Kyle was sitting in his wheelchair again. “Dang it, Kyle!” Grampa thumped his noggin. “Get outta’ my chair!”

Laughing, Kyle popped a wheelie. “Ah, Grampa, I saw it first. You know it’s mine.”

Grampa chuckled. Kyle was right, but he loved teasing his grandson about his garage sale treasures. “Ya’ got a plan for this contraption?”

“Wolverine meeting today. We’re racing down Helena Hill. Gotta’ have wheels.”

The self-proclaimed Wolverines were Kyle and the Parker twins: Luke and Toby. As ten year-olds, the Wolverines’ goal was to have as much fun as possible. Saturday’s adventure involved throwing rocks at each other over Grampa’s shed, which lasted until Luke got a split lip. His mom had a fit. Luke wore that scab proudly, like a Wolverine tattoo.

An unusual rattling sound coming up the sidewalk grew louder and louder. Toby was pushing a huge rolling garbage can. When he stopped, its lid popped up revealing Luke’s grinning head.

“Behold! The Parker-Mobile!” they shouted triumphantly. Then, like butter off a pancake stack, those smiles slid right off their faces.

Popping a wheelie, Kyle zipped down his driveway, screeched to a stop, then whispered, “Behold! The Champion!”