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.”
B
rett 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 none 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.
B
rett 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.
The trouble was, the blacktop pavement was almost fully occupied, too.
Isn’t anybody with any kind of authority in this town ever going to consider kids like me who enjoy skateboarding?
Brett thought.
Couldn’t they turn one small corner of the park into a skateboarding arena where skateboarders could skate to their hearts’ content and not worry about running into someone? What could be so hard about that?
Nothing,
Brett thought.
It just takes someone with interest and initiative, that’s all. Someone to take the bull by the horns.
But who is in a position to do that? Maybe an owner of one of the sporting goods stores in town,
Brett reflected.
Why haven’t any of them come up with the idea?
The more he thought about it the more disgusted he became.
Finally, he saw a vacant space on the pavement not twenty feet away, right next to a concrete drain lined with a curving concrete wall. His troubled thoughts melted away. What a perfect spot for some neat tricks!
He raced to the vacant spot, wheelied to a stop, then leaped into the drain and landed with his front foot over the back wheel. He glided up the curve toward the pavement side, then zipped down into the depths of the drain and up the curved wall, his eyes on the nose of his board.
He raced to the top of the wall, lifted the tail and sailed along the coping, his knees bent, his hands stretched out to catch himself should he lose his balance and fall. But he didn’t lose his balance. He didn’t fall. He was performing like a veteran. His heart pounded. He had never felt so good.
He had just performed a trick he had never performed before in his life.
He heard a cheer, and someone clapped.
I guess someone else is enjoying this too,
Brett thought with pride.
He skated about fifteen feet along the coping, then shifted direction down the wall, putting the rear wheels of his skateboard down, and glided toward the bottom of the drain.
He whisked up on the other side, spinning near the top as he did so, and landed on the pavement with perfect ease.
He heard more applause, and a voice cried, “Geez, man! You’re something, you know that? That was a Fastplant One-eighty Ollie!”
Brett grinned. He’d recognize that high-pitched voice anywhere.
“Hi, W.E.,” he said, seeing the human Walking Encyclopedia sitting at a picnic bench under an old, gnarled oak. “How long you been there?”
“Long enough to see you perform those fantastic tricks,” W.E. said, rising from the bench. His eyes lowered to Brett’s skateboard and he shook his head. “You’ve really improved since you found that board.”
“Thanks,” Brett said, wiping the sweat off his brow with his forearm. Those tricky performances had sped up his circulation and made him hot.
“Doesn’t it make you wonder? At least a little bit?” W.E. asked.
“Wonder? About what?”
“About how you’ve been able to perform such difficult tricks,” W.E. replied. “Tricks you’d never even known about before.”
“I must’ve seen them done somewhere,” Brett said, feeling as though he had to justify himself. “Maybe I saw pictures in a magazine. Or some kid doing them on TV.”
W.E. smiled. “Think so?”
Brett shrugged. “How else could I have been able to do them?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” W.E. said. “Ah …” He cleared his throat. “Have you really wondered about it, Brett?”
“About what?”
“The skateboard.”
“Wonder about it? Why should I? It fits me perfectly, and I can skate on it better than I can on my other one. That’s all I’m interested in, man.”
“You don’t think The Lizard has anything to do with … well, your skating? And with that worker almost getting killed?”
Brett stared at him. “What are you talking about? That worker didn’t almost get killed. He just sprained an ankle. And how could The Lizard have anything to do with
that?
“
You’ve lost your marbles,
W.E., he wanted to add.
“Okay. But you just think about it sometime,” W.E. said.
This time Brett did say it. “You’ve lost your marbles, W.E., you know that? You’ve really lost ‘em.”
Spinning around, Brett skated back into the drain and performed another 360-degree pivot. Remembering the maneuver W.E. had called the Nose Grind, he skated up the side of the wall, reached the coping, and turned up the tail of the skateboard just as another voice cut into his actions. “Okay, kid! Off that wall and git! This is no skate-boarding arena!”
The voice of authority. Brett didn’t have to look up to see who had ordered him off the premises. He leveled off the skateboard, zoomed down the wall, leaped onto the pavement, and wheelied to a stop in front of the park ranger. Brett nodded at the tall, broad-shouldered official wearing a brown uniform. Then he picked up his board and headed up the pavement toward home.
Remorse replaced his former enthusiasm.
Here we go again
, he thought. He’d been careful. Sure, he’d come close to running into that woman this morning, but he hadn’t after all. And she could have done her share, too, by watching out for herself and her kid.
Anyway, that was the only time he had almost run into anybody. And he was going to make doubly sure it wouldn’t happen again.
But look what happened. Along comes this big-shot park ranger and tells him to “git.” As though he were a stray dog.
Once again he wished he could do something to convince people that kids like him needed a place to skate. An arena. But what could he do? Go to the town council? They’d laugh at him. There wasn’t anything …