Skateboard Blues Page 4

  "Angie!" I sputtered, snatching the phone away from her. "I can talk to him! What's the matter with you?"

  "Sisters!" I said to Cam. "Be glad you don't have any. I swear if Angie pulls this one more time, I'm outta here!"

  He chuckled. "Maybe I should just come over instead of calling."

  "Only if you can put up with our madhouse," I said. "I'll sure be glad when this election's over." At least things were looking up as far as Cam and my parents were concerned. In fact, he'd made a hit with the entire election committee.

  As we talked, I glanced at his skateboard, the one he'd been letting me use. The yellow and red graphics that looked like zigzagging ribbons of fire were almost worn off. The edges of the deck were chipped and splintered.

  "Cam?" I said.

  "Hmm?"

  "How much does a new skateboard cost? I'm afraid yours is going to fall apart any day now."

  "Lots," he replied. "Especially if you want to buy a good board."

  I gulped. I'd never be able to save up enough baby-sitting money.

  "Speaking of new skateboards," he went on, "let's drive to Portland on Saturday. I'll show you the skate shop. The boss is supposed to be working then, and I'd like to check in with him too."

  My heart leaped. At last a date—well almost a date! "I'd love it!" I cried. "What time should I be ready?"

  "I'll pick you up at ten."

  "Great! That'll give me—"

  "Jessie, I need to use the phone," Angie cut in plaintively.

  "You little rat!" I hissed. "Use your cell phone, for heaven's sake."

  Cam's laughter interrupted what could have been a knock-down, drag-out battle between my sister and me. At least someone was laughing.

  "I'll call you back later," I told him with forced cheerfulness. I bolted down the hall and into her room.

  "What's going on?" I demanded. I collapsed into the red vinyl beanbag chair next to her bookshelf. "Why don't you leave Cam and me alone? Don't you like him?" Maybe that was the problem. She liked him too much.

  My sister was sitting cross-legged on her bed. Her lower lip protruded in a pout. "Sure, I like him."

  "So what's the problem? Why are you always trying to mess up our time together?"

  "Maybe it's because you're forgetting about me." Her voice rose. "Everyone's forgetting about me. All Mom and Dad talk about anymore is the election. And you're so busy with Cam, you're never around to take me to the movies or shopping for nail polish and earrings."

  "Nail polish and earrings! Aren't you a little young for that stuff?"

  She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. "Of course not! Mom promised me I can get my ears pierced when I'm eleven. We'll that's only five-and-a-half months away. I'd like to get my earring collection started as soon as I can."

  I smiled despite myself. Angie wanted to be grown-up so badly, but I couldn't blame her. I was like that when I was ten too. "Look, I'll make you a deal."

  "What?" she asked. She pouted some more

  "If you promise to stay out of my business, I'll take you to Anderson's Deli and buy you an ice cream every Saturday. From now till Christmas."

  "Nah. That's not so special. That's kid stuff."

  "Okay, okay, then we'll go shopping for—"

  "Wait! I've got an even better idea!"

  "Okay." I held my breath, daring myself to continue. "What is it?"

  "If you want to make me a deal, how about giving me some money?"

  "Money? Wait a minute. I need all the money I can get."

  She appeared not to have heard me. "Every time Mom asks you to baby-sit me, you can give me part of what she pays you."

  "I'll give you five dollars. That is if—I repeat, if—you keep up your end of the deal."

  "Five dollars!" She sighed. "That's nothing. I bet if I were making a deal with Cam, he'd give me more than that."

  I gritted my teeth. Obviously my sister was going to make this tough. "Okay, okay. I'll give you ten dollars. Right up until Christmas." Thank goodness that was only six weeks away. I'd endured lots worse for six weeks, I told myself.

  "Yes!" she cried as she sprang off the bed. In seconds, she'd smothered me with hugs.

  I felt relieved and frustrated all at the same time. Finally I'd won her cooperation, but the price was more than I'd expected. Now I'd never manage to buy a new skateboard. I could see my meager savings dwindling by the minute.

