Snowboard Maverick

by Matt Christopher

  Dennis raised his head to see his mother’s reaction. He couldn’t believe his dad was sticking up for him against his mom. Usually, it was the other way around. Now his mom seemed to be softening a little.

  “Dennis is thirteen now,” his dad went on, putting a hand on his mom’s shoulder and looking at Dennis warmly. “I think he’s mature enough — I hope he is, anyway — to exercise good judgment.”

  That seemed to do the trick. “Well … I suppose you’re right,” Mrs. O’Malley said, smiling at Dennis. “It worries me, though. I guess you’ll always be my baby, no matter what,” she told him.

  Dennis jumped in. “Don’t worry about me, Mom,” he assured her. “I’ll take it real slow — hey, I’m the one who won’t even go skiing anymore, remember?”

  She laughed. “That’s true,” she said. “I’d forgotten that. Maybe you’ll try it out and realize snowboarding’s not for you, either.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Dennis,” his dad said. “If you want to buy yourself a snowboard, it’s all right with me. How ‘bout you, honey?”

  His mom nodded. “I guess so — but if you’re not careful, back it goes.”

  “Gee, that’s great,” Dennis said halfheartedly. “But you see, the thing is, snowboards are expensive — they cost a lot more than skateboards. And I was kind of hoping, since Christmas is coming up…

  “Ah, now I get it,” his dad said, nodding. “Sorry, Dennis, but we’ve already done all our Christmas shopping. The Christmas budget is depleted, and we’re exhausted. If you want it as a gift, you’ll have to wait until the next occasion.”

  “But — but my birthday’s not till September!” Dennis protested. “That’s way too late! I need it now!”

  “Well,” his dad said good-naturedly, “I can understand that, but you’ve got to understand our side, too. Our budget is busted, son, and we’re not about to go running back to a bunch of crowded stores and start returning things so we can afford to buy you a snowboard. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

  “Mom!” Dennis said, appealing to his mother.

  “You heard your dad,” his mom said, shaking her head. “If you want a snowboard that badly, you’ll just have to be patient.”

  Dennis stood up and stormed away from the table. “Thanks a lot,” he said in total frustration. “Sorry I even asked!” He ran up the stairs, locked himself into his room, and threw himself facedown on his bed, close to tears.

  Now what was he going to do?

  5

  All over Moorsville, Christmas was in the air. Downtown, the sounds of music filled the streets, thanks to speakers put up by the local stores. Colored lights blinked on outside nearly every house, and people exchanged friendly greetings whenever they passed each other on the street. Excitement was everywhere.

  But not for Dennis. Now that he knew there wasn’t going to be a snowboard under the tree for him, he couldn’t catch the Christmas spirit. No matter what his parents gave him for the holiday, it wasn’t going to be the one thing he wanted more than any other.

  Dennis wasn’t the type to moan and groan about what was bothering him. He mostly kept things to himself if he wasn’t happy. Not that he didn’t confide in anyone. His dad was a really good listener, and always had something useful to say. And his mom was always sympathetic. Dennis even felt comfortable crying in front of her. As for his friends, he could usually tell Tasha and Robbie what was on his mind.

  But for some reason, this whole thing with the snowboard seemed to be an exception.

  From the moment he reached school Monday morning, things began to go wrong. It was snowing, so he’d taken the school bus, whereas he’d ordinarily have skateboarded the distance, even in the coldest of weather.

  As he hopped off the bus, Dennis felt the snow wetting his socks. That was when he realized that he’d left home wearing low-topped canvas sneakers instead of his winter boots! For the rest of the day, he squidged around the hallways, his feet clammy and cold.

  He had trouble paying attention in his classes, too. Mrs. Gudge in Social Studies got mad at him when, in response to some question she’d asked him, he just stared back at her and said, “Huh?”

  “You’ve been staring out the window, Mr. O’Malley,” she said. Mrs. Gudge was kind of cranky at the best of times, and when she got annoyed, she could be sarcastic. She always called kids by their last names when she got that way. “Is there something fascinating out there you want to tell us about?”

