“We can talk about it more—”
“Talk? Why bother.” He took the script from me. “If it’s crap, it’s crap. Talking’s not gonna change that.”
That was it? We were done? I was kind of surprised he didn’t want to talk about it more. But then he stood up and flung the script as far into the woods as he could. Guess we really were done.
“Forget that noise. Words, man. Who needs ’em. Ammiright?”
“Well, I don’t know, I think words are kind of necessary—”
“Don’t be so literal, mama!” Taylor laughed. “I’m supposed to skate. That’s what I’m here for. And everything else is just noise. Yeah?”
“Sure.”
“Nah-uh.” He shook his head. “You’re not getting it. That’s cuz you’ve got to feel it. Watch me, Red.”
Seamlessly, he leapt off the picnic table, hopped onto his board, and slid down the sloping swimming pool side of the skate park. The other skaters whooped and hollered at him as he joined them in the middle of the park. There was, of course, more of that “bow-ow-ow” howl as they cleared out of the way to watch from the sidelines. Something about the hush that settled over the place as the howls died down made me think that there was something special about the way Taylor skated—there was something almost reverent about that sudden silence. He propelled himself back up a ramp that had a railing next to it, like a staircase with no stairs. On the way down, he somehow leapt up into the air and rode down the rail, his board flying down the metal railing.
“This is grinding, Red!” he shouted, flying off the rail and landing smoothly as he rolled across the asphalt. He propelled himself back up the ramp, then gained speed as he flew off it. “Three-sixty flip!” he called, the board leaving his feet as it spun in a complete circle beneath him. Somehow he found his way and landed neatly at the bottom as the other skaters cheered. It was unbelievable. I’d never seen anything like it. Again and again he flew down the railing or off the ramp, grabbing his board or flipping and spinning it. It was like skater ballet or something. Every move was completely smooth, totally seamless. He made it all look effortless.
One last time, he rolled his way back up the edge of the swimming pool space—it almost looked like he was defying gravity. The skate park erupted in howls and chants of “Bowser! Bowser! Bowser!” He silenced them like a conductor, and one by one they hopped back on their boards and rolled down into the cement expanse.
“Wow.”
“Your turn.” He grinned.
“What?” I shook my head. “No way. This whole thing defies physics. I don’t trust it. It’s crazy.”
“You think this is crazy? You should see the vert skaters.”
“What’s vert?”
“Skaters on a half-pipe. We’re street skaters. Totally different thing.”
“Right.”
This must have been what Jane Goodall felt like among the apes. This was a totally different culture, with its own language and everything. And I felt like I hardly understood any of it.
“Come on. Let’s go.”
“Taylor, I don’t know—”
“C’mon, we’ll just stay on the flat part up here,” he wheedled. “Nothing scary. Don’t be a chicken.”
“I’m not a chicken,” I protested, jumping off the picnic table.
“Then prove it.”
He rolled his skateboard toward me. I stopped it with the heel of my sneaker.
“Prove it or do it, Red.”
I sighed, contemplating the board beneath my foot. “You guys say that a lot.”
“Yeah. Cuz it’s, like, my mantra.”
“What does that even mean? Prove it or do it makes absolutely no sense.”
“It makes all the sense,” Taylor said seriously. “It’s a challenge, aight? Like, if you’re claiming, you have to either prove it or do it. That way you can, like, back your shit up. So you prove you’re not a pusher.”
“Right … but don’t prove it and do it mean exactly the same thing? I don’t understand what the two different options are.”
Taylor stared at me for a long time. I appeared to have stumped him.
“Quit stalling and get on the deck, Red,” he said eventually. And so prove it or do it would remain a completely nonsensical mystery for another day.
“Fine. I’m in. What do I do?”
“Put your right foot back here, by the tail.” I scooted my foot back, perpendicular to the board, right above the wheel part, grateful that Taylor was holding on to me so I wouldn’t fall. “Left foot in front. No goofy-foot bidness up in here.”
“My feet are totally serious right now!”
