by Dean, Ali
“Right.”
“Fine,” she says, acting all morose. I think I know her well enough now to recognize she’s putting on a show.
“That’s hardcore,” Ellie exclaims, drawing our attention back to her. “Are you trying to make the Olympics or something?”
My eyebrows rise and I can’t hide my surprise. “You know it’s going to be an Olympic sport? Most people don’t know that.”
“Duh. We’re from southern California, Jordan. That means that even if we don’t skateboard, we know alllll about skateboarding.”
“Think of it like this,” Zora interjects. “Skateboarding is to southern California like hockey is to Canada.”
“Um, no. Not even a little bit.” Lucy sits up straighter, suddenly much more animated. “That would be football. We might not be Texas when it comes to football, but it was still the biggest sport in high school.”
“Fine,” Zora relents easily. “You’re right. But this is aspirational. Like, culturally aspirational for southern California.”
Ellie shakes her head. “That makes no sense.”
“Well, Summerside University is shifting in that direction at least. The surfers and skateboarders have major street cred,” Lucy informs us.
“How do you even know that?” Zora asks.
“People,” Lucy replies. She takes a sip from her cup without elaborating. She’s probably right. I mean, with Riptide only a half-hour bus ride from campus, the college has always attracted skateboarders and surfers. It does have a top football program too though.
Someone’s phone beeps and Ellie groans. “It’s her again.”
“The roommate?” Lucy asks.
“Yes.” Ellie looks at me. “I didn’t get as lucky as Lucy Goosy here did. My roommate is definitely not going to be our people.”
I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help my curiosity. “Why not? How can you tell so fast?”
“You know how some people you meet and you’re like, yup, that’s my person. Some people you meet and you’re like, let’s feel this out, you’re cool but maybe not totally my people. And then there are the Felicity Bernsteins of the world.”
Zora nods somberly beside Ellie and Lucy puts a solemn hand on my knee. “Felicity is not our people.”
“My roomie’s still in the ‘you’re cool but maybe not my soul sister’ zone,” Zora explains.
Ellie glances at her phone again and growls. “We should’ve requested to room together, Zora.”
“But we wanted to make new friends,” Zora reminds her.
“We have Jordan. She’s our soul sister. I can already feel it and I’ve only known her like fifteen minutes.”
I can’t hide my smile. Lucy pats my knee. “You feel it, right? We’re not weirding you out, are we? I mean, we are, but like, in a good way, right?”
I glance over at her and show her my grin. “Yeah, Lucy, I feel it. I’m down being your soul sister.” See? So awkward.
We fist bump. “Good, I’ll let you off the hook but next Saturday, you’re coming out with us. It’s my birthday!”
“Wait, next Saturday’s your birthday?” I ask.
“Yep. Nineteen, baby,” she says proudly.
“No way, next Saturday’s my birthday too,” I tell her.
All three girls are staring at me now, and Ellie murmurs, “I knew it. Totally our soul sister.”
“You’re going to be nineteen too?” Lucy clarifies.
“No, eighteen.”
“Good, I like being the oldest. You’re the baby then.”
“I figured I would be,” I say with a shrug.
It might not be the group of friends I envisioned for myself in college. Not even close. None of them skateboard, to start. But there’s some truth to what they said, because I feel it in my bones. These are my people. They aren’t perfect, but I’m choosing them.
Chapter Three
Jordan
The sun is still rising when I get off the bus the next morning. There’s no one around either, just like I was hoping. Dropping my board on the ground, I’m instantly snapped out of my grogginess as my left foot hits the front and my right kicks forward. Skateboarding is easier than walking at this point, I can barely remember a time when it wasn’t. When I reach the park a minute later, I stop, taking it in. The place is deserted, and it’s breathtaking. My eyes dart over to the half pipe, the huge curved structure intimidating in its emptiness. With the ocean and the sunrise behind it, I can’t help but feel like it’s taunting me, calling out to me.
