Since the general consensus was that we would be super trooping today; I donned denim shorts and a white tank top with a read, graphic tank top over it. I shook my long, blonde hair out and with some mousse, messed it up a little.
I was looking at myself in the mirror, contemplating make-up. Of course I didn’t want to impress anyone – I still didn’t care. But I missed my smoky eyes. I missed playing the girly girl.
Ryan left and I abandoned so much with him.
I swallowed my memories. I picked up my eyeliner and traced my eyes. It looked great. So I added mascara. I was about to go for my eyeshadow when Jarredt yelled,
“Yo Sum! Let’s GO!”
“Coming!” I shouted back.
I grabbed my high-tops and ran down stairs. The boys were waiting in the car. Jarredt, naturally, had shotgun. Also, unsurprisingly, Jason was playing Linkin’ Park. My brother nodded his head to the beat appreciatively.
I put my shoes on in the backseat, I twisted my ankle around, to see if there was any lingering pain. There wasn’t. There hadn’t really been since the day it happened. Looking back at the memory of how everything had suddenly gotten so dramatic, I smiled.
“What’re you so happy about, grumpy?” Jarredt had turned in his seat and was watching me.
“Just keen to kick your ass at skating,” I smirked at my brother.
He rolled his eyes, “As if.”
Of course, I really wasn’t any good at skating. Jarredt had tried to teach me a bunch of times, and I had the basics more or less down, but I wished I could skate like him.
“You guys got skill?” Jason asked, his voice directed at the road in front of him.
My brother’s grin broadened so far across his face. I knew what was coming. He pulled up his shorts’ leg until it showed a long, jagged scar on his left knee. “See this?”
Jason glanced at his knee and then back at the road, “Yeah,” he nodded.
“So, I was in this inter-school skating competition,” his story got better every time he told it. It was really just him and his friends competing against each other at school. “And it got to the final round; just me and this other guy Dan, and up till then I’d mastered all of the tricks I’d done- kick-flip, heel-flip, pop-shove it; and Dan had matched me for all of them, just as good. So then I decided to do a darkside grind, on the railing of about ten steps.” It was eight. “So I’m doing fine, I mounted the rail easy, the grind was sweet, and then I got to the end of the rail. I do my ninety-degree turn, and I start to flip the board, but instead it flips wrong – onto it’s side, and I still follow through with the motion I’m used to – catching the board and turning it before I land, but because it’s positioned wrong, I land and trip on it. I crash knee-first into the edge of a brick-fenced flower garden. My knee cap busts itself way open and there’s blood everywhere.”
The whole time Jason had been smiling knowingly. “So, what you’re trying to tell me is that you don’t have skill?”
My brother was flustered.
“I could do a darkside grind in my sleep.”
“Prove it.” Was my brother’s response.
As if on cue, we arrived at the skate park. It was really just an abandoned parking lot, half undercover, half in the sun. There were impromptu wooden ramps set up, and even if I say so myself, the various set-ups for grinding – the low brick walls, the railings on the steps, were pretty sick.
The walls, floors were all littered with graffiti. There was a bunch of teens mulling around, some skating, some cheering, a few tagging. I noted that there were no girls. There was about fifteen people in all, scattered around the park.
I don’t own a skateboard, and for the moment, wasn’t interested in steeling Jarredt’s board. I leaned against the fence, watching them as they started off their competition with the usual variations of ollie’s, slowly moving ‘till they got to grinding. Jason was good, really good. His balance was uncanny, and his movements fluid.
|Francisco Lachowski||as Ryan|