To all my friends who made ours a wonderful neighborhood to grow up in together

  CHAPTER 1

  “Hurry up!” Jade yells.

  My legs burn as I keep pedaling. I’m only halfway up the biggest hill on the way to Radley’s Park. And I’m slowing down no matter how hard I try to go faster.

  “Come on!” Jade is waiting for me at the top of the hill. The sparkly pink tassels on her bike handles flutter in the cool fall breeze. She crosses her arms impatiently.

  I reach for the water bottle clipped onto the side of my bike and take a sip. My old bike didn’t have a clip. It also squeaked and rattled, and the chain kept falling off. Plus it was getting so small for me that my knees hit the handlebars. Luckily, Mama and Baba surprised me with this new bike, in a perfect shade of blue, right before school started. But this hill is still as hard as ever.

  “Al… most… there…,” Naomi pants behind me. I focus on the back of Gloria’s helmet in front of us as she reaches her older sister first.

  And then a few moments later, we make it! I mop the sweat off my face and gaze at the path winding through the park.

  “Finally!” Jade smiles. “Let’s go.” It’s obvious that my neighbor loves being the one in charge on our long bike rides. We’re only allowed to come this far without a grown-up because Jade’s thirteen and old enough to babysit. Not that we’re babies or need sitting.

  Naomi and I are both ten, and Gloria’s almost twelve. But Jade took an official babysitting class and earned a certificate for doing CPR recently. That means she knows how to help people if they stop breathing. A moment ago, when I was gasping for air, I thought I might actually need Jade’s services. But now I’ve caught my breath, and I’m ready to play.

  Ever since they redid the equipment at Radley’s, it’s the best park in the area. There’s a huge pirate ship with big twisty slides, a fake plank, and tire swings. Because of the foamy soft padding on the ground, you don’t get hurt if you fall down. The only bad part about Radley’s being so awesome is that it’s popular… a little too popular. People swarm to it on the weekends. And that means we have to wait for the swings and dodge all the little kids learning how to scooter and Rollerblade on the foam.

  “What do you want to do first?” Naomi asks as we park our bikes in the crowded rack. I carefully slide mine into the slot next to hers, making sure it doesn’t get scratched. When my friend takes off her helmet, her usually puffy curls are flattened to the sides of her head.

  “Pirate ship hide-and-seek!” Gloria suggests.

  “Snack time!” Jade points to her backpack, which is decorated with patches from national parks. “I’ve got clementines and pretzels.”

  “How about hide-and-seek and then snacks?” I offer. “I’ll be it.”

  “Okay! Zara’s it!” Naomi says.

  I close my eyes and count to twenty while the girls scatter. When I open my eyes again, the girls are all hidden. Last time we played, we decided the trash can area is off-limits, so I don’t check there. But the bushes next to them have a little gap between them.

  Sure enough, I spot silver glinting off a sneaker between the leaves. Naomi’s in there, curled up into a tiny ball.

  “I see you, Naomi!” I yell.

  “You always find me first!” Naomi complains. It’s true. Naomi is full of great ideas, except when it comes to thinking of hard-to-find hiding places. And half the time her colorful clothes make it easier to track her down.

  “Two more.” I scan the playground. There’s a spot in the pirate ship that’s shaped like a tube.

  “Look.” I point. “I bet one of them is hiding in there.”

  As I’m running toward the ship, I hear my name.

  “Hey, Zara!”

  I whip my head around. It’s Alan, my next-door neighbor, wearing a bright green soccer uniform.

  “Oh, hi, Alan. Do you have practice?”

  “A game. We lost. What are you doing?”

  “Hide-and-seek with the girls. Want to play?”

  “Sure.”

  “Alan!” Mrs. Goodman calls from the field. “We need to go!” She’s holding a bag, a cooler, and a folding chair.

  “Can I play a little?”

  “For a few minutes. We’re going to Aunt Christina’s, remember? Hi, Zara! How are you, sweetie?”