Ignoring it, I skate into the smaller bowl I started at yesterday, arcing around it as my mind zones out. It’s a luxury to get to space out like this in the park. The one near my house in Connecticut was a third the size of this one, and rarely empty because we didn’t have nearly as many parks around to choose from. Still, I’d wake up early just to get it to myself once in a while.
It’s not that I don’t like people. Hell, most skateboarders seem to enjoy the crowds, especially if it gets people cheering them on. Sometimes that gets me going too, but mostly it’s distracting and annoying. Probably because of the girl factor. Guys either don’t like that I’m better than them and act like assholes, or they give me attention I’m not interested in. Rarely do they want to just be my buddy, skate with me, practice tricks, and hang out. And that’s why I want to find girl skaters to do this with. Or skate solo, that’s fine too.
I skate over to the rails I didn’t get a chance to try out yesterday. It’s always satisfying to slide over them and stick a landing, but never as much of a rush to me as catching air or dropping a vert at high speed. My eyes keep moving to the half pipe. It hasn’t stopped beckoning, and after an hour, I give in. By now, the sun is already cooking the park and the morning chill is gone.
It's one of the largest ramps in the world, and to call it intimidating would be an understatement. By the time I climb the steps to the top, I’m sweating harder than I was from riding. Unzipping my hoodie, I toss it on the platform along with my cell phone. Briefly, I wonder if I should text someone what I’m doing. Just in case I break a bone or something. But what good would that do? Maybe I should wait until someone’s around.
I haven’t let myself look down yet and I turn my back to the vert, taking in the view from up here. There are a few surfers out on the water but the waves aren’t big enough today to attract crowds. A woman is biking on the sidewalk following the shoreline, and a shirtless dude is jogging in the sand. Someone could totally call 911 for me if I crack my head open.
With that comforting thought, I turn around and take a step to the edge. It’s thirty feet down the ramp, followed by a flat section, and then twenty feet up the other half. I remember the first time I tried a half pipe a third this size at the indoor facility over an hour from my parents’ house. I’d gotten dizzy after one slide up and down each side. That was years ago. Now I have better control; my body is used to the motion.
I don’t know how long I stand there, talking myself into it and out of it over and over again. Eventually, I hear more cars pull into the lot across the street, and people holding skateboards get out. If I don’t want an audience, I have to do this now. Otherwise, they’ll be watching me walk back down the steps.
Taking a deep breath, I tilt my board forward and drop in. My stomach flips at the sensation, and I zoom across the flat with such velocity, I almost hit the top of the vert on the other side right from the start. Usually it takes a few slides before I get the momentum going. A grin takes over my face as I crouch low and go for it. I don’t quite hit the lip of the higher wall on the way back up, and it takes a few more pushes before I reach the edge. My stomach spins again as I balance sideways mid-air, kick turn, and dive back down the vert with steady legs.
Holy shit, I totally have this.
Adrenaline pumps through me as I shoot across the flat and up the other side. The structure was designed for speed, and I embrace it as I tap the platform, balancing my weight evenly on the coping for a brief pause
. I can hear my harsh breathing and in that instant, it feels like the entire world stops. It’s electrifying up here.
I go back in, and decide to try for a 360 when I reach the top of the other vert. I’m on fire, and while my legs are burning a little from the strength required to maintain stability at this speed, I’m ready for the challenge. I took the plunge getting in here in the first place, and now that I’m rolling, I don’t want to settle.
A 360 requires catching air, grabbing the board, and spinning a full circle before coming back down. I’ve done it hundreds of times in smaller pipes or bowls, but never on a ramp this long, at such a high speed.
I go for it, but as soon as I’m midair, I second-guess myself. I’ve soared too high, and when my board hits the ramp again, there’s too much momentum. I’m wearing knee pads in anticipation of a fall but my balance is off, my body wobbly. I try to bend my legs and lean back to land on my knees, but the vert is too steep, my speed too high.
I smash to the ground head first. Thank God I’m not one of those lunatics who doesn’t wear a helmet because my head bounces up and down like a ragdoll with the impact.
