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  Again applause followed.

  Johnee and Brett exchanged a high five, then Johnee’s eyes swept past Brett’s left shoulder. “Hey, look who just came in. Your old buddy.”

  Brett turned. “Yeah,” he said, as he saw Kyle Robinson coming in with his skateboard. “Guess we made so much noise he couldn’t help but hear it.”

  He almost wished that Mrs. Weatherspoon wouldn’t let Kyle in, but she didn’t know him any more or less than she knew the other kids. They were all skateboarders to her.

  “Join in, young man,” she invited him. “Let’s see what you can do. Just don’t do anything too fancy that might get you hurt, that’s all I ask.”

  “Thanks, ma’am,” Kyle said, and pushed off onto the rink.

  “Punk.” Brett snorted, and headed toward one of the ramps. He shot up on it, and landed backwards on the blacktop after twisting The Lizard into a 180-degree turn.

  “Brett!” he heard a shrill voice cry out. “Oh, Brett!”

  “Mrs. Weatherspoon’s calling you,” one of the kids said.

  Brett wheelied to a stop and saw her motioning to him. Wondering what she wanted, he shot off toward her. “Yes, Mrs. Weatherspoon?” he asked as he came to an abrupt stop in front of her.

  She leaned forward and said softly, her voice low enough that only he could hear it, “Brett, I couldn’t help noticing the look you gave that boy who just came in. I’ve seen him before, and I’ve noticed that he’s a good skateboarder. Very good. Yet, that look… Is there something that …?”

  “No,” he said, before she went any further. “There’s nothing. We just …” He shrugged, and forced a smile. “He’s okay, I guess.”

  “You guess?” Her eyebrows arched.

  “No. He’s okay. And like you said, he’s good. Real good.”

  She gave him a smile and tapped him on the shoulder. “All right, Brett. Go on and skate. You’re not bad yourself, you know.”

  He flashed a smile, and felt his face flush up just a little. “Thanks, Mrs. Weatherspoon,” he said, and got back on his skateboard and skated away.

  She was sharp, he told himself, to have made that observation about me and Kyle. Brett was glad that he hadn’t said more about Kyle. He knew Mrs. Weatherspoon wouldn’t approve. Now that he thought about it, he was glad, too, that Kyle had found out about the arena. Now people would have a chance to compare them, and everyone would see that Brett was the better skateboarder.

  After half an hour or so, Mrs. Weatherspoon stood up and clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

  “I’m sorry, kids,” she said, “but, as you must realize, we ought to have a time schedule for this. I think from ten o’clock to twelve, and from two to four, don’t you? What’s your opinion?”

  They clapped and yelled. “Great, Mrs. Weatherspoon! That’s super!”

  “Good,” she said. “So it’ll be those hours every day of the week. Well,” she went on, glancing at her wristwatch, “it’s now three-fifteen. You have forty-five more minutes. Then home you go!”

  “Okay, Mrs. Weatherspoon! Thanks!” the guys cried as she turned and went into the house.

  “Isn’t she a fantastic lady?” Brett said to Johnee as the door closed behind her.

  “Who would’ve guessed?” Johnee said.

  When four o’clock rolled around, Brett was worn out from skating, and happier than he’d been in a long time. The arena was perfect for performing tricks, and Brett had pulled off all of his without a hitch.

  He knew the guys were talking about his talent, and he’d even seen Kyle watching him with a strange expression on his face. Could it have been envy? Or was it worry?

  Well, you should be worried, Brett thought as he and the others headed home.Your number is up, Kyle Robinson.

  10

  Just when Brett thought life couldn’t get any better, it did. Two days later, Brett got a call from W.E.

  “Good news!” W.E. said. “Mrs. Weatherspoon has come through again!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I had quite a talk with her the day you guys tried out her arena,” W.E. explained. “And you wouldn’t believe what she’s offered to do.”

  “What?” Brett said, growing impatient.

  “How’d you like to compete in a contest?”

  Brett caught his breath. “You’re kidding.”

