Skateboard Tough Page 2

“A champion, huh? That’s cool.” Brett looked down at The Lizard with new appreciation. “Maybe some of it will rub off on me.”

  Brett’s smile faded when he saw how serious W.E. looked. “What’s the matter, W.E.?” A terrible thought struck Brett. “You think this Lance guy will want his board back? Well, it’s mine now. I found it and —”

  “No, Brett, he won’t want it back,” W.E. said solemnly. “He wouldn’t have any use for it. He’s dead.”

  3

  Oh,” Brett said sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I mean, did you know him?”

  W.E. shook his head. “I only know of him. Everybody in town used to talk about him. First because he won so many contests, and then because of the way he died.”

  Brett couldn’t help feeling curious. “What happened?”

  “It all happened a few years ago, at the height of Lance’s career. He was hit by a car while skateboarding. That’s why they made it illegal to skate in the streets here.”

  As usual, Brett noted, W.E. had all the facts, and he enjoyed sharing them. Brett looked down at The Lizard and felt a chill go through him. “Do you … do you think he was riding this board when … ?”

  W.E. shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but it was his board, the one he used in all his contests.”

  Then Brett had another eerie thought. “He must have lived in my house.”

  “No, your house is brand new. The Hawkers lived around here, but their house was torn down a year ago, when they started building this development.”

  That’s right, Brett remembered with some relief. His family was the first one ever to live in their house. Still, Lance couldn’t have lived very far, because the board had been buried in their yard.

  “Hey,” Brett shouted suddenly. “Who buried The Lizard? It couldn’t have been Lance, unless he buried it before the accident, but then why … ?”

  “It could have been his parents,” W.E. suggested. “Maybe it brought back bad memories.”

  “Maybe,” Brett agreed. Then he asked, “Where are the Hawkers now?”

  “They moved out of town soon after the accident,” W.E. stated.

  Brett heaved a sigh of relief. “Okay, then, no problem. Looks like I’ve got myself a new skateboard.”

  He started to take off in the direction of Johnee, but W.E. ran up and grabbed his arm. “You’re not going to keep using it?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Doesn’t it make you feel … well, creepy?”

  Brett waved the idea away. “No. I’m sorry about what happened to the guy, but that’s all in the past and it’s not going to keep me off this board. It’s ten times better than Cobra.”

  “What’s better than Cobra?” Johnee appeared next to them, his forehead already covered with sweat from performing tricks on his skateboard.

  Brett showed him The Lizard and, even though he hated to do it, he explained to Johnee where the skateboard had come from and to whom it had once belonged.

  Johnee was amazed. “Crackerjack Hawker himself? Man, he was really hot.” He looked admiringly at The Lizard. “If that was his board, then I bet it’s something special.”

  “It is.” Brett grinned. Finally here was someone who appreciated his find. “Something about it really suits me. I’ve been doing all sorts of tricks I never could do before. W.E. knows what they’re called, I don’t.”

  Johnee didn’t wait for W.E. to list them. “Okay, let’s see some. Can you do this?”

  With that, Johnee leaned down, grabbed the ends of his skateboard, and leaped over the narrow lawn to the curb, where he immediately performed a series of Frontside Grinds before jumping back onto the lawn and coming to a complete stop.

  Brett followed Johnee’s action to a T, bending down, grabbing the tips of his skateboard, leaping over onto the curb, and knocking off a few grinds before coming to a complete stop right next to Johnee.

  “Looking good,” Johnee said. “Maybe there is something about that board.”

  “Hey, how about giving the rider some credit?” Brett said, laughing. His laugh was cut short when he saw W.E. staring at him from across the street.

  “Stop looking at me like that, W.E.,” Brett said. “You make me nervous.”

  “Oh?” W.E. shrugged and smiled. “I’m sorry, Brett. But I just can’t get over your …” He shrugged. “Your performance keeps amazing me.”

  He sounds more like a college professor than a kid, Brett thought.

  “I’m glad,” Brett said. “Then keep watching me. Maybe you’ll see me doing tricks you’ve never seen done before.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” W.E. replied.