  “No, Mrs. Gudge,” Dennis said miserably, although what was out there was Schoolhouse Hill, now covered with freshly fallen snow.

  “Perhaps you’re hoping for a blizzard, so that school would be cancelled.”

  “No, Mrs. Gudge,” Dennis replied, forced to lie. He looked down at his desk, embarrassed.

  “All right, then,” Mrs. Gudge said with a frown. “Let’s get back to work.”

  His other teachers were nice, but it didn’t matter. Dennis just didn’t have the heart to pay attention. Everyone seemed to have noticed he wasn’t himself.

  Robbie came up to him at lunch. “Hey, Dennis,” he said. “Are you okay? You look like your hamster died or something.”

  “I’m fine,” Dennis said. The last thing he wanted was for Robbie to feel sorry for him. And that’s just what would happen if Robbie knew what was bothering him. So rather than confide in his friend, he bottled up his feelings.

  Robbie opened his mouth incredibly wide, and sunk his braces-covered teeth into an enormous hero sandwich. “Mm-mm-grble-mph,” he said, shrugging.

  Dennis sighed and got up to join the cafeteria line. The food, which was normally halfway decent, looked terrible today. Gummy macaroni and cheese, something called Welsh rarebit, whatever that was, and creamed spinach or brussels sprouts — whichever you thought was less gross. Dennis just bought himself a chocolate milk and decided to skip lunch.

  When he got back to the table, Tasha was there with Robbie, eating a pasta salad her mom had made for her. Dennis suddenly felt hungry. Tasha’s mom made the best food — always totally healthy, but it tasted good anyway.

  “Hi,” Tasha greeted him. “What’s the matter, aren’t you eating lunch?” she asked.

  “Did you check out what they’re serving?” Dennis asked her, rolling his eyes.

  “That bad, huh?” she asked. “Want some of mine? I’m not that hungry anyway.”

  Dennis knew she probably was hungry enough to eat everything her mom had packed her, but Tasha was the kind of person who would give you everything she had. It made her a really super friend, but Dennis didn’t want to take advantage of her good nature.

  “No thanks, I’m not hungry anyway,” he told her, trying not to look at her pasta salad.

  “Robbie says something’s bothering you,” Tasha said, nodding toward Robbie, who was stuffing the last of his hero into his mouth. Robbie sure could eat, for a little skinny short kid. Maybe it was because his mouth could open wider than a snake’s. It was like his jaw was double-jointed or something.

  “Nothing’s bothering me,” Dennis lied, looking away from Tasha’s inquiring gaze. “I’m just … I’m just not feeling well — that’s all.”

  “Oh,” Tasha said, nodding slowly, like she wasn’t sure she believed him. “Okay, if you don’t want to talk about it…”

  “No, seriously,” Dennis insisted. “I’ve got this feeling in the pit of my stomach.” Well, at least that much was true. It was like a hard knot of heartbreak, right below where the two halves of his rib cage met. If he touched himself there, his eyes brimmed over with tears. He’d tried it once on the school bus, and he wasn’t about to risk embarrassing himself again.

  “Maybe you should go see the school nurse,” Robbie suggested before gulping down an entire can of apple juice without coming up for air.

  “I might, if it gets worse,” Dennis said. “It’s the worst snowboard I’ve ever had.”

  “Huh?” Robbie said, blinking.

  “So that’s it!” Ta
sha said.

  “What?” Dennis asked.

  “Didn’t you hear what you just said?” she said.

  “I said it was the worst stomachache I’ve ever had.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Robbie giggled. “You said it was the worst snowboard you ever had!”

  “I did not.”

  “Did, too!”

  “I did?”

  “Yup.” Tasha nodded sympathetically.

  Dennis groaned and buried his head in his hands. “I can’t believe I said that,” he said.

  “It’s okay, Dennis,” Tasha said. “We’re your best friends, remember? You can tell us anything.”

  “Thanks, guys,” Dennis said. “Well, I guess I will tell you, then, since you already kind of know. I want to get a snowboard really bad, but my folks have already done all their Christmas shopping. They said I have to wait for next year!”