  “A contest is too serious to kid about, old buddy,” W.E. said. “And, know what? She asked me to do the arranging, including the advertising.”

  “You’re the perfect guy for the job,” Brett said. “Got the date planned yet?”

  “It’s two weeks from Saturday.”

  “Wow, that’s soon,” Brett said, already thinking about the routine he’d have to put together between now and then.

  “I don’t think you have to worry about practicing,” W.E. said with a chuckle. “The contest is really just for you and Kyle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mrs. Weatherspoon asked me about you and Kyle,” W.E. explained. “After I told her about the rivalry between you two guys, she thought a contest would be a good idea.”

  “She did?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  You and your big mouth, Brett thought to himself. But he had to admit that an official contest — in front of a big crowd — was just what he wanted. Then Brett had a more worrisome thought. “W.E., did you say anything else to her?”

  “About what?”

  “About …anything.”

  “You mean about The Lizard?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No, I didn’t. She’d never believe me, anyway.” He paused a moment, then asked, “Do you, Brett?”

  Brett snorted. “Of course not. I think you’ve let skateboarding go to your brain.” Then he added, “Got a question for you, W.E. You enjoy skateboarding so much, why don’t you ever do it? Don’t tell me you can’t afford one. I’ve seen your father’s Caddie.”

  “I’m not the athletic type,” W.E. admitted frankly. “Besides, I like being a statistician better. I want to be a sportscaster someday.”

  “Hey, that’s not a bad idea! Okay, W.E. Thanks for calling. I’ll see you around. Oh, what time’s the contest?”

  “Two P.M. You’ll have to sign up for it by next Friday night. I’ll bring an application to you tomorrow. We’re going to have both a Beginners Division and an Advanced Division contest. Mrs. Weatherspoon thought it would be good to do it that way so that little kids can compete, too.”

  “What class do you think I should sign up for?” Brett asked, cracking a smile.

  “Tell you one thing: If you sign up for the Beginners Division, you’ll be eliminated before you even start.” W.E. laughed.

  Brett laughed, too, thanked W.E. for all he and Mrs. Weatherspoon were doing, and hung up.

  Good old Mrs. Weatherspoon, he thought. She was coming through again, just like W.E. had said. And the reason she wanted to sponsor a contest was because of him. Who would have thought his rivalry with Kyle would be so important to an old woman that she would up and do a thing like this?

  “What was that all about?” Mrs. Thyson asked as Brett headed into the living room.

  “You wouldn’t believe it, Mom,” he said, and explained it all to her, except why Mrs. Weatherspoon was putting on the contest. No need to go into that.

  “Do you mean,” Mrs. Thyson said when Brett had finished, “that Mrs. Weatherspoon is going to hold this contest by herself?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said, beginning to feel uncomfortable under her piercing gaze. “But we — the guys—will help her. W.E. is spreading the word —”

  “That’s not what I’m concerned about,” Mrs. Thyson cut in. “How will she judge it? Does she know anything about skateboarding? What about safety?”

  “Oh, Mom,” Brett said with a sigh. “It’s not that big a deal.”

  But Mrs. Thyson wasn’t convinced. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  All of Brett’
s earlier excitement wilted and he felt anger growing in its place. Why had he told her about the contest? She didn’t understand anything, and she was determined to take away any pleasure he got out of skateboarding.

  “Just forget it, Mom!” he exploded. “You know, I think Mrs. Weatherspoon cares more about me than you do!” He spun on his heels and stormed out the front door.

  Brett flung open the garage door and grabbed The Lizard. As he propelled himself down the street and away from his house with strong pumps of his foot, he calmed down. He surrendered himself to the board, spinning and doing wheelies until his head was clear again. Skating was what he enjoyed most and did best, and he knew it wasn’t wrong.

  He knew, too, that the contest was a good idea. He would do everything he could to make sure it happened, and to make sure he won first place. He’d do all of his fancy tricks — and maybe even some that he hadn’t tried yet, some extra-special, stupendous moves that would knock everyone’s socks off. Especially Kyle Robinson’s.

