Within seconds he was back to daydreaming about winning. He could almost hear the crowd cheering his name. “Joe! Joe, where are you going?” It wasn’t a crowd. It was his mother, leaning out the kitchen window. He had biked right past their house! Good thing she had been looking out the window at that moment. He turned around and hopped off his bike. He ran inside at top speed. His mom, dad, and aunt Gertrude were all sitting around the kitchen table, eating a late lunch. “Slow down, Joe!” said Mr. Hardy. Joe skidded to a halt. “Sorry, Dad! Frank’s bike blew a tire, and we brought Mom’s bag by accident, so we couldn’t fix it.” Joe held up the black backpack. “Not again,” Mrs. Hardy groaned. “Fenton, we have to get new bags for the family. This is getting silly.” “But . . . they were on sale!” Everyone laughed. Their father could never pass up a bargain. “Well then, I’m sewing name tags on them. On the outside. Tonight!” Mrs. Hardy said. Aunt Gertrude took the bag from Joe and gave him the correct one, with all his bike supplies.