  “Oh, no!” Robbie said. “They can’t do that! You need a board now!”

  “Tell me about it,” Dennis groaned. “But I can’t afford one. No way. So I guess I won’t be boarding with you guys this winter.”

  “You can always borrow my board,” Tasha offered. Dennis thanked her, but they both knew it wasn’t realistic. Dennis boarded goofy style. Tasha couldn’t very well have her bindings remounted just for him. After all, it was her board.

  They sat there, unusually silent, for the rest of the lunch period. None of them had any answers, it seemed. Dennis felt better that he’d confided in his friends, but on the other hand, he felt even worse, because not being able to help him had brought them down.

  When he got home that afternoon, he barely said hi to his mom before going up to his room and burying himself in his homework. It wasn’t much fun, but at least it took his mind off things. Unfortunately, less than an hour later, his homework was all done. He needed something else to distract him. So he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, flicking to his favorite sports station.

  Dennis couldn’t believe it. The screen was filled with snowboarders! It was the Rad Sports Show, a weekly documentary, and this week, they were featuring some of the world’s best snowboarders, racing down impossibly steep packed-powder slopes, doing rad stunts on the half-pipes.

  Dennis sat there, hypnotized. For the moment, he had forgotten about his miserable predicament. In his mind, he was out on the slopes, his snowboard strapped to his feet, scooting down that open-topped half-pipe of snow, doing all the impossible stunts with the best of them — tricks he already knew how to do on a skateboard.

  Dennis had felt this way once before, years back, when he’d fallen in love with skateboarding. That year, he’d begged his parents for a board of his own,. and when his birthday came, they’d given him Flash.

  But he knew this time would be different. There would be no snowboard for him on Friday morning, when the family opened their presents. He would spend the whole winter watching on the sidelines while all his friends went snowboarding.

  When the show was over, he started channel surfing, but wherever he looked, Dennis saw snowboards. He kept running into advertisements for Ford’s Mountain, showing happy snowboarders coasting down the slopes, and ads for ski supply stores selling awesome-looking snowboards. It was like he was cursed.

  Finally he couldn’t take it anymore and shut off the TV. Anyway, he was starving, not having eaten lunch. He spent dinner eating, not talking, sharing his feelings with no one.

  The entire week went on in much the same way, except that Dennis felt worse and worse as Christmas got nearer and nearer. On Thursday afternoon, when school let out for the holidays, Tasha asked him if he wanted to join her and Robbie — they were going to run home for their snowboards and practice on Schoolhouse Hill.

  Dennis sighed and turned her down, saying he still wasn’t feeling well. “Besides, I’ve got to go buy you and Robbie your Christmas presents. I still haven’t picked them out.”

  “Oh,” Tasha said, looking down at the floor. “Listen, Dennis, you don’t have to buy us anything.”

  “Of course I do,” he replied, not understanding her attitude. “Anyway, I want to. You’re my best friends. It’d be pretty strange if Christmas came and I didn’t give you anything.”

  “Um, I guess I should warn you,” Tasha said. She heaved a big sigh. “Robbie and I are kind of broke this year, and… well, we didn’t get you anything. So you really don’t have to get us presents.”

  Dennis was stunned. He and Robbie and Tasha had always given each other small presents in the past. It didn’t hurt his feelings or anything, but he felt bad that they were so broke. He guessed they must have spent all their money on presents for their families or on snowboarding equipment.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” he told Tasha. “I want to get you guys something anyway. You don’t have to buy me a present. You’re still my friends, and I know you would have gotten me something if you could have.” The two of them parted, and Dennis knew she was feeling as bad as he was.

  Later, after a quick trip to the music store, where he bought them each a CD, Dennis skateboarded back over to Schoolhouse Hill and spent the better part of an hour watching from a distance as Tasha, Robbie, and about a million other kids did what he would spend the whole winter not doing — having fun. Snowboarding.

  On Christmas Eve, things actually began to look up. That morning, Dennis had made himself a promise that he wasn’t going to let his disappointment stand in the way of having a good Christmas. After all, his parents had probably gone and spent a lot of money and time and care on buying him several other presents. Most of the time, the things they got him were pretty cool.

