The kitten sometimes appeared at the workshop because the biker brought it from home.
The first time the teenager saw it, he stopped moving.
The kitten had recovered enough to walk with only a slight stiffness in the injured leg.
It trotted across the office floor.
The teenager stared.
The biker noticed.
“You can leave the room.”
The boy frowned.
“Why?”
“Because you're not handling him.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“Good.”
The kitten approached the doorway.
The teenager backed away.
The biker found that interesting.
“You scared of him?”
“No.”
The kitten sat.
Stared.
The teenager looked deeply uncomfortable.
“He doesn't know.”
The biker said:
“What?”
“What I did.”
The biker watched him.
“No.”
The teenager swallowed.
“That feels worse.”
The biker did not rescue him from the feeling.
“Good.”
The teen looked angry.
“You say that a lot.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because discomfort isn't always damage.”
The boy rolled his eyes.
The biker pointed at a shelf.
“Back to work.”
Months passed.
Progress came unevenly.
The teenager completed assignments.
Then lied about one.
Lost workshop privileges for a week.
Returned angry.
Apologized badly.
Improved.
Then got caught using an unauthorized phone at school.
Probation tightened.
He nearly lost the diversion program.
The biker expected him to quit.
He returned.
“Why?”
The biker asked.
The teen shrugged.
“Court.”
“Only court?”
Another shrug.
The biker let it go.
The little girl did not visit the workshop at first.
Her grandmother did not want her involved.
The biker agreed.
The child had already done enough.
But nearly a year after the incident, she came with her grandmother to a charity toy drive.
The teenager was there stacking boxes.
He saw her.
Went completely still.
The girl recognized him from somewhere.
Not personally.
The security image had appeared briefly in news coverage despite juvenile privacy restrictions preventing his name from being released.
She looked at the biker.
“Is that him?”
The biker crouched.
“Yes.”
Her grandmother became tense.
“We can leave.”
The child shook her head.
She looked toward the teenager.
He stared at the floor.
The biker said:
“You don't have to talk to him.”
The girl thought.
Then walked toward him.
Her grandmother stayed close.
The biker followed.
The teenager looked terrified.
That surprised everyone.
The girl stopped several feet away.
“You tied the kitten.”
He swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The teenager looked toward the biker.
The biker said nothing.
The boy answered:
“I wanted people to watch.”
The child frowned.
“That is stupid.”
The biker almost smiled.
The teenager nodded.
“Yeah.”
The girl looked toward the office where the kitten slept in a bed near the heater.
“You hurt him.”
“I know.”
“He limps when he's tired.”
The teenager's face tightened.
“I know.”
The child studied him.
Then said something nobody expected.
“You should do good stuff when nobody watches.”