Chapter Fourteen
Second Thoughts
Ian
I wake up to a ceiling suspiciously painted a different color than my own.
Mia sighs in her sleep next to me, and I’m content just to lie here for a little while and watch her beautiful body rise and fall with every breath.
It’s been about a week since that night at the skate park, and we haven’t broken up again, yet. Technically, we never said the words, “Let’s get back together,” either, but given the fact that we’re both naked in her bed, in her dad’s house right now, I’d say that’s pretty much where we are.
Mia takes a deep breath and her eyes flutter open.
“Good morning,” I say and kiss her forehead. “Are we still dating?”
“I’ve never liked that term,” she says. “Can’t we just say we’re two people who like each other enough to stay naked a lot?”
I chuckle, saying, “That’s fine by me.”
“Today’s the big day,” I say. “Well, not the big day so much as the public preview of how the big day is likely to go.”
“Yeah,” she moans and turns over onto her front, propping her head up with one of her arms as she looks at me. “Are you stressed about it?” she asks.
“I wouldn’t say I’m stressed so much as I’m terrified,” I answer, “but at least I’ll know whether it’s going to be worth the humiliation to go to the Midwest Competition.”
“You’re still thinking of backing out of it?” she asks.
“Not really,” I tell her. “I think just knowing that I can drop in is enough, you know. Once I actually did it, I don’t even know what the problem was.”
“You’d convinced yourself you couldn’t do it,” she says. “I just helped convince you otherwise.”
“You’re really going to take credit for everything on this one, aren’t you?” I ask.
She purses her lips and looks up, saying, “Yeah, I think I’ve pretty well earned it. After all, I’m the one that got you to stop trying to kill the concrete with your face.”
“That’s good,” I snicker, “that’s a good one, really. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the hours I spent on top of that stupid wall going in time after time, knowing there was a good possibility that I’d end up scraped, bruised, bloody or all of the above. It was all you.”
“I’m glad you’re finally coming to realize that,” she says and grins wide as she lifts herself to her hands and knees and kisses my mouth.
“Are you still giving me a ride to the demo?” I ask between kisses.
“I was thinking about giving you a ride before the demo,” she answers, smiling and kissing me again.
I brush her hair behind her ear in my habitual way, and I’m just hoping I can still skate after she’s through with me. Ever since we went from off to on to off to on again, she’s been particularly enthusiastic when it comes to the bedroom.
“Are we going to have time?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Exhibition doesn’t start until four, and it’s not that far away. I think if we leave by three, we should be there in plenty of time.”
“That doesn’t give you a lot of warm up, though,” she says. “Are you good with the course?”
“Never ridden it,” I tell her.
She’s out of bed and looking for her clothes, and it must be stopped.
“I’ve got the layout in my head,” I tell her. “I never show up early. When I saw you at the competition last time, I’d just gotten there. To be honest, I’m kind of surprised they still let me ride.”
“Wait, you missed a round and still won?” I ask.
“You were there, you didn’t notice?” he asks.
It helps that they dropped the lowest and highest scores in that particular competition, but I’m happy just letting her think I am a god of the board.
Of course, she knows better.
“Still,” she says, “we should at least make sure we have time to get in and everything. Come on,” she says, tossing me my pants. “Let’s get going.”
“It’s just a demo,” I tell her. “The only reason they even have judges is because the guy who organizes it likes to know who to tap for promo shots for the next event. I’m telling you, I never show up early. If I don’t get there just in time to skate, I start getting into my head and that’s when I start to have problems. Trust me, coming back to bed with that sexy naked body of yours is actually going to help.”
She puts her palm to her forehead and shakes her head. “I’m dating a thirteen-year-old,” she groans.
I lift the covers and act like I’m checking the size of my cock before looking back at her, saying, “Nope. I’d say I’m pretty full grown.”
“I’m talking about your brain,” she smirks, “not your dick.”
“All right,” I tell her. “If you’re not into it, you’re not into it.”
I get out of bed, naked, and I decide to milk the situation a little by stretching really big, letting my morning wood stick out even more prominently than it already was.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“What?” I ask. “I’m just stretching.”
“Yeah, you’ve been stretching for a little while there, big guy,” she says.
I look down and then over at her, a big smile coming over my face. “Hey, thanks for noticing.”
