Chapter 15: The Question

Asher picked me up on Friday at seven, and he had brought two helmets.

One was new and one had a crack down the side.

"You take the new one," he said.

"Then you'd be wearing the cracked one."

"That's how it works."

I put the cracked one on before he could stop me.

He lifted it off my head, handed me the new one, and put the cracked one on himself without a word.

"I was being nice," I said.

"I know. Get on the bike."

I got on, and we argued about it the whole way to Fenner Street.

The noodle place was a counter with eight stools and a woman who shouted the orders.

We sat at the end, and Asher looked at the menu for a long time without reading it.

"Okay," he said. "One thing you don't already know about you."

"That's the wrong way around. You're supposed to ask me something you don't know."

"I'm working up to it."

His first question was what I did on Sundays, and I said I biked to the farmers' market and gave away my samples.

"I know that," he said. "Caleb told me when he was complaining."

His second question was whether I'd ever been in a fight.

"I stood on a stool in an aisle," I said. "You were there."

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