  While the two of us consumed a big bowl of popcorn, we watched a movie on T.V. It was about a magical cat from outer space with blue shimmering eyes. The movie seemed to satisfy her, though she did keep reminding me it wasn't as good as the movie about a rock star she'd wanted to see at Priscilla's house and had to miss out. Because it was a school night, Dad had insisted she stay home.

  After the movie, I tucked my sister into bed. "Sleep tight," I said. "Tomorrow's Dad's big day, you know."

  "Night, Jessie," she said sweetly as I retreated from her room. "Thanks a bunch for everything."

  "You're welcome."

  I couldn't believe how angelic she sounded when things were going her way.

  * * *

  "We did it! We did it!" my mother cried, ending the call on her phone. "The last vote's been counted! Dad's the new mayor of Preston!"

  Angie and I, who'd been sitting at the kitchen table doing homework, jumped up and cheered. Soon all four of us were laughing and hugging.

  "Congratulations, Dad!" I kissed him on the cheek. "I knew you'd win. Even if Mr. Crosham wasn't voting for you," I added. I giggled, remembering the little fiasco on his doorstep the night Angie and I'd passed out flyers.

  "Well," Dad said. He hitched his thumbs through his belt loops. "Now I can inform my office crew that we'll cut back to part time hours. My receptionist will be overjoyed."

  Mom hugged Dad one more time, her eyes shining with pride. "We're all thrilled for you, Ralph. You're going to be the very best mayor Preston ever had!"

  Once the commotion had died down, Dad turned to me and said, "Sweetheart, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. A couple of nights ago, someone sprayed painted graffiti at the old empty Safeway. Do you know anything about it?"

  "No, I don't," I answered, twisting a strand of hair around my index finger. I hadn't even seen it. The store stood on the east edge of town where I seldom went.

  He pursed his lips. "The talk going around is that the skateboarders are responsible. Apparently, besides lots of vulgar language, the graffiti includes some skulls and crossbones."

  My face flushed with anger. "But...but did anyone actually see who did it? It's not fair the skaters are always getting blamed!"

  "The elderly woman who reported the incident never saw any skateboarders," Dad answered. "But she did witness about a half dozen youngsters fleeing from the scene. Are you sure you haven't heard any of Cam's crowd talking about it?"

  "No! Absolutely not." I looked at him intently. "It's true that some of the skaters wear shirts decorated with skulls and crossbones, but it doesn't mean anything bad. It's simply part of the skater scene, one of the big manufacturer's trademarks. I don't know how the graffiti happened, but I'm positive none of Cam's crowd had anything to do with it."

  His faced relaxed into a slow smile. "I believe you. Just keep your nose clean, okay, sweetheart?"

  "Sure, Dad," I was quick to answer. But deep inside, resentment crept through me. Now I'd have to be the perfect child. Now I'd be living in my father's shadow.

  All week long, our phone was always ringing or people were stopping by to congratulate Dad. Though I was happy for him, the constant fanfare really got to me—especially the day the reporter from The Preston Review stopped by, a man by the name of Mr. Jack Thurston.

  "Mr. Williams," the reporter said as he peered over his glasses. "As you know, recently there was a big problem at the vacated Safeway. Graffiti smeared from one end to the other. Reporters say the skateboarders in town are responsible. What's your opinion?"

  Eavesdroppi
ng from the hallway, I held my breath. Dad had been right—people were blaming the skateboarders. Would he have the guts now to stand up for us?

  "Well, Mr. Thurston," my father replied after clearing his throat, "as I'm sure you realize, the evidence is still inconclusive. Many of our skateboarders are responsible, law-abiding young people." He glanced at me and smiled. "I happen to know that for a fact. Let's not point any fingers just yet."

  I wanted to cheer. I wanted to run into the front room and hug Dad right in front of that reporter and the important-looking photographer who'd arrived with him. I could just see it plastered on the front page of next week's paper: "New Mayor, Ralph Williams, Supports Skateboarders."

  * * *

  "Jessica, dear,” Mom said brightly, greeting me at the breakfast table Thursday morning. It was obvious she still hadn’t come back down to earth. "Everyone is so thrilled about your dad becoming the mayor I just had to do something special.”

