Skate Freak (3 page)

“What are they?”

“Huh?”

“The rocks. What kind of rocks?”

“Um. Granite, I think. They say that the rocks are hundreds of millions of years old.”

Jasmine laughed again. “Of course. Most rocks are really old. And they all have stories to tell if you can read them.”

“You read rocks?”

“Yes,” she said as the bell rang, and she put her rocks back into her locker.

“You must be really smart,” I said.

“I am. I'm really smart.”

I guess my face must have given away what I was thinking: How could a really smart girl ever be interested in a not-so-smart skate freak?

“Hey, it's not like an incurable disease or anything,” she said. “I gotta get to chemistry. See ya.”

I wandered off to English class, feeling
confused but happy. She said she'd go with me to Willis Harbor. To the Ledges. I'd ask my dad to drive. No. Better yet, we'd take the bus. I wouldn't even tell her what the rocks had to do with skateboarding. It would be a surprise. It would be golden.

The only thing I was good at in school was daydreaming. I couldn't concentrate in class. I had a hard time sitting still. My mind wandered. I pictured Jasmine and me on the rocks at Willis Harbor. I could see it so clearly. But I was beginning to worry that once she realized who I really was, she'd lose interest.

My mother had not called for over two weeks. No e-mail, no phone call. Nothing. I tried calling her cell phone a couple of times, but she didn't answer. When I asked my dad about it, he said, “Let's not talk about it.” And then he started to talk about it.

“Things haven't been all that great between your mother and me for a while now.”

“I know. I'm sorry, Dad.”

“Your mother's a good person. I think I disappointed her.”

“I think I did too.”

“Not you, Quinn. Me. I lost the job.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“Well, I took it kind of hard. Seemed like I'd worked at that damn fish plant all those years, and I guess I figured I'd work there until I retired.”

“But you have a job now.”

“Well, now is a little late, isn't it?” You could tell he was mad at himself.

I wanted to say something to make him feel better. I wanted to help somehow, but I didn't know what to say.

He took a deep breath and changed the subject. “How's school?” he asked for the millionth time in my life. Why do parents keep asking that question?

“School's great,” I lied. “I love it.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Well, at least there's a girl there.”

“You have a girlfriend?” He was smiling now.

“I didn't say that.”

“What's her name?”

“Jasmine.”

“Her name is Jasmine?” He looked puzzled.

“Jazz for short.”

“Oh.” The name indicated a girl from a completely different world than the one my father knew. But I thought I'd distract him from his own worries if I told him more.

“She skates. And she's smart.”

“Wow.” And that was the end of the best father and son talk we'd had in a long, long while.

My mother must have sensed this, because she called later that night. It was midnight our time. My father answered, and I opened my bedroom door so I could hear his end of the conversation.

It lasted about twenty minutes and seemed pretty serious. When he hung up, I went down to talk to him.

“Why didn't you call me? I wanted to talk to her.”

“She said she couldn't talk to you without crying, and she didn't want that. Your mother misses you. She told me to tell you that.”

“How is she?”

“She's still training. But she's already working part-time. Some kind of bulldozer. Can you picture your mother driving a bulldozer?”

“Not really,” I said. “Is she homesick?”

“Yes.”

“Is she coming back?”

“I don't think so.”

“Did you tell her about your job?”

He hung his head. “No. I didn't.”

“Why not?”

He didn't answer. He looked sad and defeated. It was like an infectious disease. I felt sad and defeated too. I felt like my mother had rejected me. Me and my dad were just a couple of losers in a crummy apartment. I hadn't noticed the paint before now. It was the color of vomit.

The next day, sad had given way to mad. I was mad at my mother for moving away. But
I could see things from her point of view. I was also mad at the world. Sometimes you just get really angry about the way things are going. That was me.

I got called on in math class. I forget what the question was, but my answer was the usual: “I don't know.”

“You're not even going to try?” Mr. Carmichael asked.

“No,” I said.

“You're not going to get very far in life with that attitude,” he lectured.

I wanted to say something mean. But I didn't. I sucked it up.

I had no intention of letting Jasmine see me like this, and I was avoiding her for once instead of trying to run into her. By noon I was fed up with school and split. There was really only one place I wanted to go—back to Willis Harbor. But I didn't have money for the bus.

Instead, I cruised down to the skate park. It was crowded with kids from nearby schools, but I didn't care. I dropped into
the bowl and elbowed my way around the little kids for a bit. Then I went over to the half-pipe and pushed for as much air as I could get. Each trip up the curve was followed by a serious drop as I connected with the wall halfway down the slope.

The other kids must have seen the look on my face. They got out of my way.

I was still mad, but skating helped.

Just when I thought I had the half-pipe to myself, that creep on the mountain bike, Hodge, arrived. This time he was wearing sunglasses. Before I understood what was happening, he was shadowing my every move—on his bike.

The guy was good. Real good. I didn't think you could even do this stuff on a bike. But Hodge could. I didn't slack off, but I had to be careful. Each time I'd slide down, he was there alongside me. But as soon as we hit the top and got air, he seemed to be able to hang there a freaking second longer so that I had to watch as he came down behind me.

He was on my case, for sure. I couldn't see his eyes behind the shades, but I could tell this wasn't just playtime for him. I remembered what it felt like when he'd brought his wheel down on the backs of my legs. He hadn't been fooling around then. He was hoping to do some damage.

I should have taken the hint and split. The other kids had seen me making these excellent power moves. I'd made my mark. Time to move on.

But each time I tried to make my exit, the bike guy was in my path. He dogged my every move. Then, finally, as we both shot for the top lip, he picked up speed and launched himself even higher than before. I jammed my board on the top lip, hung for a split second and then dropped ahead of the bike. What I hadn't counted on was Hodge coming down over top of me.

