“People hook them on the hitch of their truck, so it looks like the truck has testicles.”
The back of my neck prickled.
In the course of our phone call, my father and I had used the wordtesticlesmore than was healthy for any father-son relationship.
“All right, I’ll be there in a bit. Did you get the goldfish?”
“Um.”
Dad breathed a Level Five Disappointed Sigh.
My ears burned. “I’ll go grab them now.”
“Hey, son.”
Dad got out of his car and helped me load my wheel-less, seat-less bike into the trunk of his Audi.
Stephen Kellner loved his Audi.
“Hi, Dad.”
“What happened to the truck nuts?”
“I threw them away.”
I did not need the reminder.
Dad pressed the button to close the trunk and got back in. I tossed my backpack onto the backseat and then slumped in the passenger seat with the goldfish suspended in their plastic prison between my legs.
“I almost didn’t believe you.”
“I know.”
It had taken him thirty minutes to come get me.
We only lived a ten-minute drive away.
“Sorry about your bike. Does security know who did it?”
I buckled my seat belt. “No. But I’m sure it was Trent Bolger.”
Dad put the Audi in drive and took off down the parking lot.
Stephen Kellner liked to drive much too fast, because his Audi had lots of horsepower and he could do that kind of thing: Accelerate to escape velocity, slam the brakes when he had to (in order to avoid running over a toddler holding his brand-new Build-a-Bear), and then accelerate again.
Thankfully, the Audi had all sorts of flashing lights and sensors, so it could sound Red Alert when a collision was imminent.
Dad kept his eyes on the road. “What makes you think it was Trent?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell my father the entire humiliating saga.
“Darius?”
Stephen Kellner never took no for an answer.
I told him about Trent and Chip, but only in the broadest strokes. I avoided mentioning Trent’s references to tea-bagging.
I did not want to talk to Stephen Kellner about testicles ever again.
