Powerslide (2 page)

He skated slowly, did a quick blunt to fakie on the coping, rolled across the flat and back up the other side. There was a collective moan. He had already pulled this move earlier, and it was obvious why he was doing it again. A blunt to fakie, which is when you hit the coping and stop before dropping back into the pipe backward, absolutely kills your speed. You have to pump like hell in order to gain enough speed to hit the coping on the other side, never mind launch. There was no way to do anything other than a simple 180° after a blunt to fakie.

I had to though. I had to figure out something to do on the other wall. Something big.

I dropped in, did the blunt to fakie, spun around on the flat, then shot up the other wall. I didn't have much speed when I hit the coping, so I popped my front foot off, slammed it down and launched into the air. Once I was airborne, I grabbed the front of the board and put my feet on the tail, doing an abrupt but clean rocket air. As I slid my foot back to the front of the board, I turned quickly so I wouldn't land backward. I came smoothly down on the vert before powersliding to a stop on the flat.

“A no comply!” Goat yelled. “Is that the best you can do?”

“It was a no comply to a 180° rocket air, Goat.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He shook his head as though all of this was suddenly beneath him.

I wasn't sure if he could do a no comply. I had never seen him do one before. But I spent as little time with Goat as possible.

He dropped in, shot up the far wall and took his front foot off the board too late. He missed the coping and was suspended in the air for a moment before his board kicked out from beneath him. For some reason, he leaned forward. Unfortunately, the board landed tail down on the deck and stuck straight up. When gravity got ahold of Goat, his face was the first thing to come in contact with the tip of the board. There was a flash of blood, and he crumpled to one side before sliding down the ramp.

I was the first to reach him. He looked groggy, but I didn't think he had lost consciousness. His nose was bleeding heavily, leaving a big red puddle on the ramp.

“You all right, Goat?” I asked. He looked up at me. I swear his eyes were spinning in his head.

“Just do it,” he said, spitting out some blood.

“Do what?”

“The trick. Give me the E.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but his brain had been banged around.

“No worries, Goat. We can call it even.”

One of Goat's friends pulled him to his feet. “Do it, man. Finish the stupid game,” Goat said. He looked as if he was going to swing his skateboard at me.

I clambered up the wall, dropped in, shot past the crowd that had formed on the flat, did as unimpressive a no comply to 180° rocket air as possible, landed and steered off the ramp.

Goat's friends had circled him and were giving me evil glares as they helped him off the ramp. When they walked past me, Goat stopped. He gingerly touched his nose and said, “Next time we play S.K.A.T.E. in a street park.” He spit more blood on the ground and turned to walk back to his car. He got about two steps before he was engulfed by a crowd of girls. They all had pieces of paper and Sharpies in their hands, as well as a look in their eyes as if someone was handing out free puppies. Goat looked confused as he pushed through them. I turned around to find Jack behind me, and it suddenly made sense.

Jack's floppy hair blew in the breeze. His eyes were hidden behind huge aviator glasses, but their deep blueness was legendary. He took a piece of paper from one of the girls and quickly scribbled his signature on it. “Not bad,” he said to me.

I shrugged. “Thanks.”

“Do you think you can teach me how to do all that in two weeks?”

“I could probably get you to the point where you can drop in without breaking anything,” I said.

He laughed. “Cool. I'll have you to do the stunt-double work for the rest, right?”

“Exactly,” I said.

He took another piece of paper from a girl, scribbled on it and handed it back. “Listen,” Jack said, looking over at me as a girl handed him her backpack to sign. “I have to go meet some people.” He nodded to the girl when she thanked him and said how much she loved his movies. He scribbled across another piece of paper before holding his hand up. “Sorry, everyone. I have to get going.” There was a collective moan. He stepped in front of me and pushed his sunglasses up on his head. “But I want to have a chat,” he said. “Can we meet up later?”

“Sure,” I said. “Just give me a call.” He shook my hand and pushed through the crowd to his car. Everyone watched him go. Once he pulled away, the park filled with sighs and “Oh my gods” and “He's soooo cute.”

