Skateboard Blues

by Sydell Voeller

  During the next few weekends, every chance we could get, we worked on our half-pipe. Although Cam wasn't there most of the time, I enjoyed hanging with the other skaters. Yet my best time of the day was when Cam finally arrived in the late afternoons. I so admired him. After working his shifts at New World Skates, he never complained.

  Even Mr. Crosham stopped by a time or two. He seemed to enjoy giving us a few pointers, and of course, we promised we'd help him again by painting over the latest graffiti.

  "I'll pay you kids double this time," he'd offered with a hearty chuckle. "After all, if it wasn't for your spotting the suspects, we'd still be at square one."

  The more I got to know the older man, the more I realized how nice he really was. Although he had chased Cam and the other skaters out of his parking lot in the beginning, I now regretted any snap judgments I might have made about him.

  Finally, a week later, good news arrived! Cam received a call from the police department saying they'd tracked down the name of the owner of the white van: a nineteen-year-old kid from Portland. And he wasn't a skateboarder! He and his buddies confessed to all three incidences at the old Safeway. They were arrested and socked with a huge fine, plus one-hundred hours of community service.

  To my relief, there was even a long article about it in the local paper. The piece glowingly praised the skaters for cleaning up the graffiti, quoting Mr. Crosham. It was about time our good deeds went public! I promised myself I'd thank Mr. Crosham for his comments the next time I saw him.

  On Friday after school, Fr. O'Riley called me and asked, "Jessica, dear, can you come over to my office in the church? Soon?"

  "Of course, but what's wrong?" There was no mistaking the concern in his voice.

  "We'll talk about it when you get here. Bring Cam along too, if possible."

  "Sure. He's supposed to stop by any minute now. We'll be right over."

  After Cam arrived, I blurted out Fr. O'Riley's request. "He sounds real worried or upset about something. Says we'll talk about it after we get to his office."

  Cam's face clouded. "Suppose it's something to do with the kids in the white van? Maybe they came back and trashed our half-pipe, just like we were worried might happen."

  My mouth went dry. "I hope not! Come on, the suspense is killing me."

  After leaving Mom a note, we raced across the street to Cam's house and sped off to the church. In minutes we'd arrived.

  "I'm afraid I have unfavorable news," Fr. O'Riley said to us from behind his oversized oak desk. He frowned and little worry-lines wrinkled his brow. "Three days ago I got a call from the bishop of California."

  "A call?" I asked.

  "Yes, the man's name is Bishop Shaw. There's a dire need in the southern farmin' areas to set up migrant camps. How many, I'm not sure, though I hear the situation is critical. Bishop Shaw says he must have someone to fill it immediately. I'm the only one he feels is qualified."

  I gripped the sides of my chair. "You mean to say you're leaving us?"

  His gaze dropped. "I'm afraid so. Next week. I'm goin' to miss this community dreadfully—you kids especially. But I'll only be one state away, you know. I want you to send me an e-mail now and again to let me know how you're gettin' on."

  "We will," Cam said, swallowing repeatedly. He hesitated. "But can't you say no?"

  Fr. O'Riley rearranged a stack of papers on his desk as if pondering what to say next. From the belfry of the church, the chimes struck five. "I'm afraid not. At my ordination, I took solemn vows of obedience. I'm obligated. There's no turning back." His voice broke. "But that's only the first part. I'm afraid there's more bad news."

  "What?" Cam asked, apprehension etched on his face.

  Yes, what? I silently cried. What could be worse than losing Fr. O'Riley?

  The new priest who's takin' my place, Fr. Malcom, is a wonderful man. Dedicated. Reliable. And from the old school, so to speak. I've talked to him about our agreement and the half-pipe we've been buildin'."

  My head whirled. I couldn't bear to hear what was coming . . .

  "Unfortunately, he doesn't agree with me," Fr. O'Riley continued. "He thinks the half-pipe will get in the way, be a nuisance to the parishioners. He's askin' that you take it down, find another place to finish it." He bit his lip. "I'm afraid I couldn't change his mind, no matter how hard I tried. I'm sorry, kids. Dreadfully sorry."

