Under the Bridge (24 page)

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I laughed, looking away. “Other things were going on.”

He shook his head. “You’ve got to stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“You always take care of other people, Tate. Mostly me.” He studied my face. “It’s time for you to do this for you. You could go pro.”

“You hate corporate,” I said.

He chuckled. “I don’t hate it as much as I’d like to see my brother kick ass.”

I smiled.

He came forward then and gave me an awkward hug.

“What was that for?”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know, man. Maybe because you saved my life. Maybe because I’m a selfish asshole and I don’t want to be one anymore.”

I laughed. “You
can
be quite the asshole.”

He hit my shoulder. “Back at ya. I’m going to Burger King. Dad’s got a hankering for a burger.”

I nodded. “I’m out in a bit. Just stopping by to say hello to him. We’re meeting at the Monster tonight. Practice again.”

“Cool. See ya, huh?”

I opened the door. “Yeah. See ya. And be careful.”

The night air whipped through my hair, and the echo of my wheels on the Monster filled my ears, as I finally laid down a seven-twenty without a hitch. Piper sat on the edge watching, and he flipped me the thumbs-up as I grinned. Sid lit a cigarette as I hit the edge for a breather. We’d been practicing hard-core every night for three to six hours. It was also the only way I could get the threat of Will out of my head. “Tomorrow night’s the night, guys.”

Sid lay back, staring at the underside of the bridge and exhaling. “Too bad Indy’s a cripple.”

I shrugged. “I don’t think he’d do it even without a broken ankle.”

“When’s he coming back to school?”

“Depends on Will. Mom had to meet with the school to get the truancy stuff all straightened out.”

“Will would be an idiot to stay in town, man. He’s probably in Texas by now,” Piper said.

Sid, still staring at the bridge above him, picked his nose and flicked the booger. “I heard he’s around.”

My stomach squirmed. “From who?”

“Michael.”

“Shit.”

Sid took a swig of Mountain Dew. “Shit’s right. You know why he’s still here, huh?”

“Indy.”

Sid nodded. “Serious stuff, man. He
knows
Indy is the only witness.”

“Yeah.”

Piper chomped on a stick of beef jerky. His midnight snack. “You guys should lay low until the cops get him. Have they said anything?”

I shook my head. “Nope. They patrol by the house every hour, and my mom has talked to them about it, but there’s not much to do.”

Piper shook his head. “Witness protection. I wonder if you can pick your own name.”

I laughed. “Yeah, right. This is a small-time thing, not some big federal gig. And they said Indy wouldn’t be the deciding factor if they could get Will’s DNA or fingerprints from the bat.”

Piper chewed his jerky. “How’d that work out, anyway? With Indy’s prints?”

“He took the bat out of the plastic before the cops came and was holding it when they got there,” I said. In our statement, we hadn’t mentioned that Will had made Indy touch
the weapon, and now, with the cops knowing that Indy had touched it after the fact, he wouldn’t be implicated.

Sid laughed. “Wow. You so smart, Kemo Sabe.”

I nodded. “I’ve got an idea.”

Piper grimaced, glancing at Sid. “Crap. You know what this means, Sid? Every idea he gets has to do with possible death.”

I shook my head. “Not yours. Just mine.” I looked at Sid. “I want you to tell Michael that Indy wants to score some dope tomorrow night at one-thirty. At the Monster.”

Piper shook his head, chewing with his mouth open. “You’re nuts.”

I shrugged. “I’m serious.”

Sid hesitated. “Tate …”

“Just do it, huh? You know he’ll tell Will, and I’ll take care of the rest. Just don’t say anything to Indy.”

When I came home forty-five minutes later, Indy sat at his desk, his fingers flying over the keyboard. I smiled. “Not at the hospital, huh?”

He stopped typing. “Dad kicked me out. Told me to stop feeling guilty and move on.” He looked at me. “How was practice?”

I dropped my board and lay down on my bed, glancing at his desk. A fat tube of pepper spray sat on it. “Good. Piper’s really ripping it up.” I motioned to the spray. “Where’d you get that?”

“Mom got us all one,” he said, pointing to my nightstand, where another spray was. “Dad had me unlock his shotgun and put it in their room, too, but Mom unloaded it. She said it’s dangerous in the house without somebody who knows how to use it right, and Dad is the only one who took a defense class on it.”

“Looks like we’re Fort Brooks, then.”

He shrugged. “I’m under unofficial house arrest until they find him.”