I wasn't sure what to think of Jack Coagen. I had seen him act in one film and had not been impressed. But I wasn't a thirteen-year-old girl. He seemed nice enough, but you never know. His job, after all, was to pretend to be someone he wasn't. I reminded myself that working with Jack Coagen was an opportunity to make money skateboarding. I couldn't think of anything better, or anything I wanted more.

chapter three

I didn't hear from Jack until ten o'clock that night. I had given up on him and was heading out the door when he finally called. I decided to keep him waiting and went to pick up my friend, Sara Finlay, first. Sara is the best female skater in town. Actually, she's one of the best skaters in town, period. We had been hanging out together for the past year, mostly at the half-pipe. Tonight, though, she had asked if she could come to the beach bonfire with me. Most of my other friends were out of town, looking at apartments or moving into college residences. This was likely to be one of the final beach parties of the year.

“Sorry about leaving today,” Jack said, when we picked him up at his hotel.

“That's all right,” I said. “It was kind of hectic anyway.”

Jack was staying at the new Sheridan. I could remember a time when there was only one hotel in town, a mom-and-pop place off the highway called The Dolphin. But over the years, as people inland and farther up the coast moved toward the sunshine and sea, my little town became a mid-sized city. Which, in a lot of ways, was all right. At least we now have a big movie theater complex, more than one mall and, most importantly, a full-sized skate park.

During the summer, the cottages and oceanfront hotels are packed with people who come to spend their holidays on sunny beaches. But while the summers are hot, the winters are cool. It gets cold enough to clear the town of summer vacationers.

Jack settled into the backseat of my bright red VW Jetta. He looked around at the messy interior as if he had somehow landed on the moon. “Don't get me wrong. I appreciate my fans,” he said. “I just get tired of signing my name all the time. I can only take so much of it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I bet.”

Sara spun around in her seat and introduced herself. “I won't ask for your autograph,” she said.

“You don't like my movies?” Jack said with a smirk.

Sara glanced at me, then back at Jack. “I've never actually seen one,” she said. “Don't be offended or anything. I don't watch many movies.”

Jack shrugged. “No offense taken.”

I looked in the rearview mirror. Jack was stretched out on the backseat as though he owned it. He flipped his hand in front of him in a dismissive manner. “I'm done with kid movies anyway,” he said. “It's time to move to the big time. Can't be a kid forever, right?”

“Right,” I said.

The flicker of the bonfire's flames was visible in the distance. Open fires on any of the nearby beaches are banned, so normally, beach parties are low-key. If the police find out about them, they rush in and grab whoever they can for underage drinking, public disturbance or whatever other charges they feel like laying.

The Killers' “All These Things I've Done” was playing on someone's iPod speakers near the fire. Its thumping bass line grew louder as we approached. About fifty people gathered around the fire on lawn chairs or leaned against logs.

There was ample booze around, but I don't drink. There's no deep dark reason behind it. I simply don't like the way it makes me feel.

Sean Ragnitz and his buddy Jaden Lairson were set up in lawn chairs, with a cooler between them, selling single bottles of Budweiser to underage drinkers. Everyone pretended to enjoy drinking. Soon enough, though, the alcohol would begin to affect them, and moods would swing unpredictably. Which was always an indication it was time to go.

“Case!” I turned to find Ian Holmes waving at me from his perch on a log. He was about five feet from the fire, and his pale face glowed.

“What's up, Ian?” I said. The three of us walked over to his perch.

“Drink?” he said, raising a bottle.

“Nah, I'm good,” I said.

“Yo, I hear you brought out the worst in Goat today.” Ian was one of those people who always knew what was going on. He was a hub of information and rumor.

“He bailed, that's all,” I said.

“Any hard feelings there?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Why?”

“Because he's over there, and he's been asking about you.”

I looked across the fire and spotted Goat standing with his back to me. He was with the rest of his crew, passing a bottle around. Their voices were louder than necessary, and apparently everything they said was the funniest joke ever.

“How long have they been drinking?” I asked. I felt a little shiver down my spine.

