Then Rick turned toward me.
“This wasn’t only for your dad.”
I blinked.
“What?”
A grin spread across his face.
He snapped his fingers.
Another biker stepped forward carrying something bright pink.
At first, I couldn’t tell what it was.
Then I realized.
A motorcycle helmet.
Pink with white stripes.
My favorite color.
I stared.
“What is that?”
Rick held it out toward me.
“Yours.”
My eyes widened.
“Mine?”
The bikers smiled.
Carefully, I accepted the helmet.
Its surface was covered in signatures.
Dozens of them.
Messages filled every available space.
“Keep fighting.”
“You’ve got this.”
“Your whole crew is behind you.”
“Strongest kid we know.”
My vision blurred.
I was crying again.
That seemed to happen a lot lately.
One biker pointed at the helmet.
“Read the back.”
I turned it over.
Across the bottom, written in thick silver marker, were the words:
“HONORARY ROAD CAPTAIN”
I looked up.
The entire crowd watched me.
Rick folded his arms.
“So, Emily.”
I swallowed.
“Yeah?”
He smiled.
“Want to lead today’s ride?”
I stared at him.
“Me?”
The bikers laughed.
“You.”
I looked at Dad.
He was smiling through tears.
“What do you think, kiddo?” he asked.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
“Really?”
“Really,” Rick said.
Leading the Ride
A few minutes later, Dad helped me put on the pink helmet.
It was slightly too big.
I didn’t care.
I felt like the coolest person alive.
Then he lifted me onto his motorcycle.
The crowd cheered.
The sound startled me.
Not because it was loud.
Because it was for me.
Dad climbed on in front of me.
I wrapped my arms around him.
The motorcycles began moving.
Slowly.
Carefully.
We rolled down the street.
Then something incredible happened.
The other bikers didn’t race ahead.
They didn’t spread out randomly.
They formed around us.
Two rode in front.
Several stayed behind.
Others rode alongside us.
Like an escort.
Like a parade.
Like they were protecting someone important.
For the first time, I realized they were protecting me.
Neighbors came outside to watch.
Children pointed excitedly.
People waved from their porches.
Several parents from school smiled when they recognized us from the performance video.
One woman pressed a hand to her chest.
Another wiped away tears.
Everyone smiled.
Everyone waved.
And for the first time since my diagnosis, no one looked at me with pity.
No one looked at me like I was sick.
They looked at me like I was special.
Like I was strong.
Like I belonged.
The ride only lasted around the neighborhood.
But I wished it could have lasted forever.