  Before I can answer, we’re interrupted by the shrill music of the ice cream truck. As it pulls into the parking lot, kids scream and race toward it like it’s giving away free puppies. Even Jade and Gloria pop out from their hiding places and run to get into line. Jade always stashes a little money in her backpack in case of an emergency—and the ice cream truck is definitely an emergency.

  “Can I get ice cream?” Alan asks his mom.

  “If the line moves quickly.” Mrs. Goodman reaches into her purse and hands Alan a few dollars. “Zara, you get something too.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. G.!” All the parents on our street look out for each other’s kids. Mama says it’s what makes our neighborhood the best to grow up in, and I agree.

  I study the menu on the side of the truck.

  “One cookies-and-cream bar, please,” I tell the man, who hands it to me with a wink and gives Alan his change.

  “I have to go,” Alan says as he tears open the wrapper of his ice cream sandwich. “See you later.”

  “Thanks for the ice cream.” I wave and then walk to a bench with the girls to eat our treats.

  “What do you want to do now?” Jade asks after we’ve finished. Her mouth and tongue are completely blue from her raspberry Popsicle. “The slide?”

  “Yeah!” We all jump up, energized by the sugar, and spend the next couple of hours sliding, swinging, and playing tag. It’s basically a perfect afternoon.

  “Oh no! It’s almost four,” Jade says, checking her phone. “I promised we’d be home by then. We have to go… now!”

  Luckily, the ride home is almost all downhill, so it should be faster than getting here. We head over to the bike rack, making plans for when we’ll return to the park.

  “Wait a second.” Naomi grabs my arm. “Where’s your bike? Didn’t you put it with mine?”

  “What?” My heart thumps wildly as I scan the rack. I’m certain I put it right next to her bike. But now it’s not there.

  “Maybe someone moved it?” Gloria suggests. But I run up and down the rack and search the grass around us, and don’t see it anywhere. It feels like there’s a gigantic Popsicle stick stuck in my throat.

  My beautiful, brand-new bike is… gone.

  CHAPTER 2

  “How could this happen?” Jade asks. “Didn’t you lock it?”

  “No,” I mutter as angry, hot tears roll down my face.

  Gloria turns around to face me, a hand resting on her hip. “Wait. What? You didn’t lock your brand-new bike?” she asks. “Why not?”

  “I never locked my old one.” My voice is shaky, and I sit on the curb by the bike rack.

  “Yeah, but no one would want to take that one. It was beat-up, and made so much noise that we could hear you coming from a mile away,” Gloria says. “I mean, no offense.”

  “I know. I think my dad took it to the dump. He didn’t think anyone would want it either,” I tell her.

  Naomi still hasn’t stopped searching the rack. For the third time she carefully examines the handful of bikes left, as if one of them is magically going to turn into mine.

  “I can’t believe it!” I wail. “What kind of person would take a bike that doesn’t belong to them? My water bottle even has my name on it!”

  “Should we call the police?” Jade asks. “Or your parents?”

  “What can they do?” Naomi asks.

  “I don’t know.” Jade shrugs. “Help us find whoever took it?”

  “Maybe someone took it by mistake,” Naomi says, sitting next to me on the curb. The thought stirs a flicker of hope inside me.

  “Maybe!” I stand up. “That must be it!”

  “I mean, yeah, I guess that could maybe be what happened,” Gloria says, although the way she squishes up half her face makes it seem like she doesn’t quite believe it.

  “Listen, Gloria and I have to get home,” Jade says, tapping into her phone super quickly, the way teenagers do. “What do you want to do, Zara? Do you want to call your parents to come pick you up? Or walk home?”

  Now that she’s got that babysitting certificate, Jade actually does seem more responsible than usual.

  “I’ll walk,” I decide. I’m not ready to tell my parents what happened yet.

  “I’ll walk with you,” Naomi quickly volunteers.

  “Are you sure?” Gloria asks. She looks back and forth at her older sister and us.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Jade confirms.

