Skateboard Renegade (9 page)

“Is that all the stuff you brought?” Skeeter asked, pointing at Zach's duffel.

“Uh-huh.”

“Where's the board?”

“In the bag.”

Skeeter nodded, grinning. “Cool. Let's be off then, amigo.” He led Zach outside to a bus stop.

“We're taking the bus?” Zach asked in amazement.

“I don't drive,” Skeeter said.

“Why not?” Zach asked. “Was it the accident?”

“Well, obviously I stopped after that, yeah,” Skeeter replied. “But that isn't mainly why. I just got tired of contributing
to air pollution and the destruction of the rain forests.”

“Yeah, but one more car isn't going to mean that much,” Zach pointed out, unhappy at having to take public transportation
in a city where having a cool car is as much a part of the scene as breathing.

“Ah, that's not the point, though,” Skeeter said as
the bus arrived and they got on. “Either I'm a part of the solution or a part of the problem. I figure if I want to feel at
home in my own skin, I've got to be part of the solution as much as I can. Over the year in the hospital and rehab, while
all my bones were mending, I found out I could live without the four-wheeled vehicles. I skateboard all around Venice. It's
cool. Everybody skates there or runs or bikes. You don't need a car—trust me.”

They had to transfer buses to get to Venice Beach, north of the airport, where Skeeter had his bungalow.

“These were beach bungalows for the movie people back in the day,” Skeeter told Zach as they walked down the pedestrian lanes
of Venice.

Zach could hear the distant sound of the surf hitting the beach. “This is such a cool place!” he enthused.

“You ain't seen nothin' yet, dude,” Skeeter promised as he opened the unlocked door of his bungalow.

Inside, the place was small, dark, and cool in the midday heat. There wasn't much furniture, Zach noticed, but there sure
was a lot of other unusual stuff. Native American artifacts were scattered here and there. Several clay flutes were laid out
on a
worktable, some of them still unpainted. Sculptures of animals made from folded dollar bills decorated the mantelpiece. And
there was a whole room full of skateboards!

“What in the world are you doing with all these?” Zach gasped. Some of the boards were decorated in fantastic, futuristic
colors. There were old-fashioned ones as well as new models Zach had never seen.

“I fix people's boards,” Skeeter explained. “Repair them, decorate them. It's a living—if you live like I do, that is. Meaning
it's not much of one.”

“That's your job?” Zach asked, awestruck.

“One of my jobs,” Skeeter said. “I've got a few. But they're all pretty cool. You'll see.”

“But … why'd you ask me to bring my board with me?” Zach wondered.

“Because, dude, I want to see what you ride on. How else are we gonna jazz up your act?”

Zach was totally blown away. He had thought he was coming out here to get a lecture, by way of his parents, delivered by good
old uncle Skeeter. He hadn't believed his mom's cover story—that he was
going to be having the time of his life skateboarding—until now.

“Can we go out boarding right away?” Zach asked.

“After lunch,” Skeeter said. “Gotta charge the old batteries. You like sprouts?”

Zach swallowed hard. “Sprouts?”

“Alfalfa or bean. They're excellent, dude. You're gonna love 'em. And they love you, too.”

When Zach first saw the Venice boardwalk, he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. It was made of pavement and was more of
a promenade than a boardwalk. But it was more than either of those. It was a
show.

Street performers were out in force on this Saturday of a three-day weekend. There were mimes, jugglers, magicians, a fire-eater,
and lots of guys with guitars playing music.

Crowds of people passed by the performers, stopping to watch and listen, or hurrying on, walking, jogging, skating, boarding,
biking, running, dancing, unicycling. The mood was good, with everybody seeming happy on this golden, sunny day.

“Tune into the
chi,
dude!” Skeeter said, as he boarded down the promenade right behind Zach. “Go with the flow!”

He caught up to Zach, and Zach got a look at the way Skeeter danced on his board, his whole body bouncing to the music of
the street performers. Skeeter skidded into a wheelie, then ran off seven or eight 360 turns in a row, spinning like a champion
ice skater. Everyone applauded, and Skeeter tipped his black feathered hat.

Zach smiled and shook his head. He wondered how his mom and Skeeter had gotten along growing up together. They sure were different!

“Hey, Skeeter!” some of the street performers waved as the two of them skateboarded by. “How's it goin'?”

