Chapter One
James Peterson clutched the handlebar grips tightly as he sped down the dirt road. The wind whipped at his face as objects around him rushed past in a blur, adrenaline running through his veins.
He came to a hill in the road, which meant he was nearly home. Changing gears, he began to pedal with more effort. The bike climbed the hill at a steady pace, anticipation building inside him.
He reached the top of the hill. James looked down to find a steep drop awaiting him. He smiled and narrowed his eyes in pure epic determination. He immediately shot down the hill at full velocity, like a bullet. The thrill of speed sent a chill through him. There was nothing quite like it: the deafening wind, the strange difference in gravity, the speechless expressions of others as he rode past.
He thought back to an hour ago, when he was putting on a stunt show in Portland. He remembered the astonished faces of the audience as he raced and jumped and soared across that big, hilly dirt track as cheers and applause filled the stadium. James remembered their rhythmic chanting. "Dash! Dash! Dash!"
"Good show, kid," his manager had told him after the performance in the manager's office. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone with the talent you have on a bicycle. It's pretty remarkable. You're a prodigy, son."
Son.
James mentally shook off that last word, like it was a pesky insect. "Thanks, Mister Vance," he had replied.
"I mean it, kid. Not many people can ride a BMX like it's a darn motorcycle." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, bound by a rubber band. "Here's your pay. See ya next week, Dash." Vance handed the cash to James. James exited the man's office, pulled out his wallet and stored the money inside, and returned the wallet to his back pocket. He proceeded towards the private stadium garage, where he stored his real treasure: his bike.
"It sure pays to be this awesome, "James thought with a grin.
James halted as he reached the doors ending the hallway. Beyond was the public area of the stadium, where he knew the audience would be waiting for him eagerly with autograph books and t-shirts at the ready. The crowd was loud but muffled behind the metal double-doors. The public area connected where he was to the garage.
Aw, shoot. It looks like I'm trapped by an army of adoring fans, James monologued in his head with sarcasm. Whatever will I do now?
He put on his most charming smile and pushed open the doors.
The sudden cheering engulfed him.
There were so many voices going on at once that the crowd sounded artificial, like in a movie. Still, James had trained his ears to pick out different sounds for situations like these. Meanwhile, members of the crowd ambushed him with scraps of paper and pens, desperate for a signature.
"Dash! Over here!"
"Hey Dash!"
"Look, mom! There he is!"
James "The Dash" Peterson was as much a whirlwind of activity in a crowd of fans as he was on a bike. His personal record was fifty-five signatures in one minute. Today he beat that record in an average of one signature per second.
He glanced back at his bodyguard, Daniel, who stood guard near the door. Always nearby, never interfering, as per James' personal request. He hadn't even wanted a bodyguard in the first place, telling his manager he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Still, Mr. Vance insisted that he wouldn't risk the safety of his client (which seemed ironic due to James' line of work), and James agreed, with the condition that Daniel wouldn't interfere with his fans unless it was an emergency. In exchange, Daniel was to stay close to James at all times (with the obvious exceptions).
James had managed to sign his way through the crowd, eventually reaching the garage within ten minutes, with Daniel close behind as always. With a few concluding waves and handshakes, he retreated into the garage and shut the door as Daniel guarded outside.
“Jeez, it’s dark. Where are the lights?”
He found the light switch and flipped it on. The lights above flickered on. The room was fairly big, about the size of a typical garage. The final bulb to flicker awake was the spotlight, which revealed his bike, bathing it in glorious illumination.
“There you are, gorgeous.”
James’ bike was a beautiful cyan blue BMX bike, with streaks of a rainbow of colors on a couple areas of the frame. It was custom-made just for him, with a seat, shifting and design that best suited his needs. Then there was his signature emblem pasted onto the down tube, near the gears: a storm cloud with a lightning bolt striking downward.
He had named the bike Dash, after his own alias.
Dash was remarkably clean - spotless, even - considering the amount of dirt he had caked it with during his performance. “That cleaning crew sure can clean up a mess,” James mumbled in slight surprise. James had had this bike for as long as he could remember, only becoming large enough to ride it just five years ago. He had improved it at any chance he got. The frame was probably the only part he hadn’t replaced at some point.
James walked to the opposite end of the garage and pressed a small button on the wall. The large garage door began to open noisily. As it finally screeched open he seated himself atop his bike and prepared for departure.
Just before setting off, Daniel poked his head in the door behind him. “You takin’ off, Dash?”
James turned his head. “Yeah. Thanks for your help, Daniel.”
“Hey, no problem. Just doin’ my job.”
James nodded and sailed off. Daniel did the favor of shutting the garage door behind him as James mentally mapped out a way home.
Luckily, he knew a back road that not many people knew about that would take him straight home without being spotted. It would take him about an hour, but James didn’t mind. He rejoiced any moment he got to ride Dash without a bunch of people to impress, just alone with his thoughts.
The trip ended up taking an hour and a half. “Still nothing to complain about,” he thought now, as he raced down the hill that guided him home.
Finally James reached the little abandoned house in the middle of nowhere that he called home since he was thirteen. He stored Dash in the little shed next to the homestead and went inside as the setting sun cast an orange glow on the landscape around him.
Chapter Two
Rain.
Sam Louis thought about it as he walked home, the rain beating against him, soaking his clothes.
Well, actually, “home” is a strong word.
