Cheeseburger Subversive (7 page)

I stop to spit out the bug juice, when a noise makes me jump. Over the purring of my engine, I can hear the shriek of a bigger dirt bike racing toward me from the other side of the hill. The bike's back tire just clears the top of my head as it sails over the hilltop. The bike bounces a couple of times as its tires hit the earth, then the rider loses his balance and somersaults across the ground, the bike cartwheeling and crashing on its side.

I put the kickstand of my mini-bike down and run over to where the rider lies.

“Are you okay?”

He sits up and pulls off his helmet, shaking the hair out of his face and cursing a blue streak, totally ignoring me. It is Devin Orff.

Smiley wanders over to Devin and begins licking his face.

“Fuck off fuckin' mutt!”

Smiley just barely dodges the punch Devin throws at him, and beats a hasty retreat back by my side.

Several other dirt bikes roar around the hill and grind to a halt in the dirt around us. The tallest guy gets off his bike and stands over Devin's prone figure. He whips off his helmet and says, “You lose, Orff.”

Devin Orff struggles to his feet, trying not to show any pain, and snarls, “No,
you
lose, dickhead. You owe me fifty bucks!”

“Bullshit, Orff,” the other kid brays. “You crashed. You owe
me
fifty bucks!”

“I still jumped the hill, fuckface,” Devin counters, dragging his left leg slightly as he moves within inches of his nemesis. “You bet me I couldn't jump the hill. I jumped the damn hill, so fucking pay up.”

“Fuck off!” says the other kid, “I bet that you couldn't
land
the jump, and you
didn't
. You wiped out!”

One by one, the other riders remove their helmets. I recognize one of them as Cliff Boswink who has held a grudge against me since grade seven when he got suspended from school for giving me a bloody nose. He has never bothered me at school since then, but at this particular moment, we are far, far from school.

“Hey!” Cliff cries out, pointing at me as I attempt to tiptoe back towards my mini-bike. “Why don't you ask
him
if Devin made the jump or not!”

Devin Orff limps toward me, like Frankenstein's Monster. Great.

“You saw me land the jump, didn't you,
buddy
?”

“Um, well . . . ”

The other guy strides over beside Devin, and joins him in staring at me.

“You saw him crash, didn't you, kid?”

“Well, actually, I — ”

“Ha! He saw you crash, Orff, you suckass!” the other kid taunts. “You owe me fifty buckaroos!”

Devin Orff's already reddened face flushes a deeper crimson and he grabs my helmet between his meaty hands and jerks it from my head, the chin strap painfully catching on my ears.

“Nice helmet, dickboy,” he says as he tosses my helmet to one of his toadies. “Now listen here, mister
Animal
Warrior
. Tell this fucking asswipe that I landed the jump!”

The toadie who has my helmet is scratching on it with a rock. The rest are focused on the conflict between their fearless leader and his potential usurper.

I stutter, “I'm, um, I'm not, um, I'm not sure I saw, um, exactly, um — ”

“TELL HIM!” Devin Orff rages, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me.

At that moment, another dirt bike comes peeling around the hill with Devin Orff's two Dobermans running along on either side. The rider lifts his helmet's visor to reveal a smaller version of Devin's angry face.

“Devin!” the kid says, “Ma says to git yer ass home for dinner!”

“Tell her to fuck off,” Devin replies, letting go of me. “I'll get there when I get there. And you fuck off, too, Billy!”

“Yer gonna get a lickin' when you get home,” Billy Orff shouts. He gives his older brother the finger, then roars away in the direction from which he came. The two Dobermans remain, though, and circle over to where Devin stands in front of me, snarling. Instinctively, Smiley snarls back, but not too much. The guy who has been arguing with Devin begins to back away. Devin points a finger at him.

“Chopper! Slash!” he says evenly.

The two dogs begin to snarl, their muscles trembling, straining forward like they are pushing against an invisible wall.

“Fuck!” the kid whimpers, stepping quickly backward. “Don't, Devin! Come on now! Don't!”

“Chopper! Slash!
Sic'im
, boys!” Devin hollers.

The two dogs blast off toward the other boy. He turns to run, but they leap and knock him down from behind. The dogs hold him face down on the ground, growling like demons, their teeth chopping at his arms and legs, and the kid screams in terror, “Fuck! No! Fuck! Orff! Stop ‘em! Fuck! Fuck! You win! You win!”