  "Like what?” I asked from behind the front page of our town’s newspaper. I was reading an article about the graffiti at the old Safeway. Thank goodness, the reporter had refrained from blaming the skaters. Still, it seemed half the people in Preston were talking about us, insisting we were responsible.

  "I’ve phoned Aunt Mildred and Uncle Ray in Seattle, Grandma and Grandpa Williams, and the entire election committee.” She waved a long list about as she talked. "Everyone’s coming here Saturday for a big celebration.”

  My stomach dropped. "Saturday?” It suddenly dawned on me I’d failed to tell my parents about my date with Cam.

  "Yes, Saturday. I’ve ordered a huge turkey, a honey-basted ham, plenty of champagne, and called the caterer for the rest of the essentials. It’s all set.”

  "Do I have to be at the party?” I asked. How could this be happening? After all my waiting and dreaming and even bribing Angie, how could one more thing get in the way?

  My mother wrinkled her brow as she pushed a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. "Now what kind of question is that, Jessica Williams?”

  "Hmm! I think I smell pancakes and sausage,” a familiar voice cut into our conversation. It was Cam. Ever since I’d made my deal with Angie, he’d been stopping by each morning to drive me to school. My sister, who was determined to get every cent possible out of me by going along with it, had ushered him into the kitchen.

  "Hey!” I greeted him, glancing at the clock on the wall. "You’re kind of early, aren’t you?”

  "I thought maybe we could drive by the old Safeway before we go to school and check out the graffiti. After all, it’d be nice to see what we’re getting blamed for,” he added.

  Apparently Mom was content to let his remark pass. "I was just telling Jessica about the celebration party we’re planning on Saturday afternoon for Mr. Williams,” she said to Cam. "Please consider yourself invited. Your parents too.”

  Frantically I met his gaze. How could we make her understand we had other plans?

  "Couldn’t we schedule Dad’s party for Sunday instead?” I asked.

  "No, that’s out of the question. Your aunt and uncle have already made motel reservations for Saturday night, and Grandma and Grandpa are planning to come on the Friday afternoon train.”

  Cam sat down next to Mom. "The reason Jessica’s concerned is because we planned to go to Portland on Saturday. For the whole day."

  I relaxed, knowing I could count on him to pave the way.

  "But we can always put it off for another time," he added. "I understand how hard you’ve worked—"

  "Cam!" Just when I thought he was going to talk Mom into letting us go, he'd switched things around completely!

  "She's right, Jessie." His voice rose with conviction. "This party's more important than our day in Portland. I can check in with the boss on Sunday instead." The dimple in his chin deepened as he smiled. "Besides, I want to be around when the election committee toasts your dad."

  Chapter Six

  We settled on a compromise. Cam and I'd stick around for the first hour of the party and then we'd be free to leave.

  As I faced Saturday, mixed feelings churned inside of me. Though Dad had openly supported the skaters when he'd been interviewed by the reporter, I was certain everyone at the party would be talking about us. They'd say how terrible the graffiti at the old grocery store was, what rotten kids the skaters were, and how the ban on skating needed to be enforced further.

  At the party, Cam and I raised our glasses of sparkling cider in a toast to my father and then retreated to a corner of the room to be with my grandparents, who are super people. They were also safe territory since they weren't caught up in the local issues. Grandma Williams was especially sympathetic when I'd told her about our plight. "Why, I've heard that in our neck of the woods, some of the high schools have sponsored skateboard teams," she'd said.

  Wow! Preston is definitely still in the Dark Ages. I gritted my teeth, but continued to smile.

  By the time we were finally on our way, it was two-thirty. As we sped out of town in the Easton's Mercedes, I looked over at Cam and smiled. "So when will you know if you got the job?" I asked, thinking again about New World Skates.

  "Maybe today. His emerald-colored T shirt made his eyes look even greener. "It'll be a great place to work. Just think, Jessie, I'll be right where all the action is. I'll be the first to know about the newest skateboards and all the local competitions."

