Skateboard Tough (7 page)

“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—”

Brett shot up from his seat. “Don’t tell me it’s a shame. You wanted this to happen. You couldn’t wait to ruin it for me, could you?” With that, Brett raced up the stairs to his room, where he flung himself on his bed.

Brett couldn’t bring himself to face The Lizard for the rest of the day, and he spent hours on end in front of the television, not paying much attention to what flickered on the screen. He tried not to think about anything, but every once in a while another wave of disappointment would wash over him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Fortunately his parents had to go out that night, so Brett didn’t have to face anyone but Shannon at the dinner table. The dark looks he gave her when she tried to engage him in conversation convinced her to leave him alone. She went up to her room to practice her sax, while he plunked himself down in front of the TV again.

Around eight o’clock, the phone rang, bringing Brett out of his stupor.

“Ummm, hello?”

“Brett?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“It’s Johnee. What’s up? Why weren’t you at Mrs. Weatherspoon’s today?”

“I don’t know,” Brett said. “I guess I just needed a day off.”

Johnee chuckled. “You?” Then his voice grew serious again. “We thought you might be upset, you know, about the contest.”

Brett was quiet for a moment. “I’m okay.”

“Can you come out now?”

“I’m kinda tired. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, man.” Johnee sounded disappointed. “You sure you’re okay? We don’t need any dumb contest to have fun.”

Brett wanted to say,
Maybe you don’t need the contest, but I do.
Instead he said, “Yeah. See you.”

When he hung up the receiver, he felt more depressed — and alone—than ever.

12

B
rett didn’t see his parents again until the next day, when they called him into the living room. Both of them looked very stern, and he felt a lump of dread grow in his stomach. He figured he was going to get it for yelling at his mom, something he now regretted. Still, he couldn’t help feeling that they — at least she — didn’t understand him at all.

Mr. Thyson started it off. “Brett, we want to talk to you, and we’d like you to hear us out before you say anything. Okay?”

Brett nodded, thinking that he already knew what they were going to say.

“I understand that there was going to be a skateboarding contest” — he made a vague gesture in the direction of Mrs. Weatherspoon’s house — “and you accused your mother of sabotaging it somehow.”

Brett didn’t answer. He didn’t dare to.

“Well, you’re wrong. Dead wrong.”

“Do you know where we were last night?” he went on, and again Brett didn’t bother to reply. “We were at a town council meeting.”

Brett wondered what this had to do with him.

Mr. Thyson looked at his wife. “Actually, we didn’t go together. Your mother surprised me by showing up.” He turned to Brett. “She surprised me even more when she brought up the subject of this contest.”

Brett stared at his mother, openmouthed. This time she really
had
gone out of her way to ruin things for him. Why?

“She convinced the council to put up funds for the contest so that Mrs. Weatherspoon wouldn’t have to foot the bill herself,” Mr. Thyson stated matter-of-factly.

Brett was confused for a minute. “You mean, the contest is on?”

Mrs. Thyson nodded. “That’s right, Brett. The town is going to sponsor it and provide year-round insurance coverage as well. Mrs. Weatherspoon won’t have to worry about being sued in case of an accident.”

Brett couldn’t believe his ears. “But, Mom, I thought you were against —”

“I was against the idea of Mrs. Weatherspoon having to hold the contest, not against the contest itself,” she explained. “I think this town
should
do something — she’s done quite enough on her own.”

Brett couldn’t agree more. Still, he couldn’t understand the apparent change in his mother. “But you hate skateboarding.”

Mrs. Thyson reached for his hand. “I don’t hate skateboarding. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” She smiled warmly. “The other day you said I don’t care about you. That’s not true at all. If anything, I care too much. I guess that’s my problem.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Brett blurted, giving her a hug.

“That’s the other thing we wanted to talk to you about,” his father interjected, “your recent behavior toward your mother.” He glared at Brett, who froze.

“I don’t want to hear that kind of talk around here again,” Mr. Thyson said.

Brett waited to hear the rest, but it seemed his father had finished.

“You won’t, I promise,” he said contritely. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he repeated.

“Well,” she said, getting up from the couch, “you’d better start practicing. You only have a few days.”

Brett let out a whoop of joy and hugged her again. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m ready!”

The day of the contest started out comfortably enough, but by noon it was a ninety- two-degree scorcher.

Inside the arena Brett saw several kids he knew, and others he didn’t know. Kyle and Johnee were there, naturally. They were sitting on the same picnic table bench, but on opposite ends. Which was no surprise. Johnee had as much love for Kyle as Brett did.

The town had done a terrific job arranging the contest. They had even hired a man to announce the events. W.E.’s knowledge of skateboarding had earned him a seat right next to the announcer, and Brett knew W.E. was as excited about the event as the actual contestants.

There weren’t too many skaters, and only about a dozen spectators, who stood along the fence behind the skaters benches. But it didn’t matter to Brett. All he cared about was the chance to compete officially with Kyle. It was hard to believe that the day had actually arrived!

After a few introductory remarks, the first contestant in the Beginners Division was announced.

“Mickey Roper!”

Several people applauded as a boy about nine, wearing knee and elbow protectors and gloves, got up from a bench on which other contestants about his size were sitting, and put on a helmet. He stepped onto his green skateboard and pushed off in a wide circle around the smooth, blacktopped arena.

Brett watched him closely, realizing within seconds that the kid couldn’t have been skating more than a couple of weeks. He skated forward rapidly, then shifted his weight to his front foot and lifted the tail of the skateboard into the air, almost losing his balance as he did so. It was an easy maneuver (one of the first Brett had learned, too), but he could see that the boy had a while to go before he’d get that one down pat.

“That’s a G-turn,” the announcer explained.

Mickey did a few other tricks, including a Rail Slide — skating parallel to the curb, then lifting the curbside wheels up onto the curb with both trucks resting and sliding on its edge. He lost his balance performing this one and almost took a spill.

Righting himself, he did a Nose Wheelie, skating forward with the tail of his skateboard in the air. Then he skated up a ramp, lifting the front truck over the edge for the start of a Rock ‘n’ Roll. Balancing himself on the top of the ramp, he rocked back and forth, then leaped off and finished with a Foot Plant, in which he skated up to an empty bench, crouched down to grab the tail of his board, then jumped up on the bench with the board still under his feet. For a moment he made it, then he lost his balance — and his skateboard, which rolled off into the crowd. A whistle blew, announcing that his time was up.

He jumped off the bench and sat down, shaking his head disgustedly. But a resounding cheer rose from the crowd anyway. Brett applauded, too. In spite of his few mistakes, the kid had done okay.

Another name was announced, and an- other young boy from the same bench got up and performed. And then two girls took their turns.

It was during the fourth contestant’s performance — an excellent one — that a familiar voice piped up behind Brett.

“She should’ve been in the Advanced Division,” W.E. said. “She did that Rail Slide like an expert. And she had no problem with the Kick Turn and the Ollie. What do you think, Brett?”

Brett heard the whirring sound of an advancing film, and looked at him. W.E. was snapping pictures.

“I think you’re right,” he agreed. “But what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be sitting with the announcer.”

“Oh, he doesn’t need me. Besides, this is where the action is,” W.E. replied as he took another shot.

Three other kids were called up to participate in the event, all of whom performed pretty much the same tricks. Brett was amazed at their abilities. He couldn’t have done as well when he was their age. But that was before he found The Lizard, he thought, looking appreciatively at the board on the bench next to him.