  Besides, Dennis was old enough to understand that Christmas wasn’t just about getting gifts. It was about being kind to others and spreading joy. In fact, weeks ago, he had gone out and bought presents for his parents (photo albums he’d filled up himself with favorite pictures and original captions), for baby Elizabeth (a little teddy bear), and for Felix (a rawhide bone).

  By dinnertime, Dennis had forgotten how miserable he had felt watching the other kids snow-boarding. The smells of cooking wafting in from the kitchen, the fully lit and trimmed tree, his dad coming home from work, carrying yet another shopping bag— all these things cheered Dennis up considerably.

  The meal was fantastic. Dennis felt grateful that both his mom and his dad were such good cooks. He knew kids who wouldn’t touch their parents’ cooking.

  Then, afterward, they had hot cocoa in front of the tree, and everybody, according to O’Malley family tradition, got to open one present. The rest would have to wait till morning.

  Dennis gave each of his parents their photo albums, which were a big hit. So was little Elizabeth’s teddy bear. She played with it, trying to eat it, for the next half hour, while the rest of them looked over every treasured photograph, and every funny or heartwarming caption. Dennis felt proud of himself, and he caught his parents exchanging a tender glance that meant “Isn’t our son wonderful?”

  His own gift was a book. Not the kind where you read a story — the kind you find on coffee tables: big, with glossy photos of neat stuff. His had pictures of scenic America. Dennis always loved traveling with his family to different places in the U.S., and this book gave him lots of ideas for where to go.

  When he went to bed that night, he took his new book with him. A gift like this showed how well his parents knew what he liked. Maybe if he had asked for a snowboard sooner, they would have gotten him one.

  But they hadn’t known in time, had they?

  On Christmas morning, the sun came through the window and woke Dennis with its golden warmth. He scooted down the hallway, knocking on his parents’ bedroom door to wake them up. Something told him …

  Maybe it was just the Christmas spirit, but he felt, deep inside, that somehow, his parents had gotten him that snowboard after all. He didn’t know why he felt that way — he just did.

  His mom and dad kept looking at each other and smiling secret smiles over breakfast. That
made Dennis feel even more sure he was right. Of course, they could be smiling over something else, some other gift they were looking forward to giving him… .

  Finally, breakfast was over, and the family gathered once again in the living room. Dennis had given out his presents already, so his parents did all the giving. Actually not quite all — there were sweat suits and sports jerseys from his grandparents in Florida and California, a subscription to Sports Mania magazine from his aunt Mildred and uncle Jack in South Carolina (they gave him the same thing every year, and that was all right with Dennis), and even a box of chocolates for him from baby Elizabeth (his mom and dad told him she’d asked them to buy it for him).

  Dennis’s presents from his parents included a remote-controlled motorcycle, a kit for making paper airplanes, a set of art materials, and some other, smaller things, too —some books and a CD or two.

  But no snowboard. It suddenly, finally, sank in that he had been wrong about his feeling. He had opened up his last gift, and there were no more to come.

  With a deep sigh, he got up, trying not to show his disappointment. “I guess I’ll go upstairs and look at my new books,” he said, grabbing them and heading for the hallway. “Thanks again for everything, Mom and Dad. The presents are really cool.”

  He was halfway up the stairs when he heard his father’s voice.

  “Oh, Dennis! Come on back down here — there’s one more present we forgot to give you.”

  Dennis could hear the blood pounding in his ears as he jumped all the way back down the steps in a single bound. He slid on his slippers right into the living room, and there were his mom and dad, holding a big, long, gift-wrapped package between them.

  “Just a little token of our love,” his mom said, giving his dad a wink. “Tasha and Robbie chipped in on it, too.”

  Dennis stepped forward, holding his breath, and took it from them. It was heavy — just the right weight…

  “Well, aren’t you going to open it?” his dad asked.

  Dennis tore open the paper, and there it was — sparkling, metallic blue on top, with yellow lightning bolts, and the word Gizmo in the center.