Age:
Post High School
Reading Level: 3.8
Chapter 1
Bud stopped in the shade of an ancient oak tree in Queen's Park. He shifted eagerly on his new bicycle's seat as he flipped through the new app on his new cell phone. He had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes to get an order. It would be his first delivery order since switching to this company. It was noon, prime lunch time for customers.
He watched people funnel out of the buildings that lined the park. They were all headed towards College Street. Bud shook his head and reloaded the app screen for the twentieth time.
Still nothing. He wished he had tried to get a shift with one of his other part-time jobs. Maybe he should have just taken the day off. He hadn’t had a day off in ages. And today was beautiful; a clear sunny day in late June. The sky was blue, and the clouds were white and puffy. Squirrels ran across the neatly trimmed park. A flock of tiny birds seemed to be having a party in the tree branches above him.
"Why aren't I working in one of those buildings?" he asked himself. He often spoke aloud when he was doing his bicycle job. "Oh yeah. Because I have a history degree."
It wasn't as if there were no jobs for history majors. The problem was that to do anything serious with his history degree, he would need further education. More education meant more money. He thought of his latest electricity bill and sighed.
Chapter 2
He was beginning to wonder if this new job was worth it. Bud looked at his new bike. He took in the curvy, bright red frame, the thick tires, and the shiny leather seat. Brian had given him this bicycle. Brian had also given him the new phone and new app for his new company, Food Time.
Bud had worked for almost every food delivery company in Toronto so far. That was how he met Brian, delivering food to his condo. Brian said he had a job opportunity for Bud. They talked about it over dinner the next day.
Bud raised his head, looking towards the busy street again. He looked straight down University Avenue and its cement islands full of lawns and statues. Then his phone buzzed.
"All right!" he shouted when he saw he had an order. "Ah, easy. It's on College."
He hoisted his leg over his bike seat and made sure his helmet was secure. Then he pedaled down the sidewalk, bouncing from the curb to the street's smooth pavement. He coasted to the bike lane and turned right onto College. He headed west. Bud got the bike moving at a good speed. He loved the feel of the wind against him as he cruised past the cars stuck in traffic.
Chapter 3
"Steak place, steak place," he muttered. He pulled out his cell and double checked the address. As he looked up, he noticed the sign of the restaurant whiz by on his left. He turned around at the next light and locked his bike to a lamp post.
The diner-style restaurant was almost empty. He showed the woman behind the counter his delivery order on the app. She smiled and then retreated to the kitchen. She returned with a plastic bag and two Styrofoam containers.
"Kensington," she said to him.
"Oh yeah," said Bud. He looked back at the app. It now displayed the customer’s address.
Kensington Market was a short distance away. He could even walk to the restaurant. But Bud was happy to get paid, even for a short delivery. He placed the food into the insulated knapsack on his back. Once outside, Bud unlocked his bike, jumped on it, and headed south. He held up his cell phone in his left hand, keeping his right hand firmly on the bike’s handlebar.
"Go south on Bellevue," the tinny female GPS voice on his cell said. Bud slid the phone into his shirt pocket. "Twenty-five feet."
"Okay," he said under his breath.
Bud liked Kensington Market. He spent many summer afternoons there. The all too familiar blend of incense, marijuana, and fish reached his nostrils as he approached. He took in the bustling sidewalks and trendy restaurants fit between century-old storefronts.
"Turn left on Oxford," came the voice.
Bud did so. He passed by a group of hippies seated around a juice stand under a striped awning. In the distance, high above the roof-tops of Victorian houses, he saw a single skyscraper with a slanted top.
"Turn right on Augusta. Head south on Augusta for thirty-five feet."
Bud swerved into an open stretch of road. The nearest car was up at the next intersection. He looked down quickly to check that his shoes were tied. He had gotten into accidents more than once due to his laces getting caught in the spokes of his wheels. As he looked down, there was a sudden flash of light. His entire vision turned white for a second.