He didn't land on me. He went over me. He sailed over me and landed in front of me.

One thing that bikes can do better than
skateboards is stop with control. I guess that's because they have brakes.

As Hodge landed on the flat at the bottom of the half-pipe, he skidded sideways with the brakes on. And planted himself there like a wall.

It all happened in an instant. Maybe if I had been watching from the sidelines, it all would have seemed innocent enough. Or it might have looked like my fault.

I did a full-metal body slam into Hodge and his bike. Hodge had braced himself and stuck his knee out. The knee connected first—right into my crotch. Then I spilled forward onto him and his bike, knocking him over.

More pain. Crotch. Elbow. Right foot twisted under the bike.

Hodge's sunglasses had not even been knocked off, but he removed them as I peeled myself off him and his bike. My skateboard had kept on going up the other side on its own. It now came back down and smashed into the bike. I reached for
it as I tried to stand, one hand holding onto my groin. The pain was starting to subside.

Kids were laughing.

Hodge looked at his bike first, then at me. He wasn't laughing.

“You never hear of right of way?”

“It wasn't my fault,” I said.

“Whose fault was it then?” Hodge countered.

Stupid game, I thought. I'm not going there. “Nobody's fault,” I said. “Stuff happens.”

I turned to limp away. And then he said that word again.

“Yo, Freak. Wait.”

I turned around. Hodge had his shades back on. He was sitting cross-legged on the concrete, smiling. I walked back to him.

“Quinn Dorfman is the name,” I said.

“I'm William Hodge. William. Not Bill.”

“So. Bill,” I said, “you seem to be on my case. Is there a reason?”

“No reason.” He flipped his shades up so he could look me in the eyes. “I just wanted to see what you're made of.”

“And?”

“A-one skate freak. You don't back down.”

“Back down from what?”

“A challenge. I like that.” William Hodge had that kind of smile that told you he always felt in control. It was the kind of smile you'd never trust. We had an audience, of course, but they were on the sidelines. “And you're good. You game for the next level?”

“Next level of what?”

“What I do on two wheels, you do with four.”

I looked puzzled, I'm sure. I mean, I couldn't exactly skateboard on grass or go as fast as a kid on a bike. But I was curious.

“Come on, Quinn. It's just a friendly challenge. I've done it a hundred times. I've just never found a skater willing to try it.”

“Where do we do this challenge?”

“At my house.”

“You got a half-pipe?”

“Nope. You'll see.”

I was still skeptical. “What kind of surface?”

“Asphalt shingles. It's a piece of cake.”

I hadn't planned on going back to school for the afternoon, but I didn't have any plans to get myself killed. William Hodge had awakened the maniac who lived in my brain. The true maniac who believed that almost anything was possible on a skate-board. The maniac who was certain he could defy gravity, skate up the side of a half-pipe, launch into the air and not come down—if he so decided.

So I followed William Hodge the ten blocks away to his home, a one-story suburban-looking house with a sloping paved driveway. It was only starting to sink in.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

“About what?”

“About my house?”

“Nice, I guess.”

“You see the roof?”

“Yeah.”

“The driveway?”

“Yeah.”

“The roof is where you start. The driveway is where you land. Point A to Point B.”

I scratched my head. I sussed it out. Point A to Point B. I know how insane it sounds, but I was thinking it through.
If it's worth doing, do it. If it's not worth doing, do it anyway.
Low roof. One-story drop right onto a downward sloping driveway. I'd seen something like this in a video once. A major opportunity for an intense drop. You'd just have to lift a little when you left the roof and make sure your back wheels hit the ground before your front wheels.

William brought out a ladder and braced it against the roof. “Are your parents home?” I asked.

“They both work.” He climbed the ladder, carrying his bike under one arm. When he got on the roof, he walked the bike to the peak, put on his sunglasses and said, “Now watch this.”

He stood on the pedals, let go of the handbrakes and started to roll.

I have to admit that it was beautiful. A boy on a bike in mid-flight right outside the front door to his own home. I expected a thud or a grunt upon landing, but it wasn't like that at all. The rear wheel touched down, and then the front, with immediate forward momentum down the steep driveway. When William approached the road at lightning speed, he applied the brakes and let the rear wheel skid into a controlled slide.

“Amazing,” was all I could say.

William walked his bike back up the driveway to me. “Your turn.”

If I'd had any second thoughts, they were erased by Hodge's performance. I nodded. I climbed up the shaky aluminum ladder and felt the gritty feel of the shingles under my feet. I looked across the street at the neighbors' houses and saw a man and a woman standing in their front doorway, pointing at me. I wondered if they might call William's parents or even the cops.

I figured now or never.

“Just watch out for the gutter,” William yelled up.

I set my board down, held it in place with my foot, and then hopped on and began to roll. I stayed half-crouched until my wheels were off the shingles, and then applied a little upward jump as I ollied slightly, leaving the surface. I was ready to fly.

The only problem was one of my rear wheels caught the dreaded gutter.

My board was slightly off centre as I drifted and dropped. I tried to correct it as I fell through the sky. I thought I had things under control. But I guess I didn't.

As I hit—much harder than I expected— front wheels first, my board was cocked sideways. I was off balance. The front trucks smashed apart as I landed, and ball bearings went flying. And so did I.

My board flew out from under me, and I slammed hard on the driveway. My hip took the worst of it, followed by my
shoulder. I rolled and yelped in pain from the fall. When I stopped, I was pretty sure I had broken something. How could I not have?

But as I got to my feet, I discovered I was still in one piece. Oh, I ached all over, and, as I looked up again at the roof, I wondered what I had been thinking.

William was standing by the driveway. He didn't rush over to help me. But he didn't laugh either. “Whoa, dude. That was awesome. I thought you had it for sure. You want to try it again?”