  “Yeah,” I repeat, and take a deep breath. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay, we’ll see you later,” Jade says. She gets onto her bike and adjusts her backpack.

  “Bye.” Gloria straps on her helmet. “Sorry about your bike.”

  “Don’t be sorry yet,” Naomi says. “We still might find it.”

  “Good luck,” Gloria says as she pedals off, turning and making one last, sad face.

  After they leave, Naomi and I search the entire playground for the bike. We look in the bushes, in the pirate ship, behind the trash cans. It’s like a long game of hide-and-seek with no finding. And no fun.

  “Let�

��s go home,” I finally say. “It’s not here.”

  “Maybe someone’ll bring it back tomorrow when they realize they took the wrong bike,” Naomi says.

  “I hope so. Are you sure you’re okay walking?” I ask Naomi.

  “Totally,” Naomi says. She wheels her bike between us as we start heading home. “What are you going to tell your parents?”

  “The truth, I guess.” Imagining their reaction makes me sweat. I think about all the times Baba and Mama have told me to be careful with my things. They just got angry with my little brother last weekend for losing his soccer ball after leaving it in the front yard during a storm. Zayd hardly ever gets in trouble for anything. And he lost an old ball, not a fancy new bike.

  “I hope they don’t get too mad,” Naomi says.

  “Me too.”

  We walk along in silence, lost in our thoughts. I glance at Naomi, grateful for her company. In just the few months since she moved into our neighborhood this summer, she’s already become my best friend. And someone that I can’t imagine not having around, especially in moments like this.

  “Zara!”

  As soon as we turn onto our street, my mom calls out to me. She’s standing by the mailbox. I didn’t even get a chance to figure out what to say to her yet!

  “Zara!” she repeats. “Are you hurt? Why are you walking?”

  “I’m… fine…. I… um…”

  “Where’s your bike?” Mama’s voice is filled with worry as she stares at me.

  Naomi quietly turns into her driveway. And I swallow hard as I think about what to say to my mother.

  CHAPTER 3

  “What do you mean ‘gone’?” Mama shakes her head like she doesn’t understand me.

  “I mean it was in the bike rack, and then it was… gone. Like I said.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Mama says. She points to a chair in the kitchen, and I sit down. It’s suddenly like I’m in one of those true-crime shows she likes to watch. The light dangling over the table is blinding, and I squint.

  “How could it disappear?” Mama adds. “You locked it, right?”

  I stare at my fingernail and don’t answer her.

  “Zara! Are you telling me you didn’t lock your bike?”

  I shake my head as Zayd runs into the kitchen clutching a toy car.

  “You lost your new bike?” he yelps, his eyes extra wide. “Are you in so much trouble?”

  “Go away, Zayd!” I snap. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Zara,” Mama says with a frown. “Don’t speak to your brother that way. Now, this is serious. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Baba comes into the room next. Mama tells him what’s going on, in a super-annoyed voice.

  “Are you kidding me?” My father turns to me. “You seriously didn’t lock your bike? Why in the world did we get you a lock, then?”

  “I forgot,” I mumble. “I never locked my old bike, so I wasn’t used to it.”

  Baba slaps himself on the forehead like he does when he’s amazed by how terrible something is. And right now that something is me.

  “Unbelievable, Zara! I thought we taught you to take care of your things. And you know the bike was expensive.”

  “I know.” I hang my head and chew on the fingernail now. The tears are back and fill my eyes again.

  “Don’t bite your nails,” Mama scolds as she reaches for the phone. “We should file a police report. What kind of person steals a little kid’s bike? In the middle of the afternoon? In a crowded place?”

  “That’s what I said!” I tell her. Maybe we can focus on how evil this other person is instead of on my mistake.

  “Well, you certainly made it easy for them by being careless,” Baba grumbles.

  So much for that.

