Skateboard Tough (5 page)

8

Y
ou’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” Johnee asked after he read the letter. They were sitting on the front steps of the Kales’ house.

“Yeah. Aren’t you? I thought you loved skateboarding,” Brett said, sounding a little disappointed by his friend’s cool reaction.

Johnee shrugged. “I like it, but there are other things in life.”

“But wouldn’t it be great to have an arena in town?” Brett coaxed.

“Sure it would. I just doubt it’s gonna happen. Especially after what happened to Lance….” Johnee’s eyes dropped down to The Lizard, on the step next to Brett.

Brett snorted. “I’m sick of hearing that old excuse. An arena would prevent accidents like that from happening.”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t know if anyone is going to listen. There aren’t many people who feel as strongly as you do.”

“There’s Kyle Robinson,” Brett offered with a smile.

“That’s right,” Johnee agreed, grinning. “He probably sleeps on his skateboard! But it pays off — look how good he is.”

“He’s good, but I’m better.”

“What? Nobody’s better than Kyle, man.”

“You haven’t seen me skate lately. I can do all sorts of new tricks.” Brett got up to demonstrate.

Johnee held up his hand. “You don’t have to show me. I’ve seen you, and you are getting better — ”

Brett whirled around sharply. “I’m the
best!
I’m telling you!”

“Okay, okay,” Johnee said. “Chill out, man. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Maybe it isn’t to you, but it is to me. I want to put Kyle in his place once and for all.” Brett pounded his leg with his fist as he spoke.

“How are you going to do that?” Johnee asked.

“I don’t know,” Brett said, sounding deflated. “But Lizard and I will find a way.”

Johnee shook his head. “You and that board. Maybe you were better off without it.”

“What does everyone have against this board?” Brett said angrily. “Don’t tell me you believe what W.E.’s been saying.”

“All I know is, you seem obsessed with it,” said Johnee.

“No way!” said Brett. Then, in a softer tone, he said, “It’s just an excellent board, nothing more.”

Brett moved out into the street and stepped onto The Lizard. “Come on, man. Lets do some tricks.”

“Can’t,” Johnee said, standing up. “I’ve got some chores to do. Maybe later.”

Brett felt another wave of annoyance wash over him. What was with Johnee? Didn’t he like to skate anymore?
Well, if he doesn’t,
Brett thought,
I’ll go find someone who does. Maybe even Kyle.

“Later, man,” Brett said, taking off.

First my mother, then W.E., and now even Johnee. Everyone’s on my back,
Brett thought angrily as he wheeled down the street.
And for what? Just skateboarding. It’s not like I’m selling drugs or anything.

As he started to go past Mrs. Weatherspoon’s house, a cab pulled up at the curb and she got out, carrying two suitcases.

And here’s another one, old snitch Weatherspoon,
Brett fumed. He noticed that she was struggling to carry the bags up the walk, but he didn’t offer to help. She could shift for herself. He pretended he hadn’t seen her and went on.

But she called out to him. “Excuse me.”

Brett considered not stopping, but then thought better of it. He didn’t want her to get him into more trouble with his mom.

“Aren’t you Brett Thyson?” she asked.

Brett nodded curtly.
Yeah, the one you ratted on, remember?
he said silently.

“I thought so.” She put down the suitcases and walked toward him. “I saw your letter in this morning’s paper.”

Brett didn’t respond, unsure of what she wanted from him. Was she going to tell him she hated his idea?

“It was a good letter. Very well written, and from the heart,” she went on.

“Uh, thanks,” Brett stammered. Was this really Mrs. Weatherspoon, or a twin coming to visit?

“Oh well, I’ll let you get going. I’m sure you’re anxious to get back on that skateboard.” She smiled and — to Brett’s surprise ― even winked. “You’re very good — I’ve seen you.”

“Thanks,” Brett repeated lamely. Once he recovered from his shock, he said, “Can I help you with your bags?”

She looked down at them. “Oh, that would be very nice. I can get this one, if you’ll carry that one.” She pointed to the smaller suitcase, but Brett picked up the larger one.

“I don’t know why I brought so much for just one week,” she said apologetically as they walked up the steps to the door. “I was visiting my daughter and grandchildren. It was so good to see them again.”

