Skateboard Blues Read online

  "What can I do?" she asked. "Show you a deck? Maybe some stickers?"

  "Oh, no thanks! I'm just waiting for my boyfriend." Boyfriend! That was the first time I'd called Cam my boyfriend, and it sounded so good.

  I drew in a breath, then asked, "Have you ever seen a deck with a butterfly on it?"

  "Hmm. They're around, but a lot of them are custom made." I couldn't tell whether she was smiling to be friendly, or if she thought my butterfly idea sounded dumb. Judging from her sophisticated appearance, I decided on the latter. "Would you like me to look into ordering one for you?"

  "Oh, no thanks. I can't afford a new board now anyway."

  "We do have blank boards," she said.

  "What?"

  "Blank boards. It's a name for plain decks without graphics. They're a little cheaper, so new skaters often start out with them."

  "I'm afraid that won't help me either," I said. I couldn't bring myself to tell her I was broke with a capital B. Thanks to my dear little sister . . .

  She dismissed me with one last smile, then moved on down the counter.

  "What's this I hear about decks with butterflies?" Cam asked from behind.

  I spun around, wondering how long he'd been listening to our conversation. He looked down at me with a strange twinkle in his eyes, and I got that familiar quivery sensation inside.

  "Oh, nothing," I answered. Despite my attempts to sound nonchalant, I wanted a new board so badly I could almost taste it.

  "That was Tammy," Cam explained, darting a glance at the salesgirl. "She really knows her stuff when it comes to skateboards."

  "I like her."

  "Yeah, she reminds me of a girl I know in Santa Cruz. Talented, pretty, smart . . ."

  I bit my lip. Why did Cam have to talk about other girls?

  "Oh, don't get me wrong," he said, as if reading my thoughts. "She's my best buddy's girlfriend. Pee-Wee, we call her."

  "Pee-Wee?" I bit back a smile.

  "She's only four-eleven. We like to tease her about her height. Anyhow, Pee-Wee works at a skate shop in L.A. On the side, she does graphic artwork."

  I knew it was silly, but I could feel jealousy eating inside of me. Somehow, it didn't matter if Pee-Wee was his best buddy's girlfriend. To make matters worse, he probably knew lots of girls in good old California.

  "Chris and Pee-Wee are pretty tight," he went on. "They say when they get married, they're going to open their own skate shop, and then they can do exactly what they want to with it. The three of us used to hang together all the time."

  "You miss them?" I asked.

  He nodded, then changed the subject again. "Good news, Jessie! Guess what?"

  I braced myself. "You got the job?"

  "Yep, starting tomorrow." He beamed. "I have to report to work at nine forty-five."

  "Congratulations!"

  He grinned even wider. "Now we've got a real reason to celebrate."

  I smacked my palm to my forehead in mock despair. "Oh no, not another celebration! I don't think I can take it."

  "Sure you can. Let's go to Burnside!"

  * * *

  The rest of the day passed by much too quickly. After we left New World Skates, we crossed town and made our way to the skate park under the east side of the Burnside Bridge. I'd never seen so many skaters in one place before—and their aerials took my breath away. Cam pointed out two skaters that were performing front-side and back-side 180s—half rotations. I clutched my hands at my sides. Yes! I'll do that someday too! Other skaters carved the upper edge of a huge slope with such awesome agility, I felt all tingly inside just watching them. The energy surrounding us was so palpable, you could almost reach out and touch it. A crowd of onlookers had gathered to watch, and they clapped and cheered. Ecstatic, I joined in, raising my voice with theirs.

  I felt reluctant when it was time to leave, but we still wanted to spend time at Waterfront Park, and already evening had settled over the city. Later, bundled in the warm jackets, we sat snuggled together on a park bench. The lights of the city reflected off the Willamette River like shimmering fireflies, and a tour boat paddled by. To our left, a bridge arched over the dark river. The scene appeared as if it had leapt right off the pages of a romance novel.

  I snuggled in closer and lay my head on Cam's shoulder. Was it merely my imagination that I caught him sending me tender little glances? My emotions were on a crazy roller-coaster ride. One minute, as I remembered the lunchroom scene at school, new doubts crowed in. The next moment, I loved him so much, I refused to believe he was using me.