  "That sucks," Cam said.

  I nodded silently.

  "Yeah, it does suck," the priest replied. "I'm sorry. So very sorry."

  Cam took my hand, giving it a quick squeeze. "Don't apologize, Fr. O'Riley. We hate the thought of your leaving, but you're doing the right thing. And for us"—he shrugged—"somehow it will all work out."

  "You're right, young man. It will work out. I know you kids will find a place to skate—a permanent place. And before long, the citizens of Preston, instead of criticizing, will come from miles around to admire your skills." His expectant gaze slid from Cam to me. "You do believe that, eh?"

  "Well, sort of." I twisted the hem of my sweater. "But what makes you so sure?" I couldn't help wondering whether he'd received a private message from God that we weren't privy to.

  His mouth turned up in a half smile. "Remember when I said we older folks must have faith in the new generation? Well, I've got faith in you. You've already taken the first step, my dear, in showin' your willingness to clean up the graffiti, to keep our town a good place to live." He turned to Cam and smiled wider. "I like your industriousness. You kids are the stuff winners are made of. You'll find your way, I know."

  I jumped up from my chair and hugged him. I felt his strong arms wrapped around me, hugging me back. Tears smarted my eyes.

  "Thanks. We're going to miss you, Fr. O'Riley," I murmured. "A lot."

  Chapter Ten

  Before I realized it, Valentine's Day had arrived. Cam surprised me with a big heart-shaped box filled with milk chocolates, and I gave him a homemade card complete with butterflies and hearts. He'd kissed me and said it was the best Valentine card he'd ever received. More than anything, I wanted to believe it. How many other girls had slipped him romantic Valentine messages in the past? It must've been tons.

  I'd also received a lacy red-and-white card from Fr. O'Riley with a note tucked inside. It was the third time I'd heard from him since he'd moved away. With the card he included a detailed sketch that made me laugh. It portrayed an image of him dressed in his black cassock, tearing down a hill on a skateboard.

  "To Jessie, my dear," he wrote. "As always, many thanks for your emails. I think of you kids all the time. My new ministry is working out well. Not only have we nearly completed a large dorm-type facility for the migrant families, we've drawn up blue prints for a mission here. Keep in touch, okay? Give my love to Cam and all your friends."

  As I read his letter, thoughts of our disassembled half-pipe popped into my head. For the past few weeks, we'd been storing it in Cam's backyard. What a waste, I thought gloomily every time I looked at it. Cam worked so hard to earn that money—and he'd paid back his parents every cent. Though I knew he loved his job, it bothered me when I couldn't be with him.

  The following Monday morning as we wandered through the crowded hallway at school towards the cafeteria, I showed him Fr. O'Riley's letter.

  After reading it and admiring the sketch, he laughed as hard as I had when I'd first seen it. "I've been thinking a lot about what the priest told us before he left town," Cam said, sobering a little.

  "About the skate park?"

  "Uh-huh." He narrowed his eyes as if remembering that terrible day we'd learned the priest was leaving. "Fr. O'Riley's right. We've got to show we're willing to work for what we want, that we'll hold up our end of the deal."

  We filed through the salad bar line, heaping our plates with lettuce and an assortment of other veggies.

  "But how?" I asked. The sounds of clanking dishes floated in from the kitchen.

  "By first convincing city hall that the need
for a skate park exists. Then we'll have to draw up a plan, a proposal that'll knock them off their feet." He waved a hand enthusiastically.

  "That sounds like more work than building the half-pipe!" I said.

  "It will be more work, but we can do it. I swear we can."

  As we skirted past Mike and Rocky and sat down at a table, I noticed them staring in our direction. Rocky's laughing dark eyes seemed to mock me.

  I lifted my chin and looked the other way. Their stupid accusations about Cam were wrong, dead wrong. I'd finally come to my senses and realized that. Cam was simply too honest. Too sincere. Too wonderful in every way. He'd never use anybody.

  "You know them?" Cam asked. Obviously he'd never had the good fortune of having any classes with Preston's two top jocks.

  "Sort of. But don't worry, they're definitely not my type."

