In the driveway of the small white house on Center Street, a tall, large man stood at one end, while his blonde wife stood at the other. She slouched down, holding a small green bicycle steady. Perched atop, sporting a white helmet that was a little too big, sat a blonde 5 year old girl, eyes wide, uncertain.

“Ready, Laura?” breathed her mother.

“Yep.” I replied, nodding vigorously, my helmet bouncy wildly.


I gripped the handle bars tightly as my mom pushed me away. Not knowing what to do, I veered right, slamming into a massive white trailer. My abnormally huge helmet flew off, and my bike slid under the trailer.



With tears streaming from my greenish-blue eyes, I ran for the house, screaming my head off. I ran down the stairs, through the family room, and into my room, slamming my door with all of my strength.


Eventually, I mastered the bike. I enjoy scooters more, but bikes are faster!

THE END