  "I've had a terrific time today," I said with a sigh. "I'm glad you got the job." I looked over at his perfectly chiseled profile, watched the night breeze ripple through his hair. He was even more gorgeous than the first time I'd seen him from the privacy of my room.

  "Thanks. I'm glad too." He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close. I could feel his breath fanning my forehead. Above us a flock of geese flew by in an arrow formation, their honking sounds fading into the noise of the traffic.

  "Know something?" His voice broke through my reverie.

  "Hmmm. What?"

  "When we get that skate park in Preston—we will get it, you know—I'll be able to teach you some really rad tricks. There's nothing like the rush you get when you drop into a half-pipe or zoom off a twenty-foot slide."

  "And what makes you so sure we'll get a skate park?" I asked, pulling away a little. If only I could let go of my doubts and be as positive as he was.

  "Shh! Jessie, you ask too many questions." He drew me close again, then silently traced his finger down my cheek.

  My heart sang as his lips pressed against mine.

  Chapter Seven

  The Christmas holidays and our usual two-week break from school passed with amazing speed. Though Cam was working steadily now at the skateboard shop and skated at Burnside on his lunch breaks, we somehow managed to be together every spare moment possible.

  He continued to talk earnestly about the day Preston would build its own skate park. He never missed an opportunity to mention it to my father too. Dad only continued to shake his head and say Preston wasn't ready for that kind of undertaking. After all, the city budget had barely allowed for the reopening of the community swimming pool, and there were far more people who wanted to swim than skate.

  Meanwhile, there'd been no further clues leading to the arrest of those responsible for the graffiti. To make matters worse, the culprits struck one more time—the very day we'd returned to school after New Years. Now, just when I'd figured the accusations had finally died down, they were flying all over town again. Even my father's efforts to defend us weren't helping as much as I'd hoped.

  The following Sunday, I took Megan to the empty store so she could see it too. She rode her bike, while I skated alongside of her.

  Her blue eyes narrowed as she stared at the latest scribbling. "I can't believe those guys actually had the nerve to come back and do it again. As if the first time wasn't bad enough."

  "I agree." I thought about what the reporter had said. As far as the people around here are concerned, we were the bad guys every time.

  A line of oak tress behind the store thrust tortuous bare branches into the gray January sky. I pulled out my lip balm from my jacket pocket and ran it over my dry lips.

  "Well, if anyone asks my opinion, I'll stick up for you," Megan said. "You and Cam and Pete and all the rest." Lately, she'd been hanging out with our crowd, watching us practice on the mini-ramp in Pete's front yard.

  My friend chewed on her lower lip, apparently lost in thought. "Did anyone see the kids last night? Is there any evidence it's the same kids that lady said she saw the first time?"

  "According to Dad, they got away completely unnoticed. The only evidence is that yesterday half this wall was covered with graffiti. Now there's twice as much." I shivered against the cold. The air smelled fresh as it often does before snowfall.

  We were in no hurry to move on, so we sat down on t
he sidewalk in front of the store.

  Megan pulled her pink knit ski cap down over her ears and broke into a smile. "Did I tell you? Pete asked me out for pizza tonight."

  "No way! That's awesome." I was certain if they started dating, he'd get her interested in skating too. Then I wouldn't be the only girl skater in Preston.

  After we discussed the movie they were planning to see, a new sci-fi flick that everyone was raving about, we changed the subject to Cam—and I shared my mixed-up feelings with my friend. My love for him was growing all the time. I'd convinced myself that he must love me too, although he'd only said he liked me that one time soon after we'd met. Megan had been sympathetic, a terrific listener. Yet Cam was my problem, and I'd have to deal with it myself.

  Standing up to leave, we wandered towards a vacant parking lot that stood between the store and a sprawling brick church. The wheels of Megan's bike squeaked as I ambled next to her, my skateboard in hand.

  From the opened church doors, a flood of people emerged. I could hear talking and laughter.

  "Ever been inside that church?" she asked, her gaze following mine.

