Casey's best friend

Patricia Wilhoit

Casey had a beautiful bike, a black Spitfire with gold stripes. He had saved most of the money to buy it when he was just starting fifth grade. Casey went everywhere on his bike. He did long wheelies down the center of the street for his mom to see from her kitchen window. The bike was even strong enough to carry the newspapers for his route around town, and fast enough to get him home before the streetlights came on.

One afternoon Casey went to Ryan's after school. He parked his bike on his friend's driveway. At dusk the boys came up from the basement, and Casey went out to pick up his bike.

"Where's my bike?" he gasped. "Ryan, where's my bike? What's going on? Help me find my bike!"

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