Learning to Fall: in deep. When I got home Terry had already been by my house. My bicycle usually is on the front porch but lately Dad's been making me chain it to the fence by the garage so no one can walk off with it which I think is stupid 'cause anyone stealing a bike would probably ride off with it.
Terry had been there trying to borrow my bike. I knew it was him who was there and flattened the tires 'cause he did it with his crappy little pen knife, breaking off the plastic handle, leaving the bent and rusted blade sticking in the rear tire, just leaving it there for anyone to find. Later on we found a spot on the garage where he kicked so hard he dented the steel door and then next door there were three of Mrs. Sarber's flower pots kicked over off her porch.
His wave of destruction led down the street--a smashed mailbox at the Earnest's, a group of pickets ripped off Reichenbach's fence, even broken windows at Mr. Millers shop where Terry threw part of one of Mrs. Sarber's pot leveling thingamajiggies so hard into the window frame that it broke all four panes and bounced out onto Mr. Miller's truck hood where it came to a scratchy rest.