“Mom, did you sign my permission form?”
“What permission form?” Sara asked distractedly, sliding a raspberry Pop Tart into the toaster.
“For today’s field trip. To Babushka’s Bakery, remember? I gave it to you last week.”
“Oh, honey.” Sara wrung her hands. “Don’t you think it would be better if you didn’t go on the field trip? You know how clumsy you are. What if something should happen to you?”
“Mom, I have a paper to write on today’s trip, and it’s worth a quarter of my grade.” Mina had finally found a few safety pins in a junk drawer and was fumbling with them to reattach the strap to her backpack. She knew they didn’t have enough money to buy another one. She would have to make do with a quick mend.
“Well, maybe you could do some extra credit instead?” Sara asked.
“Mom, I’ll be fine. I’ll stick to Nan like glue, and you won’t have to worry about me. It’s just a boring bakery tour. What could possibly go wrong, other than death from boredom?” Mina saw the look on her mom’s face and knew that she had won the argument…barely.
Going to a stack of mail by the fridge, Sara sifted through it until she found the folded yellow permission form. Signing it, she handed it to Mina with one last warning. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will,” Mina promised, knowing it was a half-truth. She would be careful, but bad luck had a habit of following her everywhere.
Charlie shuffled into the kitchen still wearing his pajamas, plus a striking pair of bright yellow galoshes. Sitting on a slightly dented chair, he pulled one of the boxes of cereal toward him and began his morning routine of combining random cereals into one bowl. Today he chose only Franken Berry, Cheerios, and Grape-Nuts, a far cry from his normal combination of at least five cereals. Watching him mix cereal every morning made her stomach drop in disgust, which was why she preferred Pop Tarts.
The toaster released her Pop Tart and Mina grabbed it in midair, wishing she hadn’t as she began tossing it back and forth in her hands until it cooled. Once it had cooled enough, it went into her mouth while she slipped on her temporarily fixed backpack and darted out the door to grab her bike from the landing.
The Grime family lived in a small rented apartment above The Golden Palace, a Chinese restaurant run by Mr. and Mrs. Wong. Mina loved living above the restaurant, unless she forgot to close her window the night before; then all of her clothes would smell like peanut oil. To make up for it, Mrs. Wong gave Mina all the pot stickers she could eat.
Mina carried the bike down the stairs to the sidewalk, nicking the paint from the wall on the way down. She had a love-hate relationship with the bike. Last year, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday, she thought she was being led outside blindfolded to be presented with a car. Instead, she got a red 1950 Schwinn. The bike was old and scuffed, and it needed new brakes, oil, and tires, but she didn’t care.
Once she got over the disappointment and realized how unrealistic a car would be on her family’s budget, she began to love it. The bike allowed her some freedom. Besides, if Mina’s riding ability was any indication of her driving ability, then the world would have been in for a lot of dented mailboxes.
Swinging her bike onto the sidewalk, Mina waved to Mrs. Wong and barely missed colliding into an old lady walking her gaggle of toy poodles. “Sorry!” she yelled, losing a chunk of the Pop Tart she was still holding in her mouth. She watched in disgust as the poodles, who only moments ago had looked cute and cuddly, morphed into snapping, sugar-crazed dogs. The lady stared in shock as she tried to get control of her wild, pampered babies. Mina shrugged apologetically in response.
Ten minutes later, after cutting through two back streets and riding across three neighbors’ backyards, Mina arrived at a schoolyard that was devoid of human life, giving her the undeniable impression that she was tardy. She left her bike by the bike rack, but without a proper kickstand, it sagged pathetically to one side against the nicer, newer bikes.
Running toward the bus barn, she was relieved to see the field trip bus was still there—until it pulled away from the curb.
“No!” Mina yelled, running after the bus, trying desperately to catch the notice of the driver.
A window slid down, and a familiar blonde head popped out with something silver in her hand. “Mina, you really need to get a watch,” the girl shouted.
“Nan! Tell him to stop!” Mina cried, feeling a stitch begin in her side.
“And a cell phone! You really need to be brought out of the dark ages. I could have called you.” The girl just kept talking, impervious to Mina’s desperation and waning stamina.
“Nan! Snap out of it! Stop the bus!” she screamed, huffing and puffing.