  Mama talks on the phone in the other room for a bit with someone at the police station while Baba lectures Zayd and me about “the value of a dollar,” about how “money doesn’t grow on trees,” and about how “lucky you are” to have nice things. After a few minutes Zayd looks like he’s about to cry too, even though he didn’t do anything wrong. But that’s what he gets for rushing to gloat over my bad luck.

  “Okay, well, we’ll see what they say,” Mama says as she comes back into the kitchen. “But the officer didn’t sound very hopeful that we’ll find it.”

  “Do you think someone took it by mistake?” I ask, remembering Naomi’s words. “Maybe they thought it was their bike, and it’s an honest mix-up.”

  “Maybe.” Mama shrugs.

  “Doubtful.” Baba’s lips are a thin line.

  “Should we make signs and put them up in the neighborhood and in the park, just in case?” I suggest.

  “We can have a reward!” Zayd adds. “Everyone likes rewards!”

  “Good idea, Zayd,” I say, feeling bad for growling at him earlier. I imagine someone showing up to collect their reward and delivering the bike to me, as good as new. The thought fills me with relief.

  “I guess it doesn’t hurt to try,” Mama says.

  “But if it doesn’t work, we aren’t getting you another bike,” Baba warns. “You’ll have to save up for one yourself.”

  “Like with an allowance?” I’ve been hoping to start getting an allowance like some of my friends at school do.

  “Good one!” Baba snorts. “If I gave you an allowance, I would still be paying for it. You’ll have to earn it.”

  Earn it? Doing what?

  “How’s a kid supposed to earn money?” Zayd’s seven, but he still pronounces it “stupposed to.”

  “I don’t know,” Baba says. “But like I said, money doesn’t grow on trees. And the sooner you two understand that, the better.”

  Zayd turns to me, his eyes bugging out of his head. I know he wants us to get out of here before we get another lecture.

  “Can we go make the signs now?” I ask.

  “Yes. Go.” Baba puts his hand on Mama’s back, and she sucks on her teeth as if to say, How did we end up with kids like these?

  Zayd and I spend the next hour until dinner making signs. His tongue sticks out a little as he colors in the letters I draw, and he mostly stays within the lines.

  “What are you going to do if no one brings the bike back?” he asks, his forehead wrinkled with worry. “How are you going to make money?”

  “I don’t know. I can ask Jade about babysitting.”

  “You’re not babysitting me!” Zayd declares. “Only Jamal Mamoo babysits me. And Naano.”

  I’m not even offended. When our uncle or grandma take care of us, we have the best time ever. Jamal Mamoo gets us pizza and fizzy lemonade, and Naano makes us parathas and mango milkshakes. We watch movies and Pakistani dramas, and play cards and ludo and stay up late. I don’t want to be a babysitter if it means they’ll stop coming over. And besides, Baba made it clear he isn’t interested in paying me anyway.

  “I mean other kids, Zayd,” I say with a sigh. “Or I don’t know. I’ll do something else. I just have to figure it out. And quick.” I don’t want to miss out on having fun with my friends, all of our bike rides, and going to Radley’s.

  For now I’m still hoping the bike will come home.

  CHAPTER 4

  “No one called?” Naomi frowns and shakes her head in disappointment. “After three whole days?”

  “Nope,” I grumble.

  Naomi grabs the broom and sweeps dead leaves out of our clubhouse. We’ve totally transformed the toolshed Mr. Chapman built before he moved to Florida and Naomi’s family moved into his house, across the street from mine. The clubhouse has curtains, string lights, and decorations, and it’s the headquarters for all our plans.

  “I really thought someone would bring it back,” Naomi says, pausing to pick up a tiny pine cone. “Especially with the reward.”

  “Maybe the reward should have been bigger?” I wonder aloud. “But I think my bike is gone for good, and my parents said they won’t get me another one. They’re teaching me a lesson. I have to earn the money myself.”

  “Whoa. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” I stare at the wall of the clubhouse, which has a big whiteboard of our latest neighborhood records. As if it’s taunting me, the last record is for “longest bike ride,” held by Gloria. How am I supposed to break that now, without a bicycle?

 

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