you say anything else to her?”
“About what?”
“About …anything.”
“You mean about The Lizard?”
“Yeah.”
“No, I didn’t. She’d never believe me, anyway.” He paused a moment, then asked, “Do you, Brett?”
Brett snorted. “Of course not. I think you’ve let skateboarding go to your brain.” Then he added, “Got a question for you, W.E. You enjoy skateboarding so much, why don’t you ever do it? Don’t tell me you can’t afford one. I’ve seen your father’s Caddie.”
“I’m not the athletic type,” W.E. admitted frankly. “Besides, I like being a statistician better. I want to be a sportscaster someday.”
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea! Okay, W.E. Thanks for calling. I’ll see you around. Oh, what time’s the contest?”
“Two P.M . You’ll have to sign up for it by next Friday night. I’ll bring an application to you tomorrow. We’re going to have both a Beginners Division and an Advanced Division contest. Mrs. Weatherspoon thought it would be good to do it that way so that little kids can compete, too.”
“What class do you think I should sign up for?” Brett asked, cracking a smile.
“Tell you one thing: If you sign up for the Beginners Division, you’ll be eliminated before you even start.” W.E. laughed.
Brett laughed, too, thanked W.E. for all he and Mrs. Weatherspoon were doing, and hung up.
Good old Mrs. Weatherspoon,
he thought. She was coming through again, just like W.E. had said. And the reason she wanted to sponsor a contest was because of him. Who would have thought his rivalry with Kyle would be so important to an old woman that she would up and do a thing like this?
“What was that all about?” Mrs. Thyson asked as Brett headed into the living room.
“You wouldn’t believe it, Mom,” he said, and explained it all to her, except
why
Mrs. Weatherspoon was putting on the contest. No need to go into that.
“Do you mean,” Mrs. Thyson said when Brett had finished, “that Mrs. Weatherspoon is going to hold this contest by herself?”
“Well, yeah,” he said, beginning to feel uncomfortable under her piercing gaze. “But we — the guys—will help her. W.E. is spreading the word —”
“That’s not what I’m concerned about,” Mrs. Thyson cut in. “How will she judge it? Does she know anything about skateboarding? What about safety?”
“Oh, Mom,” Brett said with a sigh. “It’s not that big a deal.”
But Mrs. Thyson wasn’t convinced. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
All of Brett’s earlier excitement wilted and he felt anger growing in its place. Why had he told her about the contest? She didn’t understand anything, and she was determined to take away any pleasure he got out of skateboarding.
“Just forget it, Mom!” he exploded. “You know, I think Mrs. Weatherspoon cares more about me than you do!” He spun on his heels and stormed out the front door.
Brett flung open the garage door and grabbed The Lizard. As he propelled himself down the street and away from his house with strong pumps of his foot, he calmed down. He surrendered himself to the board, spinning and doing wheelies until his head was clear again. Skating was what he enjoyed most and did best, and he knew it wasn’t wrong.
He knew, too, that the contest
was
a good idea. He would do everything he could to make sure it happened, and to make sure he won first place. He’d do all of his fancy tricks — and maybe even some that he hadn’t tried yet, some extra-special, stupendous moves that would knock everyone’s socks off. Especially Kyle Robinson’s.
Brett turned around sharply and headed toward the town library. He was sure to find some sports magazines there that showed the latest in skateboarding stunts.
With the help of a librarian, Brett located the information he needed, and more. As he flipped through the pages of one of the older magazines, he saw a photograph of a teenager sailing through the air on a skateboard.
“About what?”
“About …anything.”
“You mean about The Lizard?”
“Yeah.”
“No, I didn’t. She’d never believe me, anyway.” He paused a moment, then asked, “Do you, Brett?”
Brett snorted. “Of course not. I think you’ve let skateboarding go to your brain.” Then he added, “Got a question for you, W.E. You enjoy skateboarding so much, why don’t you ever do it? Don’t tell me you can’t afford one. I’ve seen your father’s Caddie.”
“I’m not the athletic type,” W.E. admitted frankly. “Besides, I like being a statistician better. I want to be a sportscaster someday.”
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea! Okay, W.E. Thanks for calling. I’ll see you around. Oh, what time’s the contest?”
“Two P.M . You’ll have to sign up for it by next Friday night. I’ll bring an application to you tomorrow. We’re going to have both a Beginners Division and an Advanced Division contest. Mrs. Weatherspoon thought it would be good to do it that way so that little kids can compete, too.”
“What class do you think I should sign up for?” Brett asked, cracking a smile.
“Tell you one thing: If you sign up for the Beginners Division, you’ll be eliminated before you even start.” W.E. laughed.
Brett laughed, too, thanked W.E. for all he and Mrs. Weatherspoon were doing, and hung up.
Good old Mrs. Weatherspoon,
he thought. She was coming through again, just like W.E. had said. And the reason she wanted to sponsor a contest was because of him. Who would have thought his rivalry with Kyle would be so important to an old woman that she would up and do a thing like this?
“What was that all about?” Mrs. Thyson asked as Brett headed into the living room.
“You wouldn’t believe it, Mom,” he said, and explained it all to her, except
why
Mrs. Weatherspoon was putting on the contest. No need to go into that.
“Do you mean,” Mrs. Thyson said when Brett had finished, “that Mrs. Weatherspoon is going to hold this contest by herself?”
“Well, yeah,” he said, beginning to feel uncomfortable under her piercing gaze. “But we — the guys—will help her. W.E. is spreading the word —”
“That’s not what I’m concerned about,” Mrs. Thyson cut in. “How will she judge it? Does she know anything about skateboarding? What about safety?”
“Oh, Mom,” Brett said with a sigh. “It’s not that big a deal.”
But Mrs. Thyson wasn’t convinced. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
All of Brett’s earlier excitement wilted and he felt anger growing in its place. Why had he told her about the contest? She didn’t understand anything, and she was determined to take away any pleasure he got out of skateboarding.
“Just forget it, Mom!” he exploded. “You know, I think Mrs. Weatherspoon cares more about me than you do!” He spun on his heels and stormed out the front door.
Brett flung open the garage door and grabbed The Lizard. As he propelled himself down the street and away from his house with strong pumps of his foot, he calmed down. He surrendered himself to the board, spinning and doing wheelies until his head was clear again. Skating was what he enjoyed most and did best, and he knew it wasn’t wrong.
He knew, too, that the contest
was
a good idea. He would do everything he could to make sure it happened, and to make sure he won first place. He’d do all of his fancy tricks — and maybe even some that he hadn’t tried yet, some extra-special, stupendous moves that would knock everyone’s socks off. Especially Kyle Robinson’s.
Brett turned around sharply and headed toward the town library. He was sure to find some sports magazines there that showed the latest in skateboarding stunts.
With the help of a librarian, Brett located the information he needed, and more. As he flipped through the pages of one of the older magazines, he saw a photograph of a teenager sailing through the air on a skateboard.
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