“They were here before the fire got lit, man. I think they were here before the sun went down.”

“It was a game of S.K.A.T.E.,” I said.

Ian nodded. “Good, good.” He gave my leg a tap with his fist. “Goat didn't sound hostile or anything. But, you know, if something riles up, I'm here for you, man.”

And he would be. Ian was the kind of guy that would always have your back.

“Cool,” I said. It was well past the time a party this size was going to remain a secret. Someone turned up the music, and Jack Johnson's “If I Had Eyes” rolled out over the sand.

chapter four

We found some space on a log and sat down to enjoy the party while it lasted. Three senior girls came over and talked to Sara and me, but they all kept glancing at Jack. I introduced everyone. Jack was more interested in the senior girls than he had been with the tweeners at the half-pipe earlier, and I could see why. Megan Paterson, Nichole McGill, Rebecca Vlas— they were all major hotties.

I was talking with Rebecca when Danny McNaughton stepped in front of us and spit on the ground. I looked at his giant bare arms. I had only ever seen McNaughton in something other than long shorts and a white undershirt once, at a funeral for a classmate who died in a Sea-Doo accident.

“What's going on over here?” McNaughton said, resting a hand on Rebecca's shoulder. She cringed and shifted away. He looked down at Jack. “Oh, Teen Beat is here. That's what all the commotion's about. How's it going, Teen Beat?”

“Do I know you?” Jack said.

“This is Danny McNaughton,” I said. Rebecca managed to duck under McNaughton's arm and disappear into the crowd.

“That's Mr. McNaughton to you, Finnegan.”

“All right,” Jack said, before turning back to Megan.

“Yo, Teen Beat,” McNaughton said, moving over to introduce Goat. “My friend Fraser, Goat, has something to discuss.”

“With you and with Head Case, actually,” Goat said, leaning toward us.

McNaughton turned and clapped his hands. “Hey, shut that music down,” he yelled. “Everyone, listen up here.” The music was silenced and conversations dwindled.

“Jack, I hear you're a decent guy. I'm a decent guy too,” Goat said. He had a disgustingly sweet, fake smile on his face. “I want to put a little proposition forward. I know you've hired Head Case to train you in the ways of skateboarding and be your stunt double, but I think you're missing an opportunity here.”

“Am I?” Jack asked.

“Your agent, or whoever signed Head Case up, didn't look deeply enough into the local skate community. I would make a better trainer and stunt double. And I can prove it.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack said. A little smile had settled on his face. He stood up and brushed sand off his pants. “This sounds interesting. What's your plan?”

Goat turned to me. “You got me today, Head Case. I'll give you that. But overall, I'm a better skater.”

“Whatever, Goat,” I said, feeling as if everyone was watching us—because everyone was.

“Okay, okay. You might not think so. I can understand that. So here's what I propose. A contest. We'll cover
all
kinds of skateboarding: street, vert, everything. We'll start tomorrow with a street competition. And, to be fair, I say we let Jack be the judge.”

Jack was staring at Goat. His eyes narrowed, and he started nodding his head. “That could almost make this place interesting,” Jack said. “What do you think, Casey?”

“I think this place is interesting enough as it is,” I said.

“Yeah, but it couldn't hurt, could it?” Jack put his hand on my shoulder. “I could learn a lot from watching you guys. Plus, this town is so dead, it needs something to liven it up, or I'm going to die of boredom.”

“I think your time would be better spent practicing,” I said.

“I only need to learn how to push around a little. Maybe drop in on a ramp. No big deal. What I really need for this part is to
understand
skateboarding.”

“I can teach you to drop in and stuff,” Goat said. “No problem. But yeah, skateboarding isn't only about pushing around. It's a culture.”

“As long as Casey is up to it, I think a contest is a great idea,” said Jack. “And nothing with Casey is nailed down yet.”

Goat beamed. “What do you say, Head Case?”

I thought it was the dumbest idea I had ever heard. I thought it was stupid and probably dangerous. I also thought there was no way for me to say no. Jack wanted some excitement. If I said no to the contest, he would dump me and hire Goat instead. I was stuck.