Sam walked through the sidewalks of downtown, heading for what he called home. A car sped past on the street beside him, spraying water from a puddle in the curb in his direction. It didn’t matter anyway, he was already soaked from the typical Oregon rain.
Eventually he reached the small park that led into a deep forest. Sam turned around for a moment, peering behind him to make sure no one was following, then turned back and continued forward, into the forest. He wandered through the trees for about a quarter of a mile, until he found a large tree with a surprisingly elaborate tree house built on top. Sam let out a small half-smile and climbed the little wood-plank stairs that spiraled around the tree. Reaching the top, he swung open the little door and ducked inside.
The tree house’s interior was quite simple, but surprisingly well-made and sturdy. There were two windows on either wall adjacent to the wall with the door, with a solar-powered lantern resting on each window sill, charging for the night. The back wall was bare wood with a large blue storage bin in front of it, and in the corner of the back and left walls rested a bare mattress and pillow. The corner opposite sat an ice box with a manual can opener resting on the lid. Setting his backpack and jacket near a window to dry, he flopped on the mattress in the corner and stared up at the ceiling.
Most evenings for Sam were similar to this. After a hard day of work and learning at Libman Elementary, eight-year-old Sam would gather his belongings and head to his treehouse, occasionally after hanging out with his two best friends, Billy and Cameron. Both were the same age as him and went to the same school. Billy, who grew up in Southern Alabama, spoke with a southern accent and had a love for farming and apples. He lived the country life outside of school with his older sister Jackie, brother Mac and their grandmother. Cameron, who lived on the other side of the spectrum with his fashionista sister, Tabitha, and no parents, was the only boy in school to know the difference between cashmere and polyester. Out of the three, Sam admitted, Cameron was the most creative, Billy was the most logical and reasonable, and Sam was just... Sam. He didn’t mind this, however. He was just glad to have friends that stuck by him.
Unfortunately for Sam on this rainy day, Billy and Cameron were busy, so Sam had headed straight home.
Then, as if on cue, there was a knock at the door of the tree house. Sam turned his head to face the door, still laying on his back.
“Come in!” Sam called.
Sure enough, Billy and Cameron popped their heads through the half-open doorway. “Howdy, Scoots.” Billy greeted. “How’s it goin’?”
“Pretty good. Come on in, guys.”
Billy and Cameron walked inside, closing the door behind them. Cameron spoke next. “Hey, speaking of ‘scoots’, where is your scooter, anyway?”
Sam half-smiled as he sat up on the bed. His scooter was his most valuable possession. “It’s around back, behind the tree. I was gonna clean it later ‘cause it’s getting sort of rusty.”
“I didn’t see it when we came here,” Cameron said, and asked Billy if he had, to which Billy shook his head.
“It’s hidden in a bush so no one’ll try to steal it,” Sam explained.
“Ah, I see. Smart move,” Cameron replied contently.
The three of them spent the rest of the gray afternoon in the tree house, having serious conversations that varied from weekend plans to Would-You-Rathers, with the occasional game of I-Spy every now and then. This went on until it began getting darker outside and Sam’s guests prepared to depart for their homes.
As Billy and Cameron headed out the door, saying their goodbyes, Billy noticed an ever-so-faint twitch in Sam’s expression. His faux happiness was cracking and his smile faded. Billy took a few steps back, closed the door carefully and kneeled next to Sam.
“Have they found out you live here yet?” Billy asked softly.
Sam looked at the floor, a sorrowful look on his face. “No… but what if they do? I can’t go back to that orphanage, Billy.” Sam looked him in the eyes. “I can’t--” his voice cracked. He was crying now, there was nothing he could do to stop it. He looked down at the floor.
Billy placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder, hoping to console him. He had never seen Sam cry before. “Hey, chin up. As long as you-- as we lay low, nobody’s takin’ anybody anywhere, y’hear?”
Blinking away tears, Sam looked back at his friend and nodded. “Right. Sorry, Billy. I’m just scared, that’s all. Thanks.”
“Any time, partner,” Billy replied, making Sam smile at the cowboyish response. “I’d better head home. Jackie’s gonna have a fit and make me do her chores tomorrow if I miss supper.”
“See ya.”
Billy left and Sam was alone once again. He resumed his previous position on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.
Suddenly he remembered something he found earlier on the way to school. Getting up, he walked over to the window, unzipped his backpack and pulled out a small, battery-powered radio. He then traveled across the room to the blue bin against the back wall and fished out two Double-A batteries, inserting them in the slot in back of the radio. Sam turned a little knob on top and the radio powered to life, but there was only static. Turning on the lanterns near the windows so he could see better, Sam turned the knob on the front in either direction, scanning for a clear signal. Eventually the static faded and a man’s voice replaced it.
“--quite a show in Portland today, as teenage BMX superstar known simply as ‘The Dash’, showed off several new tricks and may have even set a state record for most air tricks in a single jump. The crowd was pleased as always, and eager to get the young man’s autograph and picture before he disappeared, unnoticed, as is his trademark maneuver after each performance.”
Sam grinned. The Dash was his idol. Sam would give anything… except maybe his scooter… to meet Dash in person. If the rumors were true, he was a runaway, too, just like Sam. Someday Sam would be just like him: Famous, fearless, and totally awesome!
The announcer went on. “...cording to his manager and the press, Dash will be at the Salem fairgrounds for his last show in Oregon before heading to Washington this Friday, so buy your tickets now!”
Sam gasped in utter joy, beaming from ear to ear. He had to get down there, no question.
Well, actually, the question was how.