“Goofy-foot is when you lead with your right foot.”
“Hmph. Sorry, I don’t know the secret language.”
“Relax, Red, relax!” he admonished. “You’ll never be a skater if you keep taking yourself all serious and shit. Now scoot that right foot all the way back to the end of the tail. Keep the left in the middle of the deck.”
“Whoa!” I shifted around, wheels rolling back and forth. “This feels wobbly.” I couldn’t imagine doing anything on this unstable plank of wood, let alone flying into the air off a ramp.
“You’ve got this. Now take your back foot, and push off.”
“Like off the ground?”
“Yeah, like off the ground. They’re not just for standing on, genius.”
“Hey!” I protested.
“C’mon, chicken.” He tickled my sides. I swatted him away. “Push off!”
Gingerly, I took my foot off the back of the board and pushed. The board started rolling. I immediately leapt off.
“Hey, you bailed!” Taylor jogged after the board and scooped it up. “There’s no bailing on the Gangsta Raw Pro Skate Team. That kind of wussy behavior doesn’t win medals.”
“But—but it moved! And it was all wobbly!”
Being on a skateboard was extremely unsettling. I hated the way I felt like I couldn’t control it, like nothing was stable or sturdy. I couldn’t ever imagine being as confident on that board as Taylor clearly was.
“Cass.” He looked right at me, and the way his blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight, I felt like my heart was doing a 360-kickflip mctwist or whatever. “You have got this. Let’s try it one more time.”
So once again, I arranged my feet, put my back foot down, and pushed off. Only this time, I quickly placed my right foot back up on the tail end of the board.
“I’m doing it!” I cried. “Well, kind of.” I was rolling down the sidewalk at the approximate pace of a snail. “How do I stop this thing?”
“Just put your back foot on the tail and lean back.”
“What?” I tried leaning. “It’s not doing anything!”
“Lean back, Red!”
“I’m leaning, I’m leaning!” I tried to lean for all I was worth. “It’s not stopping!”
I simply kept rolling along. What would happen when I ran out of asphalt? I could see the grass getting closer and closer.
But I never found out. Taylor jogged up to meet me and caught me around the waist to bring me to a stop. I rolled right into his arms. Up on the board, we were almost exactly the same height. He kept his arms around my waist, and I knew the unsteady feeling now had nothing to do with the skateboard.
“Maybe stopping will be our next lesson.”
“Maybe. If you think you can get me back up on this thing.”
“It wasn’t a bad first effort, Red. You should be stoked.”
“I should most definitely not be stoked. That was a heinous first effort. I rolled four feet and was unable to come to a complete stop.”
“Gotta start somewhere.” He laughed, and, God, he was just so cute, and here he was with me. With his arms around my waist. There was still a part of me that couldn’t quite believe it. “Are you blushing?” he asked curiously.
“Not blushing,” I muttered. Lying.
“You make me blush, too, Red.”
And then he closed
the space between us and kissed me. I could hear the other skaters hooting and whistling, but I could have cared less. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and Taylor Griffith was kissing me. All was right with the world. But then, at the worst possible moment in the history of moments, my stomach growled. Loudly. Like really loudly. Like space-shuttle-launch loudly.
“Dag, Red, was that your stomach?” He sounded impressed, not horrified, so at least that was something.
“Um. Yes. Yes it was.” Stupid corset messing up my appetite! “Can we go get some ice cream or something?”
“Sounds like I’m gonna have to buy out the whole Bait ’n’ Bite.” I elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m just teasing! Chillax, chillax.”
Hmm. He told me to relax a lot. I was starting to think I just wasn’t a very relaxed person.
“Stay up on that board. You’re gonna skate there. Gotta practice, Red.”
“You want me to travel an actual distance on this thing? We won’t get there for weeks.”
“I’ll tow you there. Just stay steady, and I’ll do all the work.”