“Oh god,” she says with a laugh. “Put that thing away. If you don’t want to get to the demo early, the least we can do is head to the skate park so you can get warmed up.”
“Nope,” he says, “gotta go in cold. I mean, I stretch and everything beforehand, but yeah, my feet don’t touch the board until I’m taking my first run.”
She’s going through her drawers looking for clothes, but she stops. “You really have it all in your head?” she asks.
“I don’t have a photographic memory or anything,” I tell her, “but I have a good idea about what’s there and where it is. I don’t like to confront the finer details before that first run. That’s how I keep an edge in street competitions. I practice some things more than others, so I have quick go-tos when it comes time to take a run, but I never have anything set in stone. It keeps me on my feet and makes it a lot harder for me to be boring.”
“That’s pretty impressive,” she says. “I’m still pretty well convinced that you’re full of shit and you’re just trying to sneak in another tumble before we have to go, but still.”
“All right,” I say, bending down to grab my shirt off the floor. I put it on, my slowly fading erection still the most noticeable part of my general appearance. “Tumble?” I ask with a chuckle. “I love when you talk dirty to me.” I take a few steps toward Mia’s window and try to see the driveway, but my view is blocked. “Your dad’s still gone, right?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “He should be.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” I tell her and finally grab my pants off of the bed where I left them. I’ve even got them buttoned and zipped when Mia comes over and kisses me on the lips again, resting her arms on my shoulders.
At first, it feels like a, “Sorry, bud, it ain’t gonna happen,” thing, but her hands are moving to the top of my pants and she’s unzipping my zipper.
“What ya doin’?” I ask as she reaches through the gap in the front of my pants and persuades my member through it.
She’s gripping me with a firm, but comfortable touch and her cheeks are a little red.
“You forgot something,” she says, and while her statement is more a non-sequitur than anything, I bend down and kiss her again as her hand starts to stroke my growing shaft.
She puts her free hand around my neck and kisses me back, her tongue and mine massaging one another as we breathe each other in.
I start to pull my shirt back off, but she pulls her head away and whispers, “Uh-uh. Leave it on. We’ve got to be quick. We’ve got things to do.”
She’s in her shirt and panties, and as much as I don’t like that “we’ve got to be quick,” I’m more than happy to take what I can get.
Mia pulls me a little closer, and my hands move over her body, one settling around her shoulders while the other slips between her legs.
“Damn,” I whisper as I feel the hot wetness of her.
“Come on,” she says. “We’ve got to hurry.”
With that, she lets go of me and I let go of her. She opens her bottom drawer and pulls out the folded pair of pants she hides her condoms inside, pulling one out of the box before handing it to me.
“We’ve learned that when you get out of your head, you can do things you never thought you could do. Open this,” she says and hands me the condom.
“All right,” I tell her, “but if you run out of natural lubrication before I get this thing open, we’re both going to be pretty upset about it.”
“Yeah,” she says. “So hurry.”
I take a quick look at the condom wrapper and easily open it.
“What the hell was that?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her, “I’ve got to level with you: These things are really easy to open.”
“You are such a jerk,” she says, taking the now open condom wrapper out of my hand, removing the condom and replacing the wrapper back between my fingers. “But we don’t have time for me to yell at you right now for it,” she says and slides the condom onto me.
“I’m glad to see you’re taking things so well in stride,” I tell her.
“I’m just really horny,” she says. “You’re not off the hook for anything, but for right now, I want to feel you inside me and I want you to make me come. After that, I can reconsider being mad at you.”
“Maybe I’ll just wait then,” I tell her. “If making you come is going to give you permission to be angry at me, I don’t really see my motivation here.”
“Yeah,” she says, putting her lips close to my ear, “all that’s going to do is get me mad a lot sooner.”
“Fair enough,” I laugh, and she giggles as she grabs my wrist, guiding my hand between her legs.
Mia’s black hair hangs as she throws her head back when my fingers reach her center. She’s slick to the touch, and I kiss her lips before sliding two fingers inside her.
“Whoa,” she titters and I pull my hand back.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“Fine,” she laughs. “I just wasn’t expecting the second one. Ya kind of caught me by surprise there.”
I smile and kiss her forehead. “Sorry about that,” I tell her.
“Oh no,” she says, shaking her head. “It was nice. I just didn’t know it was coming.”
She grabs my hand and puts it back where it was.