“That’s a good idea. Sid heard he’s around.”

Indy picked up the tube of spray. “I almost wish he’d come. Just to get it over with. It’s freaking me out.”

“He might be evil, but he’s not stupid. The cops are all over this neighborhood.” Changing the subject, I said, “How’s Dad?”

“Fine. Pissed off that he can’t go to work.”

“Figures.”

Indy nodded. “He told me that he’s going to the Invitational no matter what any doctor says.”

I smiled. “Cool.”

“You can do it, Tate.”

I hopped on my bed. “We’ll see.”

“You win the Invitational, I’ll get straight A’s for the rest of the year if I can. Deal?”

I smiled again. “Deal.” I took a breath, tempted to tell him what I was going to do Under the Bridge, but there was no need. It would just put him at risk. “They’ll get him, Indy. Then you’ll be in school getting those A’s.”

Kimberly Lawson and I stood across the street from the arena. Badger—along with giving the three of us the T-shirts he had made—had set us up with extra boards, shrugging and telling us that if we were going to represent the Hole in the Wall, we’d better do it with some sort of style. I looked up at the huge building. “Well, here we are.”

She smiled, then took my hand in hers, squeezing. “My parents are coming.” I looked at her.

She nodded. “I told them I was dating a soon-to-be-pro skater.”

I frowned. “I’m sure they were thrilled.”

“My mom had a fit because she’s sure you’re a criminal, but my dad …” She paused, smiling.

“What?”

“He told me that the only thing that mattered was that I was happy. He wants to meet you.”

“Wow.”

“I know. I think he realized after I quit the violin that I lived my life around them. Either that or he’s scared to death I’m serious about you.”

I led her across the street. “I say let him be scared.”

She laughed. “I say there’s nothing to be scared of. He’ll see that today.” Then she turned to me. “Look for me, huh? I’ll be waving a big banner with
Tate Brooks Rocks
on it.”

I kissed her then, and it wasn’t a goodbye kiss. It was a great kiss. A fantastic one. One that I never wanted to end. “We’ll see you.”

She smiled. “Excited?”

I looked at the building. “Crapping my pants, actually.”

She laughed again. “You can do it, street boy. I know you can.” Then she was gone, walking across the street and around the corner.

“Tate Brooks. Hole in the Wall.” I showed my registration ticket to the lady at the rear entrance, then looked around for the crew. The loading area of the arena was full of semitrucks, drivers, security, roadies, and a small group of pro skaters who, true to their nature, took turns dropping in off a loading dock, their boards clattering as they hit the pavement
.

The lady checked my name off a list, handed me a plastic
ALL-ACCESS SKATER
pass with my name on it, and opened the door. She smiled. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” I looped the pass over my neck and walked down a hall to the staging area. People milled around, and a kid—probably thirteen and wearing a
RESTRICTED ACCESS
sticker—ran under a rope barrier and up to me, a board in one hand and a black marker in the other.

He held out the pen, excitement in his eyes. “Sign it for me, please?”

I looked at his board. “I’m not—”

“Please? I can’t go over there.” He pointed toward some offices, where four or five pro skaters sat on black metal road bins.

I looked at him, thinking of Mitch the grom. “Here. I’ll do you one better. Come on.” Then I walked with him over to the skaters. They saw the board in my hands and the skater card around my neck and stopped talking. I knew each and every one of them from all the mags I had stashed in my room. The pros. “Hey.”

One nodded to me. “Local?”

“Yeah.”

A couple of the guys snickered, but he didn’t. “Cool. Good luck, man.” He pointed to a room. “That’s the locals’ joint. You’ll be staged from there.”

“Thanks.” I hesitated. “Hey, listen, would you mind signing his board? And mine, actually?”

The guy looked at the boy, then nodded. “Sure, man. Here, give them over.”

So we did, and they passed the two boards around, each signing the bottoms of the decks. The kid was almost hyperventilating by the time I walked him back to the rope. He turned, said thanks, then handed me his board. “You didn’t sign.”

I looked at him, then at the board. “I’m not a pro.”

He smiled. “I know. You’re from here, though. Just sign it, huh?”

I did, scrawling my name on the deck. “There you go.”

He beamed. “Cool. Thanks.” Then he scrambled under the rope.

I turned toward the offices.

“Hey.” The boy’s voice came again. I turned back, and he flashed me another smile. “Kick their asses, okay?”

I smiled. “I’ll try,” I said. And I would try.