  Feeling an urge to try some more fancy tricks, Brett sped down the sidewalk. The skateboard glided across the walk with barely a whisper. It was so much quieter than his own, so much easier to ride and to balance himself on. Never would he return it to the grave where he had found it. It would be crazy. The board was too hot, too good to be left to rot.

  His heart raced as fast as the skateboard as he came to the end of the block, leaped off, and zipped across the street. He took the curb, then skated along the curve of it, doing both Tail Wheelies (the front wheels lifting off the curb) and Nose Wheelies (the rear wheels lifting off the curb). The toughest part was maintaining his balance on the narrow curb without the wheels sliding off the side. But he was succeeding, and he was filled with pride as he zoomed up the street.

  Suddenly, a sound ahead made him look up, and the thrill in his heart turned to alarm. Almost to panic. Skating toward him on the curb was Kyle Robinson!

  Kyle was up to his usual tricks. He just had to come along and show up everyone. Right now he was challenging Brett to a contest of guts, to see who would leap off the curb first in order to avoid a collision.

  It won’t be me, Brett thought. I’m going to stick it out to the very last.

  Closer and closer they came, their speed not slacking a bit. And as the gap between them closed, the fear grew in Brett’s heart. Will Kyle really stay on the curb, even if it means running into me? he wondered.

  Neither one yelled out a warning. Both kept silent, each waiting for the other to make the move. Their eyes were on each other’s now, trying to read the icy stares, waiting to see which one would show more fear and give in.

  It won’t be me, Brett kept telling himself. It won’t be me.

  But, at the last moment — at the very last instant before they would surely make contact and risk serious injury — Brett jumped off the curb.

  He felt the wind brush his face as Kyle swept past him, laughing out loud, declaring his victory.

  Brett stood on his skateboard, glaring back at Kyle, his breath coming in quick, sharp gasps. He felt angry at himself for giving in, and he tried to justify his action by telling himself that a collision would have been inevitable if he hadn’t. Had he been wimpy? Or was the word “smart”? He preferred to think it was “smart.”

  “Hey, a new skateboard, huh?” Kyle said, wheeling around and skating back toward him. “Yours?”

  “Of course,” Brett said.

  Kyle stepped off his board and took a step toward Brett’s. “How about a ride?”

  Brett pushed back a few feet. “Sorry. No one rides this baby but me.”

  Kyle shrugged, got back on his board, and pushed off down the street. He commenced doing a series of tricks, the first a simple and familiar one to –––Brett, one he had done himself. Kyle crouched down on his board with one leg stretched out straight ahead and his arms out at the sides. Other maneuvers included Ollies and curb tricks. Brett followed suit without a hitch.

  Then Kyle went into fancier tricks, including a Ho-ho, which Brett duplicated without a bit of difficulty. Kyle went on to grind the front trucks of his skateboard on the edge of the curb, keeping the board parallel to the curb and its tail in the air. It was a trick Brett had never attempted before, but this time he was determined to try.

  He followed Kyle’s maneuvers and pull
ed each one of them off perfectly.

  Well, not quite perfectly. On Kyle’s last stunt, he somersaulted in the air and made a safe, two-footed landing back on his skateboard. Brett tried to do the same. But, at the very last moment, as he landed back on his skateboard, he lost his balance and fell.

  “Careful, Brett,” said Kyle mockingly as he swept around toward him. “Don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t,” said Brett, brushing the street dirt off his padded knees and pants.

  He watched Kyle speed away, and then turned back to W.E. and Johnee, who were staring at him from the sidewalk.

  “Wowee, Brett,” W.E. exclaimed, breathless. “That Shoot the Duck was simple. But you looked like a real pro pulling off a Ho-ho and a Nose Grind. When did you learn to do them?”

  Ho-ho he understood. But Nose Grind? Boy, leave it to W.E. to know the crazy names of skateboard tricks! He never skated himself, but he sure knew every trick in the book, or close to it.

  Brett wiped the sweat off his brow with his forearm. “Didn’t know I had,” he said.

  “Yeah, sure,” said Johnee. “You’ve been practicing behind my back.”

