows what else. We stop at a vending machine and I show him how if you roundhouse kick the machine in just the right spot, you can get a free drink. It takes him a couple tries to get it right.
We sit on the edge of a roof and watch the sun rise. “Guess you’d better get moving,” I say. “Those guys’ll be back at it in a couple hours.
“Yeah.”
I never noticed how a few moments of silence can feel like an age.
His cellphone rings, and he walks off to answer it. What would life be like if I were him? He’s always a stranger passing through, never in one place for long. I’d heard some regret in his voice when he described it, but it didn’t seem so bad to me.
“Hey, uh-“
I look up. “Everything okay?”
“Do you, uh, want to come along?”
“Come along? You mean, like, go with you?”
He nods. Do I? It’d be dangerous, but I’d also be free of the rules and the stares I get at school. . . . I’d never considered running-I never had anywhere to go, and I’ve always been the type who plays it safe. But does it matter? Maybe it’s time to take some risks. He said his aunt has money, and even though I’d be on the run, it’s a chance to get out of this town and see the world.
“If you don’t want to, that’s okay,” he says slowly.
I get up. “No, I do. I really do. Just gimme a second.” I pull out my cellphone.
A grin stretches across his face. “I’m Ben.”
“Alex.” I hit sent on my phone then turn it off. My parents are gonna flip, but I don’t care. I drop the cellphone down to the street and we climb off the roof, our entire lives stowed inside our backpacks.