“Where were we?” she asks.
She lets go of my cock and wraps her arms around my neck as I first slide one, and then another finger into her. Now that she’s expecting it, her muscles tense and she takes in a deep breath, her eyes closed.
Now, with the condom on and both of us primed, I put both my hands around Mia’s back and pull her close, walking slowly backward toward the bed.
I reach the edge and sit down. The plan was to lie down, but Mia climbs on top of me and puts her hands on my shoulders, encouraging me to stay in a sitting position.
She presses her body against mine and reaches down between her legs, grabbing my cock from between mine and setting my tip against her dripping gap.
I put my arms behind myself and lean back a little, aiding the process as she lowers herself onto me, bit by bit, until I’m in her down to my base.
Mia rocks her hips as she leans back, and I watch her supple breasts pulse as she rides me harder now.
“We do have to be quick,” she says in a whisper so near silent that I have to strain to hear her.
With one hand, I pull the front of her shirt down, securing it beneath her breasts. Putting both arms around her now, I settle my hands on her lower back, supporting her as I lean forward to kiss her soft mounds.
Her skin grows even hotter in my mouth, and the springs in her mattress are really starting to creak.
I just hope her dad’s really not home. He seemed like a peaceful kind of guy, but walking in on something like this has persuaded a lot of otherwise gentle souls to perform some pretty heinous acts.
I really can’t think about that now, though. Mia said we had to be quick and from the tempo and depth of her breathing and the eagerness with which she’s riding me, she’s not too far from done, and I don’t want to go to this demo all backed up.
Sure, I will if I have to, but it just makes things that much more difficult out on the pavement.
“Oh my god,” she moans, bringing me back to the moment.
“Are you close?” I ask, kissing between her breasts before leaning back again.
“Don’t move,” she says. “Just stay right…”
She lets out a guttural moan, and her breath comes in short bursts as I can feel her tightening around me.
If I was worried about not coming before, I’m past that now, as the look and feel of Mia’s pending climax catapults me skyward and I feel my own body begin to come alive, ready to come with her.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, my body responding to her with such urgency that I can hardly process the surge of ecstasy running through my body.
Her arms are around me tight, now and I can feel her heart racing through both our chests as she kisses me hard, her tongue halfway in my mouth before I can even react.
As always, we’re close, but not quite on the same page as my body starts to shudder just as hers starts to calm, only I don’t hit that peak when I think I’m going to, I just shoot right past it, the pleasure its own entity moving through my entire body until that moment when… everything… fades… away.
I embrace Mia, as we both try to catch our breath and, together, we fall haphazardly onto the bed.
“You know,” she says, between deep breaths, “sometimes I wonder how you can physically skate carrying that thing around between your legs.”
I just laugh and hold her close. The last thing on my mind right now is skating.
* * *
“We’re too early,” I tell her. “We’ve got to go.”
“Go?” she asks as we pull up to the demo, two towns away at the Richfield Community Skate and Ride.
It’s a lot more inspiring before you know the name of the park.
“We can’t go, we just got here, and we’ve only got twenty minutes before this thing starts,” Mia says. “We’ll be lucky if we can get you to the start area by then, and don’t you have to check in or something?”
“Yeah, but could we just drive around for a little bit?” I ask.
“You’re nervous!” she gasps. “I can’t believe it.”
“You’ve seen me nervous,” I tell her (nervously). “What’s the big deal?”
“Okay, I’ve seen you nervous,” she says, “but this is a whole new level of scaredy cat I wasn’t anticipating.”
“Oh, ha, ha,” I mock. “So, can we get out of here or what?”
“Got your board?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Got your pads or do they give those to you?” she asks. “You know, you really should have let me help you pack.”
“No,” I tell her. “I had to go into my dad’s house, and I didn’t want you to have to deal with that. I didn’t want to deal with that, but I haven’t really been back to pick up any of my stuff.”
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering why you’ve been alternating between the same three or four outfits since you moved in with Rob,” she teases.
“All but one of them are his,” I tell her. “Fuck, now I’m all freaked out because I’m going to have to go back at some point and deal with my dad. You know, for a student of psychology, you’re really not helping here.”
“Hey!” she protests, “who’s the one that finally got you past your mental block on the ramp?”
“I did,” I tell her. “You may have provided the guidance, but I did the work.”