Falling headfirst is the worst way to go. Being good at falling is key to skateboarding, and usually I manage to do it without major injury. Aside from scrapes and bruises, I’ve only fractured my wrist once in over a decade of riding.
Head first down one of the longest verts in the world? Not cool. Not cool at all.
As I lie there face down, my head reeling, I briefly recognize it was maybe a good thing no one was around to witness this. I just want to lie here without anyone trying to talk to me or move me. No one’s waiting their turn to drop in the pipe so I let my eyes close in an attempt to escape the spinning world in front of me. But closing my eyes makes me dizzy too, and with it comes a rush of nausea.
I groan, and that’s when I feel a hand on my back.
“Hey.” It’s a male voice. Gentle but confident.
“Hi.” I can see two feet in front of me, on their toes like he’s squatting. He’s wearing high top skater sneakers, but they aren’t Vans, or one of the other mainstream skater brands. I have no idea why that’s what I’m focused on, but I do really like his shoes. He has a soothing voice too.
“I saw that fall. It looked like a true face-plant, with your head getting all the impact. Does anything else hurt?”
I think about how the rest of my limbs feel, but the pounding in my head overrides everything else. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m going to turn you over so I can look at where you hit your head.”
A moan of protest escapes my lips. If he moves me, the pain will be worse, and I’ll probably puke.
But he doesn’t listen. One hand goes to my hip and the other my shoulder, as he eases me ever so slowly onto my side. I blink, my stomach rolling with the rest of my body. But the pain doesn’t change, even as my vision continues to spin. He keeps easing me until I’m lying on my back, staring at the cloudless sky. That’s better, actually. I feel a hand at my chin. Rough knuckles brush my collarbone and my eyes dart to the face hovering over mine.
I blink again. And again. Then I close my eyes. No way. There’s no damn way. I hear my helmet unbuckle, and feel a slight release of pressure as it slides off my head.
“No blood. That’s going to be one hell of a bruise though.”
Even his voice is attractive. I mean, I thought I’d imagined that a moment earlier, that it was the head injury in me thinking he had a sexy voice, but no. Now that I’ve seen his face, it makes sense. My head hurts, my vision’s blurry, but I’m not hallucinating. Am I? Beckett Steele was here yesterday. It’s entirely possible he’s here again now. And his fingers are currently running through my hair. My eyes snap open.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
And then I gasp, because holy shit his eyes up close are too much. A vibrant blue that’s nearly cartoonish in its intensity.
His fingers stop moving. “Did I hurt you?”
“Oh, no.” I swallow.
“I’m checking for blood anywhere else. The helmet protected you but that was one hell of a fall. There’s a crack down the middle of your helmet.”
“Really?” I start to move, wanting to see for myself, but I wince as a sharp pain hits between my eyeballs.
Done with his examination, Beckett sits back on his heels and picks up my helmet. “It cracked right down the middle,” he repeats absently.
My throat goes dry at that comment. Had it really been that bad?
A long moment passes, with Beckett roaming his eyes over my body in a clinical way, like he’s checking for damage. I just take him in. He has a tee shirt on with the same logo on the front as the one on his shoes. It’s not tight enough to see his muscles, and I sigh in disappointment. If I hadn’t been so fixated on skateboarding, I might have taken the time to watch him skate shirtless yesterday. Still, the fully-clothed version is a nice distraction from the acute pain in my head.
“Are you here with anyone?” he asks.
His eyes move to mine, and if he felt me staring at him, I don’t really care. I’m sure he’s used to it. And besides, I’ll blame my head injury for anything embarrassing I do or say in his presence.
“No, I came by myself.”
“Well, you shouldn’t drive like this. Calling an ambulance is probably overboard, but you should really go straight to urgent care and get checked out.” He checks his watch. “The one off Floyd Street might be open.”
Beckett leans forward so he’s on his knees, and rests his butt on the back of his feet. He slides a cell out of his pocket and starts moving his fingers around on it, presumably looking up the urgent care.