  "And I'm your type?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

  I tweaked his arm. "What do you think?"

  He shot me an answering grin. Pure joy flowed over me. There'd never be anyone for me but Cam.

  "So back to our proposal," I said. "Let's try to catch Megan and Pete and everyone right after school. We'll do some brainstorming before we put it down on paper."

  "Now you're talking!" Cam's voice rung with approval. He cut open his bagel and began spreading cream cheese on it. "It wouldn't hurt to discuss this with your dad before the meeting. We'll want to make sure there's plenty of room for us on the agenda."

  I nodded in agreement, mentally mapping out the best plan of attack.

  "When are the city council meetings?" Cam asked.

  "Umm...the first Thursday of every month, I think. I'll check with Dad."

  Cam took a big gulp of milk, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Good. That gives us time to get organized. After we meet with the others, would you like to come over to my place so we can nail it all down?" He flashed me a smile. "After all, it's a lot quieter at my house than yours."

  "Sure." I smiled back. "I couldn't agree more."

  * * *

  My breath caught as I walked down the hallway inside Cam's house and paused to peek inside the sunny parlor. It looked like a palace: thick wine-colored Persian rugs, a stately grand piano in the corner, and his mother's collection of intricate-patterned china and hand-carved figurines in a big oak hutch. It was such a contrast to the everyday hodge-podge at my house. "Early Marriage," my mother always referred to it, noting the well-used furniture she and Dad had purchased almost two decades earlier. It's not that we couldn't afford newer stuff; it's just that when Mom gets attached to something, she holds onto it forever.

  "Let's work at the dining room table," Cam said, jolting me out of my thoughts. "I've already set up my laptop there."

  "Where do we start?" I asked a minute later after we'd wandered into the dining room.

  "First sit down!" He chuckled.

  I plopped down in one of the two empty chairs closest to us. He sat, too, and didn't hesitate to reach for my hand. Then he drew me closer and kissed me, slowly and deeply. The thrill that shot through me made my toes curl.

  "Hmmm, actually I think this is where we should start," he murmured, tucking back a lock of my hair behind my ear. "That was nice, Jessie." He pulled back with obvious reluctance.

  "Only problem is, we won't get any work done this way, will we?" I straightened, too, and cleared my throat. Oh, how I wanted to keep kissing him.

  "Unfortunately not." One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Okay, here's the plan," he went on. "Number one, we've got to sort through the results of our brainstorming this afternoon. Decide what to use and what to throw out. Number two will involve a little research."

  I wrinkled my nose. "Research! This is getting to sound disgustingly a lot like that stupid Study Skills class I had to take last year. The one old Mr. Ruskins taught."

  He held up a finger, imitating the teacher's monotonous drone. "Pardon the correction, Jessica, my dear, but the word is teaches. The infamous B.J. Ruskins still teaches his infamous course. You've apparently forgotten I'm his prized student."

  "Okay, okay—teaches!"

  I broke into hysterics. "Oh, Cam, you're too much."

  The corners of his mouth twitched, but he maintained his even gaze. "Now back to our work."

  "Of course. Bring it on!" The mouth-watering fragrance of something baking in the oven drifted from the kitchen. He leaned a little closer, fiddling with his pen. He smelled like fresh air and toothpaste. "Next step, we'll have to appoint committees. One to look into a location, one to determine sources of financing, one to check out stuff like liability insurance and maintenance. You get the idea. In other words, it's going to take a lot of people"

  I groaned. "That's a tall order for sure! But the biggest part is money, right?"

  "Exactly. That'll be everyone's first concern. Where will it come from? The city budget? Fundraisers? Donations from the community?"

  For the next hour or so, Cam and I busied ourselves drawing up plans for committees and decided the best way to get a task force organized. It was mind-boggling!

  Cam's mother appeared carrying a tray filled with brownies and two glasses of milk. "Here's some nourishment for when the going gets rough," she said with a wink, setting the plate between us. Her green eyes, so much like Cam's, smiled down at us. I was glad she hadn't seen us kissing a few minutes earlier—or had she?