  Brett turned around sharply and headed toward the town library. He was sure to find some sports magazines there that showed the latest in skateboarding stunts.

  With the help of a librarian, Brett located the information he needed, and more. As he flipped through the pages of one of the older magazines, he saw a photograph of a teenager sailing through the air on a skateboard. The caption underneath read: “Crackerjack Hawker, National Freestyle Champion.”

  Brett’s pulse quickened as he examined the photo more closely, trying to get a bead on the boy he had heard so much about. Was that The Lizard he was riding? The angle of the photograph made it hard to tell, but the board was the right shape, and it was a double tail….

  Again Brett wondered who had buried The Lizard, and why. He couldn’t help thinking about W.E. and his theory about the board, that it was somehow hexed. It was a strange and stupid thing to believe, especially for someone as smart as W.E. But, Brett had to admit, his life had certainly changed since the day he had opened that wooden box. Did Lance bury the board because he, too, believed it was hexed?

  Hoping to learn more about The Lizard and its previous owner, Brett read the article. There weren’t many facts specifically about Lance, only that he rose to fame quickly because of his amazing ability, and that skateboarding was his life. He toured the country for weeks on end to compete in contests and perform in exhibitions for charity. It didn’t sound half bad to Brett —he could understand someone’s wanting to spend most of his time on a board, perfecting his skill.

  Brett turned back to the photograph of Lance and studied it again. He looked a few years older than Brett, and he was wearing long black spandex shorts and a bright yellow T-shirt with the number six on it. In a way, Brett wished he had known Lance. They would have had a lot in common.

  Brett carried the magazine over to the copier and duplicated the photo. Then he folded it carefully and stuck it in his wallet before putting the magazine back on the shelf.

  11

  The next morning, Brett decided he wanted to do something to show Mrs. Weatherspoon his appreciation. Only he didn’t know exactly what to do. He waited until his mother was out of earshot — he didn’t even want to mention Mrs. Weatherspoon’s name in her presence — and then asked Shannon if she had any ideas.

  “Why don’t you buy her a present?” Shannon suggested.

  Brett frowned. “I don’t have much money. I wish I could do some chore for her, like mow her lawn, but she doesn’t have much of a lawn anymore!”

  “You could offer to run errands for her.”

  “I guess I could, but that would take up a lot of time.” Brett sank down in his chair.

  “Geez, Brett,” Shannon said. “Do you want to do something for her, or not?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Brett said. “She’s done so much for me, she deserves something really special.”

  “Why don’t you make her something? I bet she’d really like that.”

  “What could I make?”

  “I don’t know. This whole thing was your idea — why don’t you figure it out?” She started to leave the room.

  “Wait, Shan. Could you help me? You’re handy with things.”

  Shannon cracked a smile. “You trying to butter me up?” She stood up straighter. “Hey, that gives me an idea. You could bake her something.”

  Brett started to shake his head, then he thought about it some more. At least it wouldn’t take too long.

  “Will you help me?” He looked at her pleadingly.

  Shannon crossed her arms over her chest. “And what do I get out of this?”

  “You can use Cobra all you want.”

  “I already do. You never ride that thing anymore. You’re too busy with The Lizard.” She said the board’s name with a sneer.

  Brett got up and patted her on the back. “How about some brotherly companionship?”

  “Don’t make me sick,” Shannon said. But she started to take the flour and sugar canisters out of the cupboard.

  Brett laughed at himself for feeling nervous as he stood in front of Mrs. Weatherspoon’s door with a tin of freshly baked cookies. Most of the batch had burned — Shannon had blamed him for not paying attention —but they had managed to salvage enough to make a decent offering. She’s bound to like them, and anyway, it’s the thought that counts, he told himself.

  “Well, hello there, Brett,” she said when she opened the door. “You’re a little early for skateboarding, but I guess it would be all right, just this once …”

  “That’s not why I came over, Mrs. Weatherspoon,” he blurted. “I wanted to give you this.” He shoved the tin into her hands.