“That’s how psychology is supposed to work!” she exclaims.
“Well, it’s not working now, I can tell you that much,” I mutter and look out the window.
Yeah, we’re really cutting it close. I’m really hoping to have the decision made for me, only when it happens, it doesn’t happen in the way I expect.
“You know,” she says, “I never paid up.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“That day we went to the park and I was trying to convince you to take three more runs,” she says.
“Oh, that’s right,” I answer. “That was the day you told me that you didn’t think we were going to work out. Thanks, now I’m worried about how solid our—”
“Oh, quit your stalling and get out of the car,” she says, taking the keys out of the ignition and getting out, herself.
She shuts the door and now I’m sitting in Mia’s dad’s car by myself.
It’s nice and quiet in here. Things are so much simpler in this car. Maybe I can just stay here until the demo’s over and then I won’t have to trash my future by trying to drop in in front of a couple hundred people today.
If that plan had any wings, though, they’re effectively clipped as Mia makes her way to the outside of my door and pulls on the handle.
She lets go, frustrated.
“Let go of the handle,” she says through the window.
“What?” I mouth. “I can’t hear you.”
I know we’ve gone past the realm of nerves into a near-complete age regression, but I do not want to get out of this car. It has a nice, minty aroma that I find rather soothing. How could anyone be so callous as to want to pull me away from such a thing?
The back passenger’s door opens and Mia grabs the duffel bag containing my pads, two beers, and my victory joint.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m giving away your stuff,” she says. “Apparently, it looks like you’re not going to be using it, so I thought we could make some kid really happy.”
“Yeah, very funny,” I mock, but when she drops the duffel bag on the ground next to her and grabs my board, I try to lunge and grab it.
“Oh, looks like someone’s starting to take me seriously,” she says. “How about you get out of the car and go win this thing?”
“It’s not a competition,” I tell her. “Well, technically it is, but the winner doesn’t get anything but a little plaque and a picture in their advertising for the next year.”
“Sounds pretty sweet,” she says, dangling my board. “Now, are you coming, or am I going to have to walk over there and see if that young man would like some free gear that used to be owned by a former-almost-pro?”
“Fine,” I tell her and I unbuckle my seatbelt. I get out and take the board from her. “Oh, was she mean to you?” I ask my skateboard, cradling it like I’m burping an infant.
“I can’t believe I let you put your thing in me,” she says with a scoff and shuts the back door, locking it with her key fob.
We’re making our way to the front, and I’m hoping Mia can’t hear the guy on the loudspeaker announcing that competitors have only five more minutes to check in for the demo.
“What were you going to say before?” I ask.
“When?”
“You were talking about when we were at the skate park and I didn’t want to—” I start.
“Oh, right,” she says. “I never gave you your reward. I told you I was going to make it worth your while if you tried three more times and, well you did, so I guess I owe you that reward.”
“You weren’t just going to say that and leave it there, though, were you?” I ask. “I mean, why bring it up now if that’s all you were going to say about it?”
“Well,” she says, “I was considering offering you an even bigger reward on top of that one for going through with the exhibition today, but you’ve really been less than easy to work with, so I don’t think I’m going to do that.”
“Oh, come on,” I tell her. “Look, I’m already on my way in.”
“Nope,” she says. “You blew it.”
“At least tell me what you were going to—” I start, but I don’t get a chance to finish.
“Ian?” a familiar voice calls from nearby. “Ian Zavala?”
Oh shit.
I turn to find Nick and Rob walking toward the entrance.
“Oh my god!” Nick says, throwing his hands above his head. “I can’t believe—it is Ian Zavala!”
“Yeah, man,” Rob chimes in, “will you sign my balls?”
“Really great, guys,” I say, glad that I’m now almost certain to be well out of running distance, should Mia realize just how little time I have left to get signed in. “Really, you’re very clever.”
“I’ve got all your magazines. Seriously,” Nick says, “you’re living with Rob now, man. You really need to get your porn out of my hou—oh, hey!” he says, acknowledging Mia’s presence. “I’m Nick, I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Nick, Ian’s attractive friend, and you are…?”
“I’m Mia,” Mia answers, extending her arm to shake Nick’s hand.
Exactly how the two of them have never been properly introduced eludes me, but the farther I can keep Nick from Mia, the better. It’s not that I don’t like the guy, I just don’t want either of them exchanging embarrassing stories about me.
