Derek pointed the handle of his wrench at the steel tube just under the right handlebar grip.

A thick smear of fresh white paint covered the scraped yellow metal.

Underneath, the steel showed bright and jagged where the original factory paint had been stripped off.

“Did he run into the side of your garage again?” Derek asked.

“My garage is made of brown brick.”

Michael ran a finger over the white paint.

It felt dry and chalky against his index finger.

“He didn’t hit anything over at my place,” Michael said.

Michael looked over at Noah.

The boy was coming down off the jungle gym with slow, careful steps.

He got to the bottom and stood beside the green plastic slide.

“Noah,” Michael called.

Noah looked over at him.

“Come over here a second,” Michael said.