Snowboard Showdown (4 page)

“What for?” Freddie asked.

Dondi's face grew secretive, and a satisfied smile crept over it. “Something good.”

“That's a lot of money,” Freddie said. “You want to bet it you can beat me in a snowboarding contest?”

“Sure, right,” Dondi scoffed. “And what are you going to bet? Air? I don't see your wad of cash, big guy.”

Freddie steamed, but he knew he had Dondi's attention now. The offer of a bet had been a sudden inspiration, but it didn't
really matter. The important thing was the contest—and Clarissa.

“You're afraid I could beat you,” Freddie said. “You know I can. I always do.”

“A few stupid games of Pig. And if I remember correctly, we never finished the last game,” Dondi reminded him. “Besides, I
go easy on you because you're smaller.”

“Yeah, right,” Freddie said. “I can beat you anytime I want.”

“Cannot.”

“Oh, yeah?” Freddie said, pouncing. “There's a contest a week from Saturday. I'm in it. Are you?”

“What contest?” Dondi asked, suddenly alert and suspicious. “I never heard about any contest.”

“That's because it just got announced.”

“When?”

“Today.”

Dondi looked searchingly at him. “You made it up yourself,” he said, seeing right through Freddie.

“No, I didn't,” Freddie insisted, ready for this. “Steve Myers set it up.”

“Myers? That dweeb? Ha!”

“He is not a dweeb,” Freddie said. “He's a better boarder than you.”

Dondi guffawed. “That kid can't board for beans. Everybody knows it.”

“They only think it because you told them,” Freddie said sharply. “Are you in or not? If you're too chicken then the whole
school is going to know about it. And I won't even have to tell them. There are plenty of other contestants.”

“Yeah? Who?”

Freddie reeled off a few of the names.

“What about Forest and Sherman?”

“Uh, no… they couldn't make it.” Freddie didn't volunteer that he and his friends had decided not to invite the pair.

“I don't know why
I
should, then,” Dondi said. “Sounds like a contest for sixth- and seventh-grade dweebs only.”

“You are chicken,” Freddie taunted. “You're afraid you'll come in dead last. I see it in your eyes, you wimp.”

“I'll bust your nose if you don't quit it,” Dondi threatened.

“You don't want people to see me beat you,” Freddie continued. “You're afraid I'll make you look bad.”

Suddenly, a grin spread across Dondi's face—a confident grin that made Freddie nervous. “We'll see about that,” he said. “I've
got some new tricks up my sleeve.”

Freddie blinked, taken by surprise by Dondi's sudden eagerness to be in the contest. Was Dondi just bluffing? Or did he really
have some reason for his swagger?

“So, you want to be in the contest?” Freddie said. “Okay, you're in.”

“You bet I am, squirt,” Dondi said, shaking Freddie's hand extra hard. “And I'm in it to win it.”

Freddie pulled his hand away. “Okay. So now you can tell me. What's the big secret, huh?”

“You'll find out soon enough,” Dondi said, enjoying himself greatly. “Ooh, you're so curious! You're just dying to know. Get
down and beg, and maybe I'll tell you.” He gave Freddie a smug smile. “I almost told Clarissa over ice cream the other day.”

That did it. Freddie roared and launched himself at Dondi. Caught off guard, the bigger boy landed with a thud on the bed.
Immediately, the two brothers began pummeling each other, screaming insults at the top of their lungs.

Only their father's shouts, and his strong arms prying them apart, got through to Freddie and Dondi. Esteban shoved Freddie
backward while holding Dondi off with his other hand. “Boys!” he barked commandingly. “Stop it right now!”

There was a long silence. Freddie caught his breath and waited for the pounding of his heart to slow down.

Esteban's jaw was tense, and his eyes gleamed like black coals. “You know, boys,” he said in a half whisper, “how do you think
your mother would feel if she came home to see somebody with a bloody nose?”

Dondi and Freddie glanced at each other then looked down at the floor guiltily.

Esteban continued, launching into his now familiar lecture about good sportsmanship. “When I was your age,” he began, “I used
to think winning was everything, that I always had to be better than everybody else. You have to learn to lose sometimes in
life, as well as to win.