“You can tow someone on a skateboard?” I asked as he grabbed my hand and started pulling me along. I wobbled once, then centered myself. We were holding hands! Well, sort of. We were holding hands, but I wasn’t sure if that was because he wanted to hold my hand or because it was integral to the whole towing process. Well, who said it couldn’t be both?
“Hell yeah, you can. You can car tow—”
“Like skateboard behind a car?” I asked, aghast. That sounded suicidal.
“Yeah. Hook up a cable to a car and go. Hella dangerous. Mad fun, though. You can do it on bikes and dogs and stuff, too.”
“Dogs?”
“Big dogs. Not like a Chihuahua. Like sled-dogging but on a skateboard.”
“Crazy.”
We chatted companionably about skateboards and ice cream flavors as we rolled slowly toward the Bait ’n’ Bite. I enjoyed skateboarding a lot more when I wasn’t responsible for actually making myself move.
Of all the rotten timing, just as we reached the Bait ’n’ Bite, the door swung open to reveal … Drew. Of course. I knew there weren’t a lot of places to go in Lake Dunmore, but this was ridiculous. It was like he was everywhere I went! He was still wearing his football jersey and yoga pants ensemble, but there was something different about him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, though.
“Nice outfit, bra,” Taylor sniggered as Drew made his way down the stairs. “Cool pants.”
“My pants are about as ludicrous as yours are,” Drew countered. “I can see your boxers, Marky Mark.”
“I don’t even know who that is, so burn on you.”
“I think that makes the burn on you, actually.”
Wow, that got surprisingly combative faster than I’d expected. I hopped off the skateboard, eager to diffuse the tension and just get rid of Drew so I could get my ice cream. Beard! His beard. That was what looked different.
“What happened to your beard?” I asked.
“This is my Petruchio facial hair.” He rubbed his jaw self-consciously. “Looks weird, doesn’t it?”
“No, it doesn’t, actually, it looks …” Good. It looked really good. Underneath all that lumberjack beard Drew was actually handsome. He now bore a striking resemblance to Ben Affleck’s character in Shakespeare in Love. Not that I would ever tell him that. “Fine.” I settled on. “It’s fine. It’s not so hideous it’ll throw me off or anything.”
“Oh, great,” he said sarcastically. “Because that’s what I was really worried about. How my face made you feel. Never mind the fact that it’s, you know, my face.”
“What’s with the baseball bag, bra?” Taylor interrupted us. “Trying to play a little game? That’s cute, dude. Totally cute.”
“That’s an interesting attitude, coming from someone whose ‘career’”—he air-quoted—“consists of doing tricks on a child’s toy.”
I winced. Things were about to get awkward. Oh, who was I kidding? They were already awkward.
“Child’s toy, huh?” Taylor growled. This was the most heated I’d ever heard him get—a stark departure from his normally chill vibe. “If it’s so easy then let’s see you play, playa.”
Taylor slid the skateboard across the sidewalk. It rolled in a perfectly straight line until coming to a stop at Drew’s feet.
“This is stupid.”
“Stupid easy, right?” Taylor challenged. “Then prove it or do it, son.”
“Fine,” Drew said tersely. “Whatever.” Carefully, he set his baseball bag full of swords on the stairs to the Bait ’n’ Bite, leaning them against the railing. Drew tentatively placed a foot on the board, but somehow the thing flew out from underneath him and he landed flat on his back, like a turtle.
“Yikes.” I cringed. That sounded like it hurt. At least I didn’t hear anything crack. Wincing, Drew slowly started making his way back up to standing.
“Classic!” Taylor cried, resting his hands on his knees, bent over double he was laughing so hard. “Classic, man.” He mimed wiping tears from his eyes. “That was beautiful, son. Way to prove it.”
“Taylor,” I warned, “come on.” I had thought that I would have loved nothing more than to see Drew fall flat on his back. But this wasn’t even remotely satisfying. I just felt bad for him. He looked mortified.
“What’s the problem, Cass?” Taylor seemed confused that I wasn’t laughing. “The pusher schralped his ass like he deserved. Justice is served.”