  "You certainly will." No doubt about it, Cam was an opportunist. But that still didn't mean he was using me, I reminded myself. "And one day the right person from a big skate board manufacturer will be there and you'll be discovered," I went on. "Not only will they sponsor you on the spot, you'll get all the free boards you'll ever need for the rest of your life."

  He chuckled. "You bet! What a deal!"

  I looked out my side window as the wheat fields and orchards gave way to business parks and strip malls. Soon our conversation swung back to the graffiti. When we'd stopped by Thursday morning to look at it, Cam was as upset as I had been. It was a mess. Strings of profanity in black and purple and muddy brown spray paints stretched over half of the store's south side. We didn't see any skulls and crossbones, though, so we agreed that someone must've made that part up—just like all the other rumors about us.

  "The graffiti happened at the worst possible time," he said as we sped through a tunnel that led to the city.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "It's obvious. If we're going to try to wipe out people's preconceived ideas about skaters, this is going to make it tougher. I've been telling the others we need to be polite, we need to look out for the older folks, and then wham—someone decides to waste that old store." He frowned. "How can we expect to get a skate park when people think we're vandals?"

  "Exactly. They'll just say we're destructive and irresponsible." I paused. "We might as well forget it. We don't stand a chance."

  "No, Jessie." He pursed his lips. "I don't agree. If we don't fight for that skate park, then no one will. It's up to us."

  Minutes later, after we'd followed the overhead signs into Portland, he parked the car in Old Town, one of the city's eclectic districts. Brick buildings lined the narrow sidewalks and weekend shoppers breezed past tattered old men who stood huddled together on street corners.

  "Big cities are so interesting," I said as he took my hand in his and we started for the skate shop. "My family only comes here once in a while to see a ballet or eat at Mom's favorite restaurant on the river." I hurried to match his long-legged stride.

  "Dad's office is on the top floor of that building," Cam said, motioning to a high-rise with rows of gleaming windows. "W.T. Diettich & Associates. They're the fastest growing software manufacturer in the nation."

  I shaded my eyes against the sun. "Impressive!"

  He shrugged. "Right. But it still means going to the same old place day after day, being stuck behind the same old desk and working with the same people."

  When he put it that way, I had to admit it didn't s
ound glamorous after all. At least my dad got to see lots of different patients each day—some even came from out-of-town to schedule appointments with him.

  "I wish I'd brought my board along," Cam said wistfully, apparently eager to change the subject. We started walking again.

  "Oh? You'd planned to skate here today?"

  "I'd hoped to, but I guess thinking about the job sidetracked me."

  "And getting held up at my folks' place probably didn't help either," I added with a chuckle.

  He grinned, then paused and slanted me a questioning look. "You know about the skateboard park beneath the Burnside Bridge, don't you?"

  "Uh-huh. I've overheard the skaters at school talk about it. They go there sometimes, I guess."

  "Wanna check it out after we're done at New World Skates? If you've never seen it before, it's totally worth it."

  "Of course I do!"

  A couple of boys wearing baggy jeans and toting skateboards ducked into the store entrance just ahead. We followed them. Once inside, while Cam talked in the back room with the shop owner, I gazed in awe at the menagerie of colorful decks lining the walls: dragon-like creatures, skulls and cross-bones, insect mutations, even some with ribbons of fire like Cam's old board. What a sight! From the high ceiling hung a rainbow of windsocks and kits. Classical music filtered out through the sound system.

  Several guys and a couple of girls milled about, peering into glass display cases or looking at new decks.

  "First time here?" a girl with frizzy black hair and dangling earrings asked from behind the counter.

  "Yeah, first time," I replied. From the loft-type workroom where someone was assembling a board, a drill whined.

  I scanned the shop. "This place is cool."

  "We've got the biggest mail-order business in the country," she said, pride edging her voice. "My uncle's the owner."

  I gave her a quick once-over. She appeared to be about sixteen, and she wore black leggings and a crimson tunic top with a hip belt. She looked so sophisticated, so her own person. I couldn't help comparing her to some of the phony girls at school who thought they were cool with their artificial trendiness.