“You know,” he continued, “one time I set a trap for this guy on roller skates. I knew a certain street was rough to skate,
with potholes and all. But I also knew the righthand side of it was smoother than the left. So I challenged this kid to a
race, and I made sure I skated on the right side. Can you guess what happened?”

Neither boy spoke.

“He fell halfway through the race, and I won,” Esteban finished. “Then I turned around and saw he was bleeding very bad. A
big gash in his knee.” Esteban slashed a finger across his own kneecap. “He
never skated again, at least not when I was around. I've felt bad from that day to this about it. That's how I learned why
sportsmanship is so important.” He looked at his two sons. “You boys have got to try harder to be good brothers. This fighting
has got to stop. You're on the same team, amigos. Understand?”

“Yes, Papi,” the boys said simultaneously.

“Okay, now go to bed. School tomorrow.”

“When is Mami getting home?” Dondi asked softly.

“Soon. She had a late meeting tonight,” Esteban said.

“Send her up to say good night to me, okay?” Dondi said. “I want to talk to her.”

“Okay,” Esteban said. “Come on, Freddie. Let's get you to bed too.”

Freddie went quietly. Something had reached him in what his dad had said about the skating race. It was sort of the same,
the way he was setting up this contest just so Dondi would lose. Now he felt terrible about it. He wanted to call the whole
thing off. He wished Dondi had just said no.

But Dondi had said yes, and now it was too late to
back out. If he did, Freddie was the one who would look like a chicken. It would be like admitting that Dondi was better than
him at everything. Bigger, faster, better-looking, funnier, cooler. Freddie sighed. No, there was no going back, he realized.
The contest had to go on.

T
hat Saturday afternoon, Freddie sat with Steve and Eric in the food court at the mall. Freddie and Steve were chowing down
on Megaburgers and Megasized Maniac Fries and slurping chocolate shakes. Eric was eating his usual lunch of salad and soup,
topped off with a piece of fruit.

“I don't get much exercise,” he reminded people whenever they remarked about his healthy eating habits. “I've got to keep
up a good diet. I like this stuff, anyway,” he'd add with a smile and a shrug before digging into his greens.

Rabbit food, Freddie thought as he watched Eric eat. Poor guy. Of course, it was also true that Eric never missed a day of
school and always had more energy than anybody, in spite of his disability. Freddie screwed up his face. One of these days,
he
thought, wiping ketchup off his chin, I've gotta try that rabbit stuff.

In between bites, Eric told them about all the preparations he'd made for the big contest, which was now exactly one week
away. “The article is coming out on Wednesday in the local paper and on Friday in the school news. We should have an excellent
crowd. I made sure of that by announcing that all proceeds would go to charity.”

“Good idea!” Steve said, then realized something. “You mean you're going to charge?” he asked.

“Why not?” Eric said with a shrug. “It's all for a good cause, and it'll bring in the crowds even better than a free ticket.
If it's free, they think it can't be that good,” he explained.

Freddie shook his head in admiration. “Man, you think of everything,” he said.

“I try, I try,” Eric said humbly, accepting the compliment.

“I've been practicing,” Steve said. “I can almost do a three-sixty complete with nose grab!”

Freddie said, “I want to see Dondi's face when you bring it off!”

“About Dondi,” Eric interrupted. “Is he still in?”

“Yeah,” Freddie said. “He's all gung ho and everything.”

“I don't get that,” Steve said. “Doesn't he realize what's going to happen?”

“Apparently not,” Eric said.

Freddie squirmed. Dondi did have something up his sleeve, he could tell. Dondi wouldn't have agreed to enter a contest in
public if he didn't think he could win.

Suddenly he was feeling tense and anxious about the contest. With the articles in the paper, there could be a big crowd. What
if he didn't win? What if something happened—if he fell, and Dondi had his best day ever? It could happen, Freddie knew. On
any given day, anything could go down.

Eric interrupted his thoughts. “Say, where are we going?” he asked, wadding up his napkins and crushing his empty drink container.

“I don't know,” Freddie said, looking around now. “There's Buddy's. Wanna go spy on Dondi?”

“Sure!” Steve said happily.

Freddie didn't tell them why he really wanted to spy on his brother. It had occurred to him that
Clarissa might be there too. He hoped not, but he had to take a look and make sure.

Clarissa wasn't there, Freddie quickly noted with relief. But what he did see made his worry level rise to new heights.