Brett nodded politely. The visit certainly must have been good for her — it had changed her personality!

When they reached the door Brett said good-bye and started to leave.

“Well, thank you, Brett,” Mrs. Weatherspoon said. “It was awfully nice of you to welcome me home like this.” She thought for a moment and then added, “Come to think of it, you ushered me off, too.”

“Huh?” Brett stopped in his tracks and looked back at her, confused.

“Just before my cab arrived I saw that little run-in you had with Mrs. Brisby’s dog,” Mrs. Weatherspoon said.

Brett blushed. “Yeah, my mother told me you called. I’m sorry—”

“Oh, I’m afraid she must be mistaken. I didn’t call. I didn’t have time. And anyway,” she added with a mischievous chuckle, “I don’t much care for that dog anyway.”

Brett laughed, in surprise and relief. So it must have been Mrs. Brisby herself who had called. And all this time he thought Mrs. Weatherspoon … Well, it was obvious that he had been all wrong about her.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Brett said.

“Deal.” Then she waved him off. “Thank you again, Brett. You should drop by more often. And I hope your letter brings some results.”

Me too,
thought Brett, feeling a hundred times better. The whole world wasn’t against him after all!

9

O
ver the next few weeks, Brett spent most of his time alone with The Lizard, practicing his moves. He tried to stay out of his mothers way around the house, and he was careful to skate in uncrowded areas, so that she wouldn’t have any more opportunities to yell at him. He didn’t see much of Johnee, either. Johnee was spending more and more time with W.E., and Brett didn’t want to hear any more of his stupid theories about the skateboard. He just wanted to ride it and sharpen his skills so that he could take Kyle’s place as the best skater in Springton.

Brett’s hard work was paying off, too. He and the board had become one; it responded so quickly to the slightest touch that Brett felt as though it could read his thoughts. His moves were smooth and effortless, and he rarely lost his balance, even during the most complicated tricks.

Passersby who saw Brett perform his feats often applauded and remarked on his talent. A few of them asked his name and linked him to his letter in the
Herald.
But no one offered to do anything about his suggestion, and Brett had come to grips with the fact that his parents were right about Springton’s attitude toward skateboarding.

One morning, while he was eating breakfast, Brett heard the harsh, grinding sounds of a truck and other heavy equipment not too far away.

“What’s going on out there?” he asked his mother. “Are they building another house?” Ever since the Thysons had moved in, new construction of one sort or another had been going on in their neighborhood.

His mother stepped outside for a moment and returned with a puzzled look on her face. “I don’t know what it is exactly,” she said, “but it looks as if something is happening down on the corner.”

Brett wiped his mouth with a napkin, then went out to investigate. At the corner where Mrs. Weatherspoon lived, he saw a truck and a bulldozer. It appeared that Mrs. Weatherspoon was having something done to her backyard. Brett wondered why she was bothering, since she spent all her time on the front stoop. He thought about going down to ask her — she
had
invited him to drop by, after all — but he decided against it. He had better things to do, namely practicing with The Lizard.

He went back inside, closing the door against the loud, raucous sounds.

The next day they were at it again.

By now Brett was piqued by curiosity, and he walked over to see what the workers were up to. He came to an abrupt stop the minute he saw Mrs. Weatherspoon’s yard. They were blacktopping it!

Brett stared, unable to believe his eyes. Why in heaven’s name would someone blacktop a perfectly beautiful yard?

Poor Mrs. Weatherspoon,
Brett thought. Maybe she was becoming senile. That was the only explanation he could come up with for her strange behavior … unless she just didn’t like grass, or she was tired of having to take care of it.
Yes, that must be it,
he concluded. Without a family around to help, it was too hard for her to maintain a lawn. If only he’d known, he could have offered to help. Oh, well, it was too late now….

“Brett.” A voice interrupted his thoughts.

He glanced up at the stoop, his eyes going first to the rocking chair where Mrs. Weatherspoon so often sat. It was empty.

Then he saw her in the doorway. She was smiling and beckoning to him.
At least she doesn’t seem to regret her decision,
Brett thought.

“Can you come here a minute?” she asked softly.

“Sure,” he said, and ran up the steps.

Mrs. Weatherspoon stepped out onto the stoop, closing the door gently behind her. Her smile broadened. “Do you know what’s being done in my backyard?” she asked.