“I’m good. Really. I don’t need to go in.”
Ignoring me, he swipes a finger over the screen. “It opens at nine. It’s only 8:15 now.”
I’m beginning to feel silly lying here on my back and I move to sit up on my elbows.
Beckett watches me closely. “Can you call someone to pick you up?”
“No, my friends are still asleep, maybe even still drunk,” I add, thinking about how Lucy stumbled in at 3 AM last night. But even in my current state, a tiny smile forms at how easily “friends” rolled off my tongue. I only met two of them last night, but Beckett doesn’t know that. Besides, it’s like Ellie said, instant bond or whatever.
“Come on,” Beckett says, putting his arms out. “I’ll help you off the pipe.”
I did okay leaning up on my elbows, so I give him a little nod and start to sit up further. I’m expecting him to pull me up by my hands or maybe brace me with a hand on my elbow, but instead he reaches underneath my knees with one hand, the other under my back. And Beckett Steele scoops me up. Just like that, I’m in his arms.
My hand goes to his chest on reflex and he glances down at me. “Okay?”
Oh, so now he’s asking permission?
“I should really feel violated that a complete stranger is carrying me right now,” I answer.
The side of his mouth lifts up and it’s the cutest thing ever. “This is an emergency. Firemen carry strangers in emergencies too, you know.”
I sigh with defeat. “And you’re not entirely a stranger. Beckett Steele.”
He shakes his head like me recognizing him isn’t the least bit surprising. Beckett starts moving. “Beck. You can call me Beck. You sound better already. That’s good.”
I feel better already too, but I’m not going to say that yet. I’m enjoying Beck carrying me too much. “Where are you taking me?”
“You can sit in my car for a bit, then I’ll give you a ride.”
“A ride?”
“To urgent care.”
I really don’t want to go to urgent care. Especially when I know what they’ll tell me. It’s just a concussion. My parents will find out since I’m still on their insurance, and they’ll freak. But I’ll play along for now just to be in Beckett Steele’s presence a few more minutes.
“Wait. My skateboar
d.”
He lifts the hand under my legs. “Got it.” Beck looks down at me. “Stop holding your head up, rest it on my shoulder.”
I do as I’m told, and that’s when I realize this is probably all a dream. I mean, I’m in Beckett Steele’s arms, snuggled up to him, and he’s even rescued my skateboard. I hope I never wake up.
Chapter Four
Jordan
If this were really the best dream ever, I wouldn’t have an egg-sized bump protruding from my forehead. I’m going to look awesome for my first day of college classes tomorrow.
I can feel Beck watching me as I wince at my reflection in the mirror. I snap up the sun visor and turn to look behind me. It’s a giant van, nearly a bus, so tall that I could stand up without hitting my head. It kind of looks like one of those tiny homes I’ve seen on HGTV. “What is this thing?” I wonder.
“It’s a Sprinter. I’m on the road a lot so this way I can crash without dealing with hotels. I’m not great about planning ahead. Makes it easier to make last-minute decisions about spending the night.”
My mind instantly wonders about the “spending the night” part.
I take in the back of the van. There’s a single bench seat and behind that a sink, kitchenette, and even a double bed. “This is so cool,” I whisper, not hiding my reverence. From afar, I’ve always thought Beckett Steele was the coolest guy ever. Up close, seeing this tiny glimpse of him in real life, it’s confirmed. He’s my favorite skateboarder of all time. I know I should have a girl skateboarder as my favorite but I’ve never met any famous ones in person like this. I’m sure they’re all dripping with coolness too.
He chuckles when I continue gazing at the back of his van. “I’ve got a Jeep Wrangler I usually use to drive around, but that ride’s pretty skater cliché. I’m glad I had this with me today to impress you.”
My eyes widen as I turn to look at him, reminding myself to move slowly to avoid making my headache worse.
He laughs harder when he sees my expression. “What?” he shrugs, a little sheepish. “You’re a hot chick who knows her way around a skatepark.”