Devin snaps his fingers and says, “Chopper! Slash!
Heel
!”

The dogs back reluctantly away from their victim, still snarling.

“Get the fuck out of here, ya fairy,” Devin says to the kid, who is pale and shaking. “Don't come back here without my fifty bucks.”

As the other boy starts his bike's engine and rides away, Devin turns his attention to me. His toadies circle like vultures, with that prick Cliff Boswink standing right beside Devin. The one who has been holding my helmet steps up beside Devin.

“Nice bike — a
Moto-Pup
!” Cliff Boswink sneers, scarcely able to contain his glee. “Didj'a get it at a toy store?”

Cliff grabs my helmet from the toadie who held it, then hands it over to Devin. Devin holds it up for all to see, and they all start cackling. The toadie has scratched the letters I and M off, and the stupid lettering on my helmet now reads AN AL WARRIOR. All the Bad Boys roar with laughter.

“Awwww, c'mon boys!” Cliff laughs, “you're gonna make the Anal Warrior
cry
! He might
tell the teacher
on you if you make him cry!”

I turn, get onto my mini-bike, and kick away at the starter, forgetting once again to switch the starter to the “on” position, which makes the Bad Boys laugh even harder.

“Hey,
Anal Warrior
!” Devin calls out, “don't forget your
Anal Warrior
helmet!”

He throws it at me, and it hits me in the side of the face. I reach down to pick it up, lose my balance, and dump my pathetic little mini-bike over. Some of the toadies actually fall on the ground laughing over this. I pick up my little two-wheeled snail, mount it, and buzz away with my knees tucked under my armpits.

A few days later, Dad steps into my room, where, other than to eat lunch and to take Smiley out to pee, I have been sequestered all day reading
Lord of the Ring
s.

“Hey, Dak,” Dad says. “Aren't you going to get out there and rip around on your mini-bike in the vacant lots? It's a beautiful afternoon for it.”

“I'm not feeling very good, Dad.”

“Sounds like there's lots of other kids out there having fun on their motorbikes.”

Good for them
, I thought,
they're probably laughing and
waiting for the Anal Warrior to return for another round of
humiliation.

“You do
like
the mini-bike, don't you? You know, your mom still isn't speaking to me . . . ”

I just shrug. Dad has my helmet in his hands, which he tosses beside me on the bed.

“I noticed that the letters on it got a bit scuffed up, so I painted the whole thing black for you. I hope you still like it.”

“Yeah, it's better, actually.”

“Well, good. Get back out there and have some fun.”

I don't want to disappoint him, so I say, “Sure, Dad. I'm just going to finish this chapter.” I figure I'll listen out the window until the sound of the other engines is gone, then I'll go out for a quick ride.

Dad turns to leave but, when he gets to the doorway, he looks over his shoulder and says, “Life is too short to let anyone stop you from doing what you want to do.”

There is maybe an hour of sun left when the hum of engines finally disappears from The Badlands; it is finally safe for me to saddle up the Moto-Pup for a ride. I am doing laps around a hill, with Smiley trotting along happily beside me, when I see one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. Above the western horizon, five fingers of deep orange sunlight break through a small cloud, leaving five glowing fingerprints on the surface of the earth. I take a run at the hill with the Moto-Pup, and with a little help from my feet, I manage to coax it up to the top of the hill for a better view.

I kill the engine, remove my helmet, and stretch my arm out towards the sky. When I spread my fingers wide, and bend my wrist downward, it looks as though the sunbeams are flowing directly from my fingertips. I imagine I am a powerful wizard, and the beams of light are actually rays of magic.

Then Smiley begins to growl.

There, in the long shadow of the hill, leaning on their parked bikes, are Devin Orff and Cliff Boswink sharing a cigarette. It is probably hand-rolled and doesn't smell like tobacco. Devin's Dobermans are crouched beside him, their snarls growing louder.

“Look, Devin, it's the Anal Warrior!” Cliff Boswink calls out.

“What the hell ya doin', Anal?” Devin adds. “Prayin' to the queen of the fairies?”