  "Yeah, just a few weeks ago on Christmas Eve with my Uncle Burt," I answered. My favorite uncle always spent the holidays with us. That night, the sight of the richly-colored stained glass windows and flickering candles had filled me with a warm, happy feeling.

  A gray-haired priest appeared on the front steps.

  "That's Fr. O'Riley," I said. A few snowflakes began sifting down, icy and feather-like against my cheeks. "Dad's talked a lot about his work in the community, helping to improve the housing conditions for the migrant workers. He used to be a carpenter before he went into the priesthood, I guess."

  "Yeah, I've read about him in the paper."

  The priest started walking our way. Was he going to yell at us too? Tell me to take my skateboard and leave?

  "Good day, ladies," he said. I was taken aback by his friendly manner. In fact, he reminded me a lot of Uncle Burt, and I liked that.

  "Hey," we chorused.

  "My name's Fr. O'Riley." He had a round, jolly face and kind blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

  "I met you on Christmas Eve," I said respectfully. After introducing him to Megan, I reminded him of my name.

  "Yes, of course, I remember you. Your father's a mighty good man, my dear. I've been a devoted supporter."

  "Thanks." I had to admit, I couldn't help feeling even more proud of Dad.

  His gaze drifted past us. "I see you girls have been admirin' our recently acquired artwork. Really somethin', isn't it?"

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "Uh-huh, it's awful, all right."

  He shook his head. "I suppose next people will start defacing churches too. Such a pity."

  I couldn't hold back any longer. "Honest, Fr. O'Riley, my friends and I—we're skateboarders—but we didn't do it! I swear!"

  He held up his hand. "Now did I say that? Anyone could be responsible, eh? I have faith in today's young people. It's not right that folks blame our youth for everything that's wrong on this old planet."

  "You really mean that?" I blurted.

  A slow smile crept across his face. "I'm a priest. I can't go about town accusin' folks of something I'm not sure about. And yes, I do have faith in the new generation."

  "But Fr. O'Riley," I asked, "how can we prove to the rest of the town we didn't do it?"

  He ran his hand over his chin and stared at the ground. "Now that's a tough one. You'll have to start in small ways. Little stepping stones."

  "Meaning?" Megan asked.

  He paused, scratching his head. "Meaning perhaps you can start things moving in the right direction. Paint over the graffiti. Clean it up right. The store owner's a busy man, and I know he'd appreciate the help."

  I felt my defenses beginning to melt like the snowflakes striking my warm cheeks.

  "Yes, maybe we can do that. I know my boyfriend, Cam, would want to say yes too."

  With a nod, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card. "The man you need to see is Harry Crosham. He gave me his card yesterday when he was here to inspect the damage."

  I gulped. "Mr. Crosham? The one who owns the hardware store?" Visions of a crabby old man glaring at Angie and me from beneath a dimly-lit porch light marched by me.

  "Right. He's a very successful businessman and owns a lot of property in town. You must call him."

  I wasn't so sure Mr. Crosham would welcome our help as much as the priest had said, but I took the card anyway and stuck it in my pocket.

  "And young ladies . . ."

  Megan and I exchanged anxious glances as we waited for him to continue.

  "Let me know whenever you get started, all right? I'd like to give you and your friends a hand. That is, if you'll let me."

  I broke into a grin. "Sure! Of course, we'll let you." Though it was the dead of winter, I felt as if warm spring sunshine had flooded over me.

  It was obvious Fr. O'Riley was on our side.

  * * *

  "Just think of all the money I've saved!" Angie chirped at me the following evening. We were ambling through the Lakecrest Mall, window shopping, while Mom got a cut and color at the beauty salon.

  I groaned. "Yeah, I bet it's tons more than I've managed to save. Am I ever glad our agreement's finally over." Actually, it'd amazed me she hadn't spent the entire amount by then.

  At least my bribery had worked. Ever since our agreement, whenever Cam called or stopped by, Angie had been the picture of cooperation. But now that Christmas was over, would I have to dream up something new?

  I slanted her a glance. "How much have you saved?"

