Amy bought the bike when she was nine years old. It was old and rusty, but she didn’t care. She signed up for the races the next day.
“With that old thing?” Cody Holloway jeered.
“That’s right,” said Amy proudly. “Put me under the name Black Lightning.” Cody snorted, but wrote it in his red college-ruled notebook.
“Entry is two dollars,” he said, eyeing her skeptically. Amy shoved two crumpled bills in his hand.
“See you at the finish line,” she growled. Cody and his friends laughed hysterically. Three lost races later however, Black Lightning didn’t seem so funny anymore.