  Her eyes opened wide in surprise and then she broke into a smile when she took off the lid. “Chocolate chip — my favorite.”

  “Mine, too,” said Brett, grinning. “I made them for you.”

  “You did? Why, that was so thoughtful of you, to go to all that trouble, just for me. Would you like to come in and have some?” She held the screen door open for him, and he stepped inside.

  “I don’t want to bother you,” Brett said. “I just wanted to say thank you, for all you’ve done for us skateboarders. First the rink, and now you’re putting on a contest …”

  Mrs. Weatherspoon’s smile faded. “About the contest, Brett, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Come here and sit down.” She sat on her sofa.

  Brett sat on the edge next to her, feeling his earlier nervousness return.

  “It looks as though we’re going to have to postpone the contest for a while,” she said.

  “Why?” Brett blurted. “What happened?”

  Mrs. Weatherspoon leaned back, as if she were tired. “Your friend Thurman did a great job of spreading the word —”

  “My friend who?”

  “Thurman — the one who knows so much about skateboarding.”

  “Oh, you must mean W.E.,” Brett said with a short laugh. “We call him Walking Encyclopedia.” With a name like Thurman, Brett thought, it’s no wonder he uses a nickname.

  “Well, he certainly is that. Anyway, he spread the word quickly, and I received a few telephone calls last night. It seems that some of the parents in town aren’t so enthusiastic about the idea.”

  Brett immediately thought of his mother’s reaction. She must have put the nix on this, he concluded. She probably called her friends and got them all stirred up. It was just like her. He felt a warm flush rising in his face.

  “I can understand their point,” Mrs. Weatherspoon went on. “They are concerned about safety, and my liability in case of an accident.”

  “But that won’t happen!” Brett cried, nearly jumping out of his seat. “We’ll be careful.”

  Mrs. Weatherspoon patted his knee and said softly, “No matter how careful you might be, accidents happen.” She put on a smile, as if she were trying to cheer him up. “Anyway, that isn’t the real problem — I have insurance — but I don’t want to go against parents’ wishes. I just need more time to get
everyone on our side, okay?”

  In this town that could take forever, Brett wanted to say, but he remained silent. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth now he might start to cry.

  Mrs. Weatherspoon read the disappointment on his face. “Don’t worry, Brett. It’ll all work out, I’m sure.”

  Brett felt like a cat trapped in a box, and he wanted to scratch and claw his way out. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he had to get outside. “I gotta go,” he said abruptly, as he strode to the door.

  “Thanks again for the cookies. That was very kind. I’ll see you later, when you come back to skate?” She sounded uncertain.

  “Yeah, sure,” Brett mumbled. He ran down the steps, his eyes blurring.

  He swiped the tears off his face angrily. It was so unfair! What did this stupid town have against skateboarding? Why did his family have to move from Ridgeville in the first place? The kids just wanted to have some innocent fun.

  But the contest was more than that for Brett, he had to admit. It was going to be the culmination of all his hard work, his chance to achieve his dream. Now he might never get to show people what he could do, to show that he was the best at his chosen sport.

  Too bad for him that his chosen sport was one that Springton didn’t allow.

  Brett slammed the door behind him when he arrived home and sank onto the living room couch. He felt like sitting there for the rest of the summer.

  “What’s with you?” Mrs. Thyson asked as she walked into the room.

  She was the last person he wanted to see—much less talk to — right now. “As if you didn’t know,” he said sullenly.

  “I don’t know, and that’s why I asked,” she said, taking a seat in the recliner next to him.

  “Well, your little scheme worked.”

  “I still don’t know what you’re talking about, Brett, and I don’t appreciate your nasty tone.” She eyed him fiercely.

  Brett didn’t care that she was angry. He was angrier. “The skateboarding contest is off— all because of you!” he shouted.

  “Wait a minute, Brett, that’s a shame, but—”