“It looks like you’re having it covered,” Brett said.

“Well, part of it. But do you know why?”

He shook his head. “I — I have no idea,” he answered.

“None at all?” She was strangely excited, like a kid with a big secret.

“No.”

“I got to thinking about that letter you wrote,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, puzzled.
What did his letter have to do with anything?
Then Brett’s heart began to pound, as an answer came to him.
Could it be …?

Her words filtered through his thoughts. “That huge backyard of mine is just sitting there, growing grass and weeds. Why not do something worthwhile with some of it? Why not make it into something that kids who are crazy about skateboarding, and have no place to skateboard — just as you wrote in your letter — can use? So …”

“Mrs. Weatherspoon!” Brett cried, filled with the most joyous feeling he’d had in all his life. “You’re building a skateboarding rink? That’s great! Oh, that’s just great, Mrs. Weatherspoon! You’re wonderful, you know that? You’re really wonderful!”

He was so excited that he threw his arms around her and gave her a great big hug. Then he stepped back, suddenly embarrassed, but Mrs. Weatherspoon was beaming.

“I take it you are in favor of the idea?” she said.

“You bet! I can’t wait to try it out!”

“Well, now, it won’t be finished for a few more days. Do you think you can wait until then?”

Brett nodded. “I’ve waited this long, what’s a few more days? But can I tell everybody about it?”

“I guess there’s no harm in that,” she said. “I just hope I’ll be able to handle the crowds when the time comes.” Mrs. Weatherspoon winked at him.

“Maybe I won’t tell
everybody,”
Brett said, thinking of Kyle. “Maybe it should be a surprise to some people.”

He raced home and told his family the good news. His parents were amazed.

“It takes a lot of money to do something like that,” his father said. “Just the insurance alone …”

“It’s very generous of her,” Brett’s mother agreed. “I sure wouldn’t do it.”

We know that, Mom,
Brett thought. But he wouldn’t let her put a damper on his enthusiasm.

Even Shannon was excited. She asked Brett if she could use his old board, Cobra, when the arena was ready.

“Oh no, not another one!” Mrs. Thyson cried, her hands to her head.

It took a few more days for the workers to finish the blacktop, because special bumps, curbs, and banked sides had to be included. Then a six-foot-high chain-link fence was built around it. Mrs. Weatherspoon was wise to do that, Brett thought, to keep every kid, cat, and dog in the neighborhood from overrunning the place.

Brett was there when the last bolt was tightened, when the men cleaned up the mess they had made and drove away, leaving the blacktopped arena looking clean, shiny, and ready for action.

But that wasn’t all. Two more men arrived, each carrying a wooden ramp. “Where do you want these?” one of them asked Brett.

Brett thought a minute, then said, “One on each side.”

The men placed the ramps on opposite sides of the rink. One of them said, “Have a good skate,” as they walked out.

“Well, it’s ready, Brett,” Mrs. Weatherspoon said, admiring it alongside him. “It’s ready for you, and for your friends.”

His heart thumped like a clock gone mad. “Oh, Mrs. Weatherspoon, I can hardly believe my eyes. This is what I’ve dreamed about, what I was wishing somebody would do. Only I never dreamed it would be you, Mrs. Weatherspoon. You’re the best.” He paused, tears choking his throat. “I’ll call up some of my friends, and I’ll be back with my skateboard.”

Mrs. Weatherspoon gave him a pat on the back. “You do that,” she said. “Meanwhile, I’ll bring my chair back here.”

He sped home, phoned a few guys—even W.E.—then got The Lizard and skated over to Mrs. Weatherspoon’s backyard.

The brand-new blacktop was terrific to skate on. Brett did a dozen various freestyle tricks while Mrs. Weatherspoon sat on the stoop, watching him. He was alone so far, the first kid ever to skate on her rink, and it looked as though she was enjoying herself as much as he was. Who would’ve known that behind that quiet, solemn face lurked one of the kindest, most generous persons he’d ever known?

He did a Gymnast Plant on a ramp, then a High Air, launching as high as he could off the edge of the ramp; his landing was greeted by an explosion of sound from the entrance of the rink. Wheeling to a stop, he saw that some of the guys had arrived and were giving him a hand for the High Air.