  "Forty-five dollars and thirty-eight cents," she proclaimed. "Enough to buy lots of earrings."

  "I think Mom and Dad would like it better if you saved your money for something . . ." I hesitated, "Something constructive, as they'd say."

  "What are you saving your money for?" she wanted to know.

  With a sigh, I told her about my plans for a new skateboard. "Thanks to you," I added, "I've a long ways to go."

  We approached the This&That Shop, the place where they sold all sorts of accessories.

  "Oh, please, Jessie! Let's go in there. It won't be long now till I get my ears pierced, and I want to look for a pair of long dangly earrings to go with my new dress."

  I remembered the eclectic assortment we'd looked at earlier in the department store at the end of the mall. Cheesy gold earrings that hung almost to her belly-button, a pair of huge neon yellow earrings that reminded me of two garish light bulbs. What a kid! She was trying so hard to be sophisticated.

  "Okay," I said. "We'll go inside and see what looks good. We have almost an hour till it's time to meet Mom outside the food court, so we've still got some time to kill."

  Soft jazz drifted from the sound system as we strolled inside the store. Clusters of teenage girls hovered over display cases. A few girls about Angie's age were lined up to purchase their treasures.

  It was tempting to tell my sister she was wasting her money, but I knew it was useless. Besides, in my heart of hearts—and I hadn't told my folks yet, not even Cam—I'd been planning on getting a butterfly tattoo on my ankle. My parents would probably say that was a waste of money too.

  We wended our way through the narrow aisles to the earring counter.

  "Look at these!" Angie snatched a pair of diamond-shaped purple earrings and held them up to her face. "What do you think? Do they go with my complexion? Do they match my eyes?"

  I giggled. "Oh, sure. Since when did you sprout purple eyes?"

  She appeared to ignore my teasing. "Too bad Cam doesn't have any younger brothers."

  "Why?" I watched her smile at herself in a nearby three-way mirror.

  "I already told you. I like Cam. But he's too old for me." She paused then flashed me an impish smile. "If he had a brother that was about my age . . ."

  I reached down and ruf
fled her hair. "Sis, you're really something!"

  Chapter Eight

  "Hey, knock it off!" I burst into laughter. "You're plastering me with paint!" Cam looked innocently ahead, dabbing the last few needed strokes of cream-colored paint against the outside south store wall. "Sure, sure. Now why would I do a thing like that?"

  "Just to give me a bad time, that's why," I replied, laughing so hard now my sides hurt. "I hope Mr. Crosham has lots of paint remover," I added, "because I'm a total mess!" I peered down at my smudged hands. Thank goodness, I'd decide to wear one of dad's large flannel shirts over my jeans and sweater. At the last minute, I'd retrieved it from the box of clothing we'd set aside to take to the Goodwill.

  After school the following day, Cam, Megan, and I dashed over to the old store to get started painting again. The other kids said they'd join us later. If we didn't waste time, we'd have a couple of hours of daylight left.

  Though I'd been nervous about approaching Mr. Crosham the day before, he was much nicer than I'd expected. Not only had he provided us with plenty of paint and extra brushes, he'd also offered to pay each of us fifty dollars. Thinking about all the baby-sitting money I'd forked over to my sis, I'd jumped at the opportunity.

  Now as I stroked more paint onto the wall, I caught sight of Fr. O'Riley walking in our direction. I waved, and he waved back. He was dressed in a plaid wool shirt and baggy jeans, and he carried a couple of paint brushes. Once we were face-to-face, I made quick introductions.

  "You kids have saved Harry a lot of work," the priest said. "I know he appreciates that, though he sometimes doesn't show it."

  "Fifty bucks for two hours of work isn't too bad," Cam said. He flicked a water-soaked paint brush in my direction and sent me a disarming smile. "Pretty soon we'll be rolling in big bucks."

  "But that's not all!" I exclaimed. I told Fr. O'Riley about Cam's job at New World Skates, emphasizing what a pro he was. While we were painting and talking, Pete and Andy arrived. Soon Nick and three other skaters I didn't know had joined us too. Everyone was eager to get the job done, and Fr. O'Riley seemed pleased about that.