The stretch down my street, Stevens Avenue, was the easiest part of the ride. It was a straight shot. I scanned ahead on the RACK and saw nothing in his way. Until I scanned further up.

     The Hog was backing down my driveway.

     The Hog was Estelle's brand-new metallic-gray Cadillac Escalade. Bones and I named it the Hog because, well, it hogged everything. Gasoline, the road, parking spaces— you name it and the Hog took it. And nobody was a better fit to drive it than Estelle. She drove like nobody else was on the road.

     She always backed out of our driveway, even though there were two turnaround spots at the top of it. I wasn't sure if she just liked to watch the hi-def camera on the dash or if she had her own game of seeing how fast the Hog could go in reverse.

     All I knew was the perfect storm was brewing with the Hog backing out at mach seven and Bones charging hard up Stevens. I knew I had to warn him.

     "Bones! The Hog is coming outta the pen!"

     At the end of our driveway, we had a giant fountain and the only person to ever swim in it was John Murphy, the landscaper, who told Estelle he fell in by accident. I'm pretty sure it wasn't a mistake because it was one hundred degrees that day. Estelle fired him on the spot.

     I got no response to my Hog warning. I must have lost connection to Bones' phone. But I could still see him on my screen, pedaling hard up our street. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, Bones turned around to tuck his backpack into the basket on the back of the Barge. He never saw the Hog coming.

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