Under the Bridge (27 page)

The broken rib punctured my lung when Will drove his elbow into me that last time, and I was in the hospital for three days to make sure my lung didn’t collapse. I coughed up blood for two days, and I’ve got to say it was the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life
.

But it was done. Will was being charged with first-degree murder and attempted first-degree murder, and he was going away for a long time.

When I was in the hospital, I had two surprise visitors. The first was Ms. Potter. She’d taken heat for helping me, but she explained to me that sometimes taking heat was worth it. She’d taught me a lot. There
were
different ways to do the right thing, but I also realized that not getting yourself into bad situations in the first place was as important as doing the right thing. My brawling days were over. I’d seen that it only led to more fighting, and it wasn’t worth risking my life. My path had changed, and Ms. Potter had helped me see that there were different ways to fight.

The second person was Detective Connelly. He knocked, then walked in, dressed in his detective suit. I groaned. “You’re not going to arrest me, are you?”

He actually smiled, then shook his head. “I told you that day at the park that my son skates.” He paused. “This morning he told me he saw some street skater from Spokane on ESPN, blowing the world away with his tricks.” A moment passed, and he handed me a piece of paper and a pen. “His name is Chance. Do you mind? He’d be thrilled.”

I wrote him a note, then signed my name.

Connelly tucked it in his pocket. “Good luck, Tate. Stay out of trouble.” Then he was gone.

A week later, Mom, Dad, and I, with my ribs still taped, sat in the front row of the Lewis and Clark auditorium and watched as Indy Brooks accepted the second-place award in the Greater Spokane Area Young Writers Competition. For “Stealing Home.” Of course Mom bawled her eyes out. The crew sat next to us. Sid farted.

Indy received a one-thousand-dollar scholarship to Eastern Washington University as part of his award. He stayed in school, too, even though he hated every minute of it, except for Mr. Halvorson’s English class. By the end of the year, Indy wrote and handed in sixteen short stories about whatever he wanted to write about.

When Dad saw the four A’s and one B on Indy’s report card, tears glistened in his eyes. And he kept his word, too. Anytime Indy had an issue, Dad would calmly talk to him about it, or he’d ask Mom to handle it. He read everything Indy wrote, too. They actually started getting along, even
though Indy would occasionally come home stoned and Dad would get pissed and walk away until he could talk.

Indy’s working on quitting the smoke entirely, but I don’t know what will happen. You might be able to change Indy a bit, but you can’t take the Indy out of Indy. He’s a rebel, and he’ll always be one.

The crew sort of broke up, but we’re still close. Stick started hanging around, too, which was cool because he’s really cool. Corey skulks around, being an asshole, but I don’t care anymore. I’m on a circuit right now, and I’m doing all right. Middle of the pack, I guess, but traveling on Flying Gecko’s nickel. Oh yeah, I was featured in a skate mag last month when I took third in a competition in Arizona. I won three thousand dollars. Me. Tate Brooks. Ha. Maybe I can be something, huh?

The craziest thing is that with all the traveling I’m doing, Indy goes to school more than I do. Irony rules the ironic.

Kim and I are still together, and I actually sort of love her. Okay, I do love her. But don’t tell. My tough, cool skater-pro party-guy rep would be ruined.

Indy and I skate with the crew occasionally, but he’s changed. He’s grown up, I guess. He still has that sense of humor and recklessness about him, but he’s more serious. He loves writing. He wants to make a career out of it. He told me Mr. Halvorson is trying to get him accepted into college courses next year, and he’s jacked about it. He’s been published twice in local mags, too.

I guess having a purpose makes a difference. For both of
us. I always thought Indy would live and die on a skateboard and that I’d fade out of it, but things don’t always turn out the way you think. I also believe that Mr. Halvorson, the guy who slammed Indy into the locker that day, saved his life. Some rules, I suppose, are meant to be broken for the right reason.

George Nicholson of Sterling Lord Literistic, my friend and agent, thank you for your integrity and wisdom. Erica Silverman, it goes without saying … brilliance at work. My editor, Erin Clarke, Knopf/Random House, you’re awesome. Thanks go to Joan Slattery for seeing value in this story. Frank Oberst, thank you for guiding me through school policy and showing what a caring teacher would risk for a student. And as with all of my work, it wouldn’t be possible without my wife, Kim
.