“You have to pull the throttle hard.”

“I know Shauny, fucken thing doesn’t wanna work,” says Dad.

“Go home, Shauny,” I say.

“And get your bike off the driveway otherwise he’ll kick it in again.”

“But I know where to take it, and they can fix it for your dad.”

“Where?”

“Northcote—on High St.,” says Shauny.

“How do we get it there?”

“By train.”

“Okay,” I say.

The next morning, we walk the lawnmower to Thomastown Station. The train thunders in and the door glides open. She sits there—near the doorway, all blotchy and red, smelling of grass and sun and dirt.

“Hey! Boys!”

“Run Jayden!” says Shauny.

“STOP!” yells the PSO.

I run.

“Dad says that if PSOs catch ya, they’ll kick your head in,” says Shauny.

I don’t want my head kicked in.

We walk along Spring Street, under low hanging branches and over the bridge.

“What do you think will happen to Dad’s lawnmower?”

“It’ll go to Lost Property, for sure,” says Shauny.

For some reason, tears spill out of my eyes. Shauny pretends not to notice.