  “No, I haven’t, I swear,” said Brett. “I guess I’m just improving with age,” he added with a smile.

  “Well, don’t go getting any older or someday you may catch up to me,” Johnee said as he hopped on his board.

  Brett and Johnee were always arguing about who was the better skater, but it was all in fun. Their friendly competition was nothing like Brett’s rivalry with Kyle. When Kyle bragged about his abilities, he was serious, and everybody knew it. And, worse than that, he was right.

  Brett pushed off and sailed down the sidewalk, with Johnee close behind. Despite his earlier fall, he felt pleased with himself. Just as W.E. had said, it was the first time Brett had ever performed those difficult tricks. He’d been reluctant to follow Kyle’s every move at first, of course. Kyle was no amateur. But Brett had depended on The Lizard to do what he wanted to do, and it had worked. What a terrific feeling!

  His good feeling was short-lived, however. Just a few seconds later his mother drove up and said she wanted him to come home right away.

  “Oh, Mom!” he cried. “Do I have to? Johnee and I —”

  “Brett,” Mrs. Thyson said, in a tone he knew was serious, “there’s been an accident.”

  Brett’s stomach flopped. “What happened? Is it Shannon?”

  “No, your sister’s fine. It’s one of the workers — the one who found that box.”

  4

  Brett looked at the man’s bandaged ankle — the left one — as the worker sat there on the back porch, a grim, disgusted look on his face.

  Fortunately, the “accident” was nothing more serious than a sprain. But it was enough to upset Brett’s mother. He figured she felt guilty that it had happened on their property. She’d even offered to make lunch for the men, and now she wanted Brett to pick up some food.

  “How’d it happen?” Brett asked the worker.

  “Got me. I was lifting one of those four-by-fours and slipped. The first time in my life. Can you beat that? But, like they say, there’s always a first time. Right?”

  “Right.” Brett grinned.

  “Happened right after I dug up that box,” the man went on. “Guess that skateboard wasn’t so lucky for me, eh?”

  Brett wasn’t amused by the comment. W.E.’s story about Lance Hawker was too fresh in his mind.

  “Guess not,” Brett said abruptly, and went into the house.

  Mrs. Thyson yanked a sheet of long, narrow paper off the refrigerator door and handed it to him. On it was a list of groceries.

  “Here,” she said, giving him some money. “That should cover it.”

  Brett stuck the list and the bill into his shirt pocket and whisked out the door, figuring he could complete the errand sooner by taking his skateboard. Then, as if she were endowed with extrasensory perception, his mother called out to him, “And not on your skateboard! You walk!”

  He paused, one foot just above the threshold, and looked back at her. “But, Mom,” he pleaded, “it can’t be more than a bag. Even if it’s two —”

  “You still walk,” she cut him off short. He turned, half disgusted, half angry, and trounced out of the house and down the street, his hands pressed firmly into his pants pockets.

  He didn’t understand what she had against skateboarding. He always wore his protective gear, and he’d never gotten hurt. And with The Lizard, he felt more sure of himself than he ever had with Cobra.

  Just thinking about The Lizard made him feel better. The board fit him so well it was almost like magic. But Brett knew magic had nothing to do with it. He was the one who rode it. He was the one who guided it to perform the tricks. He was its master.

  He spotted Mrs. Weatherspoon on her stoop and looked away, feeling her beady eyes on him. She was beginning to give him the willies.

  Arnie’s Groceries was on the corner, two blocks down the street. Brett bought the groceries, and Mr. Wilcox — Arnie — piled them into two paper bags. Brett paid for them and left, carrying a sack in each arm. They’re not heavy, thank goodness, he thought.

  He stepped off the curb and was halfway across the street when someone behind him shouted, “Brett! Wait!”

  He looked back and saw Kristyne Medler running across the street toward him, her brown hair bouncing on her shoulders.

  “Hi,” Brett said.

  “Hi!” She reached for one of the bags. “Can I help you carry one?”

  “Naw. I can carry ‘em,” he said. He could, but if she asked one more time …

  “Please,” she insisted. “I feel stupid walking here empty-handed.”