“Nah, Anal's not gay, Orff,” Cliff wheezes, “at least not
completely
gay — he's got the hots for some skinny little chick in his class. Zoe's her name. She's
sweeeeeet
.”

“Has she got tits yet?” Devin Orff giggles. “Should we go find her and feel her up?”

This imagery is just too much for my brain to handle, and my voice explodes from inside me. “Shut up, jerk!” I yell out. I kick at the starter of the Moto-Pup. I am going to race down the hill at full speed and ram the handlebars right into Devin Orff's crotch for that remark. I kick and kick at the starter but the motor fails to fire.

“
Oooooh
, Anal just called me a
jerk
, Blaster. Maybe we should go have a talk with him about that.”

Smiley growls louder as Devin Orff, Cliff Boswink and the two Dobermans saunter up the hill.

Then I remember to turn the starter switch on, and the engine fires on the first kick, but Devin Orff is already standing in front of me, gripping the handlebars of my mini-bike.

“Hey, Anal, don't worry!” he titters. “I'm not gonna hurt you — I just wanna take this hot bike of yours for a ride! Promise I won't break it!”

Even over the buzz of the little engine, I can hear his dogs snarling like demons. Close beside me, Smiley's fur bristles, and he growls back at them.

“Yeah, Anal,” Cliff giggles. “We
promise
we won't smash the Moto-Pup into little tiny bits!”

It isn't as big or expensive as their dirt bikes, but the Moto-Pup is a present from my dad, and I am not going to let these two giggling idiots wreck it. I kick the gearshift pedal, wind back the throttle, and drop the clutch, making the doughnut-sized rear tire actually spin a little. It is enough to push Devin Orff out of the way, but there is not nearly enough power to drive through him like I had planned. Now all I can think of is escape, and I buzz down the hill away from Orff and Boswink as fast as the Moto-Pup will carry me, which is slightly faster than they can run on foot.

“Come back here, Anal!” Cliff yells.

They both run after me, but the Moto-Pup gradually pulls ahead enough that they break off their pursuit.

“The name's Dak, shithead!” I yell back as my little bike carries me away. Smiley runs beside me, his mouth wide open and his tongue wagging like a flag, like he's laughing his head off.

“Ha-HAAA, suckers!” I shout over my shoulder.

And then I see them. Devin's attack dogs are charging behind us, gaining quickly. I wrench the throttle back, but it is already open as wide as it will go.

My left foot is jerked from the footpeg. One of the dogs had my pant leg in his teeth! The other Doberman is running beside my right leg, nipping at it. They are going to pull me right off the mini-bike!

A hollow thump! A cyclone of snarling and barking! The dog on the right lets go of my pant leg, and then the second disappears, too. I stand on the rear brake pedal, spin the bike around 180 degrees in the dirt to see Smiley on the back of the dog who had my pant leg in his teeth. The Doberman bucks and thrashes and howls wildly but cannot shake Smiley loose. The second Doberman leaps into the fray, hissing and shrieking like something from hell. The three dogs kick up a cloud of dust, thrashing and snapping and gnashing and snarling wildly.

My hands claw at my face. No no no no no! I would have rather let Devin and Cliff smash up the Moto-Pup and beat me up than watch my dog get killed like this.

But then one of the Dobermans rears up, flips several times in the dust, then sprints away, yelping like an alarm siren. Seconds later, the second Doberman flees like the first, dragging its ass away as fast as its front legs will carry it.

Devin and Cliff, who had been running towards the scene to watch my dog get eaten by the Dobermans, turn tail and run in the opposite direction when Smiley bares his teeth and gallops towards them, barking like crazy. As soon as they are far enough away, Smiley stops his pursuit and trots back to me.

Smiley has a few small cuts on his nose and ears, and he's limping slightly on one paw, but overall he is in pretty good shape for a friendly little mutt that has just taken on two attack dogs at once and kicked the crap out of them. I guess Chopper and Slash's barks are worse than their bites, and it occurs to me that this might be true for their owner and his gang as well.

From this point on, with Smiley running alongside me, I will buzz around The Badlands with a little less fear and a little more joy in my heart.

Pushin' Pickle

(Grade eight)

“S
o, Dak,” my father says, in a businesslike tone which always means bad news for me, “how would you like to make some extra money this summer?”