  "Thanks, Mom." Cam offered me a brownie, then grabbed a handful for himself. He opened a file on his computer. His brow creased, as if he were deep in thought.

  "So what are you seeing there—?"

  The ringtone from his cell phone cut my question short. He turned his gaze to its display screen. "Ah, I think I'd better take this one." Darting me an apologetic glance, he asked, "You don't mind, do you, Jessie?"

  "Of course not. Go for it!"

  He punched in the "talk" button and got to his feet. I'll only be a minute, he mouthed to me as he started towards his room. I hadn't expected him to leave the room, but it was apparent he'd wanted privacy. Guess I couldn't blame him. I did the same thing, too, especially when Angie was around.

  I sat and waited for a while, biting into another brownie and savoring each rich chocolately mouthful.

  Cam didn't return. I stood up from the table and stretched my muscles. I wandered about the dining room, looking at nothing in particular. What time is it? I wondered, then checked my watch. Nine fifty-five. Pretty soon I'd need to go home . . .

  Unexpectedly, I caught sight of an envelope—an opened envelope—lying on the side table. It was addressed to Cam in delicately flowing long-hand. Huh? An old-fashioned letter! Interesting...Although I knew it wasn't polite to snoop, I couldn't help staring at the return name and address. Mandy Crawford. 8935 Oleander Way, Mission Viejo, California 92691.

  Oh, no! My thoughts raced. I felt as if I might throw up.

  Could he have a girlfriend back in the town where he'd last lived? And that phone call...was the call from this...this Mandy? My throat constricted as tears filled my eyes. I blinked hard, forcing them back. No, I mustn't jump to conclusions. Yet how could I help it?

  I turned to gaze out the window that looked onto the side yard. In the late wintery darkness, a light from the house next door shone dimly, but I couldn't see anyone inside. An odd, lonely feeling stole over me.

  I could barely make out snatches of Cam's conversation, and though I tried not to listen, I did anyway.

  "So when are you coming?" I heard him ask. His voice was filled with eagerness.

  I closed my eyes, wishing I could shut out the vision forming in my mind. A girlfriend. Yes, of course! The hurt was almost more than I could stand.

  "Sorry, Jessie. I didn't mean to take so long."

  I opened my eyes, whirled around, and caught my breath.

  "Oh! Done already? You surprised me." My gaze locked with his. In the semidarkness, I thought I could see his face flush.

  "Like I said, er...I didn't mean to ta
ke so long."

  "No problem." I squared my shoulders, attempting a casual smile. "Where was the call from?" I blurted, then slapped my hand over my mouth.

  Despite my boldness, he didn't hesitate to answer me. "Mission Viejo, California," he said, straight-faced.

  Chapter Eleven

  I wanted to fling something at Cam and run out the front door! Why hadn't I listened to Mike and Rocky in the first place? He really was using me. What a convenient acquaintance I'd been—the mayor's daughter, the perfect kid to know when you wanted to get the job done.

  To make matters worse, he'd had a real girlfriend all along. She'd been waiting for him back home. In just a matter of a few short months, summer vacation would arrive and most likely she would too. Wasn't that what they'd just been talking about?

  I blinked back fresh tears. "Cam, I've got to go home. It's much later than I thought." Grabbing my shoulder bag off the table, I jumped up from my chair.

  "Hey, what's your hurry? We've been so busy, we haven't had a chance to talk much."

  "What's there to talk about?'

  "Well, for starters, my hours at New World Skates have been changed. I'll be putting in some overtime for a while. I want you to know . . ."

  A brush-off! My head throbbed. I might've expected as much. That's it! He's trying to let me down easily.

  I bolted towards the front door.

  "At least let me walk you home." Cam's voice trailed behind me.

  "Don't be silly. I just live across the street."

  "But...but—I always walk you home!"

  As I dashed onto the Easton's front porch, I tried to ignore the hurt look on his face. The cold night air smarted against my flaming cheeks. Cam's footsteps thudded behind me.

  "Look, Jessie, about the overtime. I need the extra money, okay?" Obviously it hadn't occurred to him I'd spotted the letter from Mandy and had connected it with the phone call. He thought the only reason I was angry was because of his job.