The caption underneath read: “Crackerjack Hawker, National Freestyle Champion.”
Brett’s pulse quickened as he examined the photo more closely, trying to get a bead on the boy he had heard so much about. Was that The Lizard he was riding? The angle of the photograph made it hard to tell, but the board was the right shape, and it was a double tail….
Again Brett wondered who had buried The Lizard, and why. He couldn’t help thinking about W.E. and his theory about the board, that it was somehow hexed. It was a strange and stupid thing to believe, especially for someone as smart as W.E. But, Brett had to admit, his life had certainly changed since the day he had opened that wooden box. Did Lance bury the board because he, too, believed it was hexed?
Hoping to learn more about The Lizard and its previous owner, Brett read the article. There weren’t many facts specifically about Lance, only that he rose to fame quickly because of his amazing ability, and that skateboarding was his life. He toured the country for weeks on end to compete in contests and perform in exhibitions for charity. It didn’t sound half bad to Brett —he could understand someone’s wanting to spend most of his time on a board, perfecting his skill.
Brett turned back to the photograph of Lance and studied it again. He looked a few years older than Brett, and he was wearing long black spandex shorts and a bright yellow T-shirt with the number six on it. In a way, Brett wished he had known Lance. They would have had a lot in common.
Brett carried the magazine over to the copier and duplicated the photo. Then he folded it carefully and stuck it in his wallet before putting the magazine back on the shelf.
11
T he next morning, Brett decided he wanted to do something to show Mrs. Weatherspoon his appreciation. Only he didn’t know exactly what to do. He waited until his mother was out of earshot — he didn’t even want to mention Mrs. Weatherspoon’s name in her presence — and then asked Shannon if she had any ideas.
“Why don’t you buy her a present?” Shannon suggested.
Brett frowned. “I don’t have much money. I wish I could do some chore for her, like mow her lawn, but she doesn’t have much of a lawn anymore!”
“You could offer to run errands for her.”
“I guess I could, but that would take up a lot of time.” Brett sank down in his chair.
“Geez, Brett,” Shannon said. “Do you want to do something for her, or not?”
“Yeah, I do,” Brett said. “She’s done so much for me, she deserves something really special.”
“Why don’t you make her something? I bet she’d really like that.”
“What could I make?”
“I don’t know. This whole thing was your idea — why don’t you figure it out?” She started to leave the room.
“Wait, Shan. Could you help me? You’re handy with things.”
Shannon cracked a smile. “You trying to butter me up?” She stood up straighter. “Hey, that gives me an idea. You could bake her something.”
Brett started to shake his head, then he thought about it some more. At least it wouldn’t take too long.
“Will you help me?” He looked at her pleadingly.
Shannon crossed her arms over her chest. “And what do I get out of this?”
“You can use Cobra all you want.”
“I already do. You never ride that thing anymore. You’re too busy with The Lizard.” She said the board’s name with a sneer.
Brett got up and patted her on the back. “How about some brotherly companionship?”
“Don’t make me sick,” Shannon said. But she started to take the flour and sugar canisters out of the cupboard.
Brett laughed at himself for feeling nervous as he stood in front of Mrs. Weatherspoon’s door with a tin of freshly baked cookies. Most of the batch had burned — Shannon had blamed him for not paying attention —but they had managed to salvage enough to make a decent offering.
She’s bound to like them, and anyway, it’s the thought that counts,
he told
Brett’s pulse quickened as he examined the photo more closely, trying to get a bead on the boy he had heard so much about. Was that The Lizard he was riding? The angle of the photograph made it hard to tell, but the board was the right shape, and it was a double tail….
Again Brett wondered who had buried The Lizard, and why. He couldn’t help thinking about W.E. and his theory about the board, that it was somehow hexed. It was a strange and stupid thing to believe, especially for someone as smart as W.E. But, Brett had to admit, his life had certainly changed since the day he had opened that wooden box. Did Lance bury the board because he, too, believed it was hexed?
Hoping to learn more about The Lizard and its previous owner, Brett read the article. There weren’t many facts specifically about Lance, only that he rose to fame quickly because of his amazing ability, and that skateboarding was his life. He toured the country for weeks on end to compete in contests and perform in exhibitions for charity. It didn’t sound half bad to Brett —he could understand someone’s wanting to spend most of his time on a board, perfecting his skill.
Brett turned back to the photograph of Lance and studied it again. He looked a few years older than Brett, and he was wearing long black spandex shorts and a bright yellow T-shirt with the number six on it. In a way, Brett wished he had known Lance. They would have had a lot in common.
Brett carried the magazine over to the copier and duplicated the photo. Then he folded it carefully and stuck it in his wallet before putting the magazine back on the shelf.
11
T he next morning, Brett decided he wanted to do something to show Mrs. Weatherspoon his appreciation. Only he didn’t know exactly what to do. He waited until his mother was out of earshot — he didn’t even want to mention Mrs. Weatherspoon’s name in her presence — and then asked Shannon if she had any ideas.
“Why don’t you buy her a present?” Shannon suggested.
Brett frowned. “I don’t have much money. I wish I could do some chore for her, like mow her lawn, but she doesn’t have much of a lawn anymore!”
“You could offer to run errands for her.”
“I guess I could, but that would take up a lot of time.” Brett sank down in his chair.
“Geez, Brett,” Shannon said. “Do you want to do something for her, or not?”
“Yeah, I do,” Brett said. “She’s done so much for me, she deserves something really special.”
“Why don’t you make her something? I bet she’d really like that.”
“What could I make?”
“I don’t know. This whole thing was your idea — why don’t you figure it out?” She started to leave the room.
“Wait, Shan. Could you help me? You’re handy with things.”
Shannon cracked a smile. “You trying to butter me up?” She stood up straighter. “Hey, that gives me an idea. You could bake her something.”
Brett started to shake his head, then he thought about it some more. At least it wouldn’t take too long.
“Will you help me?” He looked at her pleadingly.
Shannon crossed her arms over her chest. “And what do I get out of this?”
“You can use Cobra all you want.”
“I already do. You never ride that thing anymore. You’re too busy with The Lizard.” She said the board’s name with a sneer.
Brett got up and patted her on the back. “How about some brotherly companionship?”
“Don’t make me sick,” Shannon said. But she started to take the flour and sugar canisters out of the cupboard.
Brett laughed at himself for feeling nervous as he stood in front of Mrs. Weatherspoon’s door with a tin of freshly baked cookies. Most of the batch had burned — Shannon had blamed him for not paying attention —but they had managed to salvage enough to make a decent offering.
She’s bound to like them, and anyway, it’s the thought that counts,
he told
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