“Excellent!” Skeeter called back. “Rock on!”

He turned to Zach. “What do you think, dude?”

“It's awesome!” Zach acknowledged.

“When your mom told me you were boarding, I knew you had to come out here and see this place. Wait till you see the boarding
park, where they're doing the exhibition. Ramps? Half pipes? Dude, they have it all.”

“Did you get us tickets?” Zach asked.

“Tickets? Amigo, we don't need tickets. I'm in the competition.”

“What?”

“Your uncle's got game, kid,” Skeeter said with a wink, and hopped into a handstand on his board!

“Wow!” Zach gasped.

Skeeter spun it around for a few 360s before coming down to earth again.

“That is so awesome!” Zach said giddily. “Man, I am soooo glad I came here.”

“Dude,” Skeeter said, putting an arm across Zach's shoulders, “so am I.”

That night they sat on the low concrete wall that faced the beach and the ocean, and watched the sun go down and the stars
come up.

“Mom and Dad think I'm the worst kid in the world,” Zach was saying, staring out at the ocean as he talked. Skeeter sat next
to him, with his arms around his knees, his eyes fixed on the fading light to the west. “They think my friends are future
criminals or something.”

“And they're not,” Skeeter said softly.

“No, they're not!” Zach retorted. “They're just kids. They're supposed to be immature sometimes, right? They're not perfect,
and neither am I. But that doesn't make me a criminal.”

“No,” Skeeter agreed. “That doesn't make you a criminal. Stealing, that's a crime.”

Zach sneaked a glance at him. Was Skeeter talking about how he'd stolen from Zoey's piggy bank or taken her earrings? Or did
he just mean stealing in general? From Skeeter's tone of voice, it was hard to tell.

“I stole something once,” Skeeter went on, still staring out at the ocean. “I was somewhere around your age. We were in this
store, and I saw something I wanted. I guess I didn't have the money or something, or maybe I just wanted to see if I could
get away with it. Anyway, I took this thing, whatever it was, I don't remember.”

“Did you get caught?” Zach asked, his voice not much more than a whisper.

“Nah. But I lived in fear for about a year after that,” Skeeter said with a little laugh. “I think I suffered worse than if
I'd gotten caught and punished.”

“Skeeter,” Zach said in a low voice, “did Mom tell you about Zoey's piggy bank?”

“She mentioned something about it, yeah.”

“She told you to talk some sense into me, didn't she?”

“You heard her, huh?” Skeeter said with a little smile. “You know what, amigo? She's worried about you, and so's your dad.
Whether they're crazy or not, they love you and they care about you. Otherwise, they wouldn't be worried, right?”

“I guess,” Zach mumbled.

“So what have they got to be worried about?” Skeeter asked.

Zach shrugged, sighing. “I don't know,” he said. “I guess because the police brought me home that time we skated on the steps
of the school, and Brian bumped into this lady, and her baby in the stroller almost went into the street.”

Skeeter shook his head. “You've gotta be more careful than that, dude.”

“I know, I know. It was just that stupid Brian,” Zach said. “It's always Brian.”

“Brian, huh? He's the ringleader?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, he does something, you all do it?”

“Kind of. Everybody laughs at all his sick jokes, and I got my hair bleached and my ear pierced because of him.”

“Mmm …”

“Now I'm supposed to get tattooed,” Zach confided.

“Tattooed? Get out of here!” Skeeter said, surprised. “You're not gonna do that, are you?”

“I don't know,” Zach said. “If the other guys all do it, I guess I would. But I don't like needles, and they say it hurts
a lot.”

“It does,” Skeeter told him. “Believe me, it does. But not as bad as getting one taken off.”

“How do you know?” Zach asked him. “Did you have one taken off?”

“Uh-huh. Stupidest thing I ever did, getting that tattoo,” Skeeter said, remembering. “Her name was Isabella. That's a long
name, man, but no, I couldn't just get a red heart. I had to have the name, that's how crazy about this girl I was. Two months
later we broke up, and how was I supposed to explain my tat-too
to the next girl I went out with? I
had
to have it taken off!”

They shared a laugh at poor Skeeter's misfortune. “So don't be stupid. Anyway, nobody needs to go through that anymore.”

“They don't?”

