“I want mechanical engineering too.”
Rusty groaned.
“You’ll come back talking calculus.”
“Maybe.”
“Engineers ruin simple things.”
Leo smiled.
“My dad respected engineers.”
“No, he respected two engineers.”
“Still.”
Maria wanted college.
Money difficult.
Dutch’s ten thousand dollars legally intended for motorcycle, not tuition.
Leo refused use.
The club heard.
A week later Jim arrived with folder.
“What?”
“Scholarship application.”
Leo looked.
“From who?”
“Club charitable fund.”
“We have charitable fund?”
Jim glared.
“We are capable of forms.”
Leo laughed.
Jim pointed.
“This is not because of bike.”
“It’s for children of tradespeople in our community.”
“You qualify.”
“Apply like everybody.”
Leo did.
He did not win first year.
Another student did.
He was furious.
Jim said:
“Good.”
“What’s good?”
“That means committee didn't rig.”
Leo applied elsewhere.
Community college first.
Work-study.
Grants.
Maria contributed.
Rusty paid him legally once old enough for part-time shop work.
He made it.
Second year, club scholarship awarded him.
Not because famous story, according to committee.
His grades improved.
He had documented volunteer mentorship.
Maria cried.
Leo pretended not.
At eighteen, the FXR title transferred legally into Leo’s name.
The attorney who handled Dutch’s estate—older now—came to shop.
“You know how many times I have been asked if this bike is for sale?”
Leo smiled.
“How many?”
“Twenty-eight documented.”
“Highest?”
The attorney named number.
Leo whistled.
Rusty looked interested.
Maria looked more interested.
Leo looked at motorcycle.
“No.”
Maria said:
“You should at least consider.”
Leo turned.
“Seriously?”
“Dutch said you could sell.”
“Dad said machines aren't people.”
“Exactly.”
“Money could pay school.”
Leo went quiet.
He spent a week thinking.
That surprised everyone.
Jim never asked.
He deliberately stayed away.
Finally Leo called potential collector.
The collector offered enough to eliminate student debt and leave money.
Leo asked:
“What would you do with it?”
“Restore to concours.”
“What does that mean?”
“Factory-correct appearance.”
Leo laughed once.
“It was never factory-correct.”
“We can return—”
“No.”