“I don’t know. He’s just … he’s trying,” I finished lamely. Drew was back up on his feet and, a look of grim determination fixed to his face, he stepped onto the skateboard. Tentatively, he pushed off and started rolling down the sidewalk, wobbling madly, but staying upright.
“You call that trying? My grandma skates better than that!” Taylor called. “Even Cass does!”
“Where does that put me on the suckage scale? Above or below your grandma?” I said, feeling a little offended.
“What? Stop trippin’, Red. I’m just playin’. Just a little talky talk.”
Drew stuck his arms out like a giant bird, fighting for balance. Taylor only laughed harder. Something twinged within me.
“Listen, I have to—I have to go,” I blurted out.
“What do you mean, ‘go’?” Taylor’s brow furrowed. “What about ice cream?”
“I have sparring practice. With Drew.” Drew’s back was to me, but he was more than close enough to hear what I said. He rolled to a halt. “We need to practice our stage combat.”
“With this chode?”
“I am not a—”
“Yes.” I grabbed Drew’s arm and pulled him off the skateboard. “Sorry, Taylor. We have to go rehearse.”
“Now? Seriously?”
“Seriously now.” I reached down and grabbed the bag of swords. “Bye, Taylor. I’ll see you soon. Promise.”
“I’ve heard of playing hard to get, Red, but this is some seriously gnarly shit!”
“Soon, Taylor!” I called over my shoulder. “Soon. Promise!”
I looked back, once. By that point Taylor was just a blondish blur in a black T-shirt leaning against the railing of the Bait ’n’ Bite.
“You know, I didn’t need you to rescue me from your boyfriend,” Drew said as we power-walked into the woods. “I was handling myself just fine.”
“Sure you were.”
“Then what is this about? Finally had enough of that scintillating conversation?”
“No, I just—I just wanted to practice combat, okay?” To tell the truth, I wasn’t even sure why I had left Taylor. It was just like a strange impulse or something. Seeing Drew flopping around like a fish out of water while Taylor cackled had unearthed some deeply buried ember of empathy I hadn’t even known was lurking within me.
“You really like it that much?” Drew seemed surprised.
“Yeah, I do, okay?” I snapped. That much was true, at least. “And you said
I was good. Remember?”
“You are good. You’re crazy, but you’re good.”
“I’d like to see you say that when I’ve got a sword in my hands,” I mock-threatened him.
“That’s true. You are a poking menace.”
“Maybe that should be my superhero name. The Poking Menace!” I declaimed grandly as we made our way back to the combat clearing in the woods.
“Sounds more like a supervillain.”
“Good point. Ah, who am I kidding? With unlimited power, I’d go evil. Absolutely.”
“You’re more self-aware than I’d given you credit for.”
“That’s about as close to a compliment as I’ll ever get from you. So, thank you.”
“Not a compliment, but take it as you will.” Drew set the bag down and pulled out a slender rapier. “Milady.”
“Thanks.” I got into combat stance and thrust back and forth. The sword swished satisfyingly through the air. I leapt forward, stabbing and slashing at imaginary villains.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, coming to a stop. “I just realized you’ve never seen my award-winning forward roll.”
“They do not give out awards for forward rolls.”
“I’m sure they do,” I protested. “At like, gymnastics camps. Or Gymborees or preschools or something. I just don’t technically happen to have one. But I should. That’s how good this forward roll is.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Stand back and watch, smartass.”
“What about the sword?” he asked. “Please don’t impale yourself while executing a mediocre somersault. That would be too embarrassing to explain to the EMT.”
“Mediocre!” I swished the sword through the air with a flourish. “I’d challenge you to a duel, sirrah, if I wasn’t busy preparing to knock your socks off with my exemplary somersault.”
“You can’t just duel free-form in stage combat. Everything has to be choreographed. That’s kind of the whole point.”
“Sheesh, Captain Safety, calm down!” I admonished. “Do you want to see this forward roll or not?”
The Taming of the Drew Page 16