  Smiling, he handed her a bag. “If you insist,” he said. “Thanks.”

  She was a year younger than he and in the seventh grade. But she was a good friend of Shannon’s and she often came over to their house. Sometimes Brett wondered if she came to see Shannon or came to see him. It seemed that he was the one she wound up talking to most of the time.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sound growing louder and louder behind him.

  He turned and, sure enough, the sound was coming from a skateboard, and riding it was Kyle Robinson. A feeling of envy pierced Brett as he saw Kyle speed down the sidewalk toward them, then suddenly pull a wheelie and perform one Ollie after another without a pause.

  “He’s really good, isn’t he?” Kristyne said, also fascinated by his tricks.

  “Yeah,” Brett said. “Really good.”

  An ache took hold of him and grew stronger and stronger, warping his mind. Good? I’m going to be good, too, he promised himself. A lot better than good. Just wait and see.

  “Is Shannon home?” Kristyne asked.

  “She was when I left to get the groceries,” Brett answered. “Practicing her sax.”

  “Uh-oh. Do you think it would be okay if I stayed and waited for her to finish?”

  Brett shrugged. “Sure. Maybe she’s finished by now, anyway.”

  By the time they reached the house, Shannon was finished, and Brett was glad. He had better things to do than entertain Kristyne right now. He wanted to take off on The Lizard and meet up with Kyle Robinson.

  Brett asked his mother for permission to go out and then took off, grabbing The Lizard and skating up the sidewalk to the spot where he had last seen Kyle.

  But Kyle wasn’t around. It wasn’t like him, Brett thought. That guy seemed to have nothing to do but skate.

  Suddenly there was a shout and a rush of air behind him. Just as Brett was about to turn around, his skateboard was kicked from under his feet, causing him to lose his balance and almost fall to the sidewalk. A dog appeared from somewhere and started to leap and bark its head off at him.

  “Scram!” Brett shouted. “Git!”

  The dog barked even louder.

  Laughter broke out like some maniac’s howl, and Brett turned to see that it came from n
one other than Kyle himself. He must have seen Brett coming, hidden behind a bush, then jumped Brett when he was off guard.

  “You screwball,” Brett grumbled as he hobbled after his skateboard, which had rolled off the walk onto the grass. Kyle stood some twenty feet away, arms crossed, laughing at him.

  The front door of the house directly in front of them opened and a woman barged out, yelling, “Why don’t you brats go home and mark up your own walks? You almost hit my dog, too! I saw that! Come here, Felix! Come here, pet, before they run you over!”

  The dog rushed toward the front porch, changed its mind for a second, then ran up the steps and into the house, its tail wagging furiously.

  Flashing one more glare at the boys, the woman retreated into the house and slammed the door behind her.

  From the corner of his eye, Brett saw someone else watching them. It was Mrs. Weatherspoon, standing on the curb in front of her house. Brett felt himself flush with anger and embarrassment. What was she looking at? he thought. Why couldn’t she go inside and quit spying on the neighborhood?

  Kyle let out another peal of laughter and skated down the walk, performing wheelies and an Ollie, then a couple of tricks Brett could not name. Where’s W.E. when you need him? Brett thought wryly.

  Ignoring both the enraged woman and Mrs. Weatherspoon, Brett succeeded in imitating Kyle’s tricks perfectly. He felt better with every move. He began to sweat, to feel an ache in the muscles of his arms and legs. Even in his back. But he wasn’t losing his balance. He wasn’t falling. He was doing each trick with the finesse of a professional.

  I can be good, too, man. Real good, he told himself.

  He saw Kyle turn up the street where he lived, but Brett kept going straight, heading for Springton Park. Once Kyle turned and waved to him, grinning mockingly.

  Brett waved back. But he thought, Grin, wise guy. One of these days I’m going to skate rings around you, and it won’t be long now, either.

  5

  Brett was disappointed to find Springton Park crowded with mothers and their young children. While the mothers sat at the picnic tables, the smaller kids rocked back and forth on the large replicas of Walt Disney characters with all the gusto they could muster.