He walked to the table.
Slowly.
Then began flattening the money.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
He placed each bill in a small pile.
The men watched without speaking.
The biker with the scar looked from the money to Noah.
“What's this?”
Noah pushed the bills forward.
“Can I hire one of you for one hour tomorrow?”
Silence.
Not complete silence.
Forks still clinked somewhere behind him.
Coffee still poured.
But the men at the table stopped moving.
One of them looked as though he was trying not to smile.
The red-bearded biker nearest Noah finally asked:
“You want a motorcycle ride?”
“No.”
“Need somebody scared?”
Noah shook his head.
The big biker frowned.
“What do you need?”
Noah looked at the floor.
This was the part he had rehearsed.
He still almost couldn't say it.
“My school has Family Day tomorrow.”
Nobody spoke.
Noah continued.
“Everybody brings somebody.”
He rubbed his thumb against one of the bills.
“My mom has to work.”
He swallowed.
“And my dad can't come.”
The biker’s expression changed slightly.
Noah kept staring at the floor.
“Kids keep asking where he is.”
His voice became smaller.
“I just want somebody to show up for me.”
Nobody laughed.
Noah had expected that they might.
He had prepared himself for it.
Instead, the scar-faced biker slowly placed his coffee mug on the table.
“What happened to your dad?”
Noah answered automatically.
“He died.”
The biker said nothing for several seconds.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Your mom know you're here?”
“No.”
That answer earned the faintest trace of a smile.
“Figured.”
Noah pushed the money another inch forward.
“It's seven dollars.”
The red-bearded biker stared at the bills.
“You saved seven dollars?”
Noah nodded.
“For this?”
Another nod.
The big biker leaned back.
“What time is Family Day?”
Noah finally looked up.
“Eight thirty.”
“Where?”
“Roosevelt Elementary.”
One biker near the window knew it.
“By the park?”
“Yes, sir.”
The large biker nodded slowly.
Noah waited.
Nobody touched the money.
“Is seven enough?”
The question changed everything.
The biker beside the window looked away.
The red-bearded man cleared his throat.
The scar-faced biker stared down at the table for a moment before reaching toward the money.
Noah’s chest tightened.
The man gathered all seven bills.
Folded them carefully.
Then held them out.
Noah didn't take them.
“Sir?”
The biker placed the money into Noah’s hand.
“You keep that.”
Noah frowned.
“But I need to pay.”
“No.”
“Then you won't come?”
The biker looked around at the men seated with him.
Every one of them was watching.
He looked back at Noah.
“Tomorrow at eight thirty?”
Noah nodded.
The biker closed Noah’s fingers around the money.
“We'll be there.”
Noah blinked.
“One of you?”
The red-bearded biker smiled.
The others started smiling too.