Dondi was in the store window, lifting a glittering new snowboard off its stand. Looking at it lovingly, he tucked it under
his arm and patted it with a satisfied look, as if to say, Come to Papa!

Freddie gulped. Was this the surprise Dondi had up his sleeve?

“Hey, Freddie!” Dondi greeted him, hopping down from the display window onto the floor of the store. “That's nice, you came
to visit me, man. Hey, guys.” He waved to Eric and Steve.

“Hey.” They waved back without enthusiasm.

“You like this board, squirt?” Dondi asked, holding it out to Freddie. “'Cause if you like it, it's yours.”

Freddie stared at his brother, open-mouthed.

“Nah, just kidding. Actually, this baby's for me,” Dondi said laughing as he yanked the board back.

Freddie's eyes were glued to the price tag. It was
more than three hundred dollars! “You're b-buying that?” he spluttered.

“That's right,” Dondi said, looking mighty pleased with himself. “Me, myself, and I. Can't be entering contests with my ratty
old board, can I?”

Dondi's old board wasn't exactly prime, Freddie had to admit, but his own was even worse. Splinters stuck out from the edges,
and the layers of laminated wood were starting to come apart where the glue was wearing out.

This new board might not make Dondi a world-class snowboarder. But it could give him enough of an edge to beat Freddie and
make a monkey out of him next Saturday.

Freddie swallowed hard, and Dondi laughed with pleasure. “Glad you like it, bro,” he said, holding it up for Steve and Eric
to admire. “Nice, huh? Maybe someday I'll let you try it out—after I break it in, of course. Like after the contest, sucker!”

With a big laugh, he headed for the checkout counter where he stowed the board behind the cash register. “Don't want anyone
else buying it before I do,” he explained.

“How can you afford that much?” Freddie demanded.
“I saw how much birthday money you had—it's not nearly enough. And don't tell me one week's salary is going to make the difference.”

“No, that's true,” Dondi agreed. “But the boss likes me, see—he likes my style, the way I am with the customers and all. He
told me I could put a down payment on it Friday with my first paycheck and work off the rest as I go, a little bit every week.”

“Man!” Freddie said unhappily, kicking the side of the counter. “It's not fair.”

“Hey, you don't like it, you can go get your own job,” Dondi suggested.

“You know I'm not old enough,” Freddie said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, yeah, that's right!” Dondi said, slapping his forehead as if he'd completely forgotten. “Well, be patient, squirt. Someday
you can be just like me.”

“I'd rather eat raw onions for a week,” Freddie said, turning away. “Come on, you guys. Let's get out of here.” And with Steve
and Eric trailing behind, he left the store, Dondi's laughter ringing in his ears.

On Sunday afternoon, Freddie and Dondi got a ride from their dad out to the halfpipe. While Freddie
was glum and silent in the backseat, Dondi, riding up front, was in rare high spirits. He bounced up and down in his seat
to the beat of the music on the radio.

“Oh, yeah, oh, yeah!” he crooned tunelessly. “I can't wait to get out there with my Fantom Fish!”

He meant his snowboard, which had those words emblazoned on it in glittery neon orange. He cradled the board on his lap, beating
time on it with his palms.

Freddie wished he'd be quiet for one second. It was so annoying to have to listen to Dondi when he was being a motormouth.

Freddie looked down at his own miserable snowboard. His parents had found it at a garage sale for ten dollars. It was okay
for some five-year-old who was just starting out. For Freddie, even though he and the board had been through a lot together,
enough was enough.

His glance kept straying to Dondi's Fantom Fish. Freddie would have given anything to have a new board like that. He knew
he could be so much better with a prime piece of equipment.

That was what worried him most—that the new
board would improve Dondi's performance. How could it not?

And sure enough, it did. By his third run on the new board, Dondi was comfortable enough to try a 360° shifty, the move Freddie
had always taunted him with. Dondi made it with ease. Freddie suddenly felt sick as he saw what a nightmare the contest could
become.

He himself was having a really bad day on the board. He wiped out on an easy grab move then slipped and fell on his backside
while just coasting downhill.

All this was making Dondi feel great, of course. And when Dondi felt great, he let everyone know about it. “Man, I am da bomb
on this thing!” he shouted after completing another run.