“Nah, not when there's henna.”

“Henna? What's that?”

“It's a kind of natural plant dye that stains your skin for a few weeks. They've used it for thousands of years in North Africa
and Arabia. It's great, because if you get tired of a tattoo, it's gone pretty soon. And if you like it, you can always draw
it again. No needles, either—you just smear it on yourself. Or better yet, you get one of the artists out here on the boardwalk
to do you.”

Zach's eyes were wide with excitement. “Can I?” he asked.

“Sure, dude,” Skeeter said with a grin. “We'll both do it. My treat.”

“Awesome!” Zach enthused. “I'm gonna go back and show the guys my new tattoo, and they're gonna think I went through major
pain!”

They laughed again, and slapped five. “Come on, let's go have some dinner,” Skeeter said.

“Can we have sprout sandwiches again?” Zach asked hopefully. “They were excellent.”

“I've got something better planned for you tonight,” Skeeter said. “Macrobiotic South Indian curry. Trés spicy.”

“I don't know,” Zach said, frowning.

“Just kidding, dude!” Skeeter said, breaking into a smile. “Let's go get some pizza, okay?”

“All right!”

After dinner Skeeter said, “It's time to go to work.”

“Work?” Zach asked, getting up from the table and stuffing the last slice of delicious California pizza into his mouth. “Whmf
wkk?”

“You'll see,” Skeeter said, putting on his backpack and pushing off with his skateboard down the boardwalk. “Come on!”

Zach followed Skeeter for about half a mile, until Skeeter said, “Here's good,” and did an instant walk-stop move that made
Zach blink.

“How'd you do that?” he asked.

“You've never seen that one before? Here, let me
show you.” Skeeter demonstrated how, by pointing the toe of your front foot, you could step off the board with your back foot
and let it come up into your hand—going directly from skateboarding to walking in just one step. “Your friends are gonna love
that trick. It takes about six tries to get it right, and then it's yours forever.”

While Zach practiced his stylish new dismount, Skeeter took off his black feathered hat and put it on the pavement, top down.
Then he reached into his backpack and pulled out a set of devil sticks. “I made these myself, out of a special composite material,”
he told Zach as he started to do tricks with the sticks, using the two he held in his hands to manipulate the third, larger
stick.

Skeeter was amazing, Zach thought, as he watched his uncle do dazzling maneuvers, throwing the stick high into the air, catching
it with the other two behind his back, all while “dancing” on his skateboard.

A crowd gathered in no time. As Skeeter continued the show, they started throwing bills and coins into the hat. They all applauded
when Skeeter took his bow, but before the crowd dispersed, Skeeter made an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so very much. Now I want to show you the marvelous musical instruments I've made with my
very hands. They're for sale at ridiculously low prices, should you wish to negotiate a purchase.”

So saying, he removed two flutes from his backpack, stuck them both in his mouth at once, and began playing them in beautiful
harmony.

After a moment, and another round of applause, he took out a set of bells—“from old-fashioned telephones,” he told the crowd—and
played them, making a wonderful, eerie ringing sound. The crowd oooed and aaahed, and soon Skeeter had made several sales.

When a mother bought a flute for her little girl, Skeeter took the money she gave him, and fished out the change. But before
giving it up, he folded one dollar into a peacock, and handed the amazing creature to the little girl.

“Wow—you've got mad skills!” Zach told him when it was all over, and Skeeter was putting his things away and counting his
money.

“I had plenty of time while I was recovering from my fall to develop those skills,” he said.

“So this is your job, then?” Zach said.

“It is for now,” Skeeter said with a smile and a shrug.

“Mom always says you've never had a real job,” Zach told him.

He saw the pain in Skeeter's eyes. “She also thinks you're a bad kid, you say.”

“True,” Zach said thoughtfully.

“She just wants something more from us,” Skeeter said. “And actually, I agree with her.”

“What?” Zach said, stunned. “You do?”

“Yeah, in a way. I mean, this is a fine life for a guy like me, who doesn't care about money or the things it can buy. But
I couldn't have a family and live like I do. And let me tell you, Zach—it's good to have a family. It gets lonely for me sometimes.”

They were silent for a few minutes as Skeeter finished packing up his performing gear. Then Zach said, “You think Mom's right
about me, too?”