WHERE’S Rain?

If this were a Bruce Willis Die Hard movie, Theo would have had a funny comeback line to put Motorpsycho—his new nickname for the guy—in his place.

Where’s Rain? Have you checked the rain forest, pal?

Where’s Rain? You go straight up about five thousand feet and turn left at the cumulonimbus cloud on the corner.

Where’s Rain? Get naked, swing a dead chicken over your head, and chant. Then you’ll have rain.

But Theo didn’t have a team of million-dollar Hollywood writers coming up with witty hero dialogue. So, with the guy screaming in his face, all Theo could come up with was, “I dunno.”

Motorpsycho stared without expression. It was getting dark out, and his long black hair and black leather outfit made his body seem to disappear. His angry face floated in front of Theo like a severed head.

“You think this is a joke?” Motorpsycho asked. His harsh accent came from the back of the throat and picked up a lot of phlegm before the actual words came gargling out. “Do you?”

“No,” Theo said. He most certainly did not think this was a joke, as the trembling in his legs proved. “It’s just that I don’t really know her. I only met her a few days ago.”

“And yet you came running to assist her. Big hero.”

Motorpsycho was about six feet tall—shorter than Theo—but even in the darkness, his extra thirty pounds of muscle were an obvious presence. One thing kept running through Theo’s mind: Don’t hit me. Don’t hit me. Don’t hit me.

Well, two things.

Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.

“Is that not true?” Motorpsycho insisted. “Aren’t you a big hero?”

Theo shrugged. “Not really. I wasn’t thinking.”

Was that as lame and cowardly as it sounded? Theo lowered his head in shame.

“Did she tell you where she is staying?” Motorpsycho asked. Suddenly his voice was softer, almost gentle, like they were now pals. Facebook friends liking each other’s vacation photos and sharing videos that made fun of Justin Bieber.

He poked Theo hard in the shoulder. “Well, did she?”

Theo shook his head.

Motorpsycho frowned. “Do you think we are fools? You kids always think everyone else is a fool.”

“No, I don’t think anyone’s a fool,” Theo said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I just met her Friday. I only found out her name today. If you’d asked me yesterday, ‘Where’s Rain?,’ I would’ve thought you were talking about actual rain.”

Theo couldn’t stop babbling. Through the sound of his own chattering voice, he remembered Motorpsycho saying “we” (“Do you think we are fools?”). Was there more than one of him?

A loud whistle, like someone calling his dog, cracked the night air.

Motorpsycho glanced over his shoulder toward some trees. Theo saw another figure half emerge from the shadows. Also dressed in black, but with the helmet on, the visor down, so Theo couldn’t see the face.

Motorpsycho grabbed Theo’s phone from his sweaty hand. Theo didn’t protest. Motorpsycho did some quick thumb work on the keypad—much quicker than Theo had ever seen anyone work, even Debbie Seid, who on a dare texted the entire Declaration of Independence in less than two minutes. This kid knew something about computers.

Motorpsycho tossed the phone back to Theo. “Thank you, Theo Rollins, of 1256 Sandhurst Drive.” He then rattled off Theo’s e-mail address and phone number. “In case you decide you want to go home crying to your mommy and daddy, I’ll know where to go to explain things to them. In the middle of the night. While they’re sleeping.”

“My dad’s a cop,” Theo blurted out defiantly.

Motorpsycho grinned as if Theo had told him his dad was a teddy bear. “Then by all means, tell him everything.”

Theo didn’t say anything. Why was this guy so smug? Why wasn’t he afraid of the police?

“I’ve put a phone number in your phone. The moment you see her, call that number.”

“I have no idea when, or if, I’ll ever see her. Like I told you, I just met her a few days ago.”

Motorpsycho glared at Theo and spoke through gritted teeth. “If you do not call me by Friday…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Theo could imagine the rest of the sentence. And in each variation, lots of pain was implied.

Motorpsycho ran up the slope toward his friend. They climbed onto their motorcycles and roared off into the night. It would have made a cool scene in a movie.

Except it isn’t a movie. And he’ll be coming after me.

Theo watched, waiting for his heart to stop somersaulting in his chest like a monkey being chased by a lion.

Crazy Girl.

Motorcycle Mafia.

Night assaults.

And all Theo wanted to do was play basketball.