I’m really not so worried about Mia. Apart from my vert troubles, of which Rob and Nick are very aware, Mia’s never really seen me do anything to humiliate myself.
Nick, on the other hand…
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be checked in and all that shit already?” Nick asks.
“He’s probably just trying to bitch out of it,” Rob says.
“What exactly does it mean to ‘bitch out’ of something, Rob?” I ask. “What’s the etymology on the phrase?”
“Are we really that close to time?” Mia asks. “I knew my dad didn’t set the clock for the right time.”
He didn’t. I set it ahead ten minutes when I was loading up my gear and she was finishing getting ready to go.
“What time is it?” Mia asks.
Rob looks at his watch while Nick looks at Mia, and I can see the little fucker salivating over the chance he thinks he’s going to get to make me look like an idiot in front of her.
“A couple minutes after four,” Rob says. “You’re fucked, bro.”
“Nah,” Nick says, still looking at Mia with that crooked little smile he gets when he’s about to spill something. “I got it.”
“Got what?” I ask, but Nick doesn’t answer. He just pulls out his phone.
“Hey, slut, what’s up?” he asks, and I’m turning to Mia, mouthing an apology.
She waves me off and looks back toward Nick.
“Yeah, I got a buddy who was supposed to get his ass here like an hour ago, but he’s… Yeah, he’s signed up and everything, he just needs to get checked in,” Nick says. “Any chance you could do us a favor?”
“It’s already after four,” I tell Mia. “I’m sorry I took so long in the car like that.”
“Yeah, his name is Ian Zavala,” Nick says. “Z-A—hey Ian,” he says, turning to me, “how do you spell your last name?” Before I can go to answer, though, he presses his phone harder against his ear, saying, “You’ve got it? Awesome, we’re coming through the front now. Just hold the start. You’re the best, mom.”
“That was your mom?” Mia asks.
“Yeah,” Nick says. “When I started getting into boarding, she started looking around for inroads. That’s my mom’s thing, man,” he says. “She may not be an expert at most things, but she can dig her way into any business and, once she’s there, she always gives me the hookup. She’s been an outside investor in this place for years, man. She says the word and shit gets done, you—”
“I think she was asking because you started the conversation with, ‘slut,’” I interrupt to tell him.
“Dude, don’t call my mom a slut,” Nick says, shaking his head and taking one too many steps toward me. “That’s not cool.”
He’s about an inch from my face, and I’m not sure whether he’s serious or not—it’s often difficult to tell with him.
“Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with ya,” Nick says and pats my cheek. “Now get your ass in there.”
“He hasn’t signed my balls yet,” Rob says.
You know, apart from his willingness to let me crash at his place even after we beat the crap out of each other, I’m really having a difficult time remembering why I’m still friends with Rob.
As much as I’m dreading the vert portion of the demo—why the hell did I even sign up for it?—I don’t think I’m going to be able to stall my way out of this any longer.
“Go,” Mia says. “I’ll see you when you’re done. You’re going to do great.”
“Yeah,” I mutter and get on my board.
I can do this. It’s not such a big deal.
As long as I just keep telling myself that, maybe it’ll become the truth.
Once I’m through the gate, it’s easy enough to see where I need to go and so I skate over to the start area while a woman’s voice comes over the loudspeaker, seeming to thank everyone that had ever made any sort of contribution—financial or otherwise—to the skate park.
That must be Nick’s much-fabled mom.
Even knowing the guy for years, I’ve still never met anyone in his family, though apparently he has a big one.
I get to the start area and a big guy, also with a clipboard, stops me, saying, “I’m sorry, this area’s for skaters only.”
“Yeah,” I tell him, “I’m on the list: Ian Zavala.”
“Check in for skaters ended almost ten minutes ago,” the man says. “Sorry, bud. You missed your chance with this one.”
Well, I tried. Not only that, but Mia tried, too. Even Nick and his mom tried, but oh well. I guess that’s that.
“Wait,” the guy says. “What was the last name?”
“Zavala,” I answer. “I know I’m late. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
“No, man,” he says, stepping out of the way, “I’m sorry. Yeah, Kara told us you’d be coming. Your number’s right here,” he says and lifts the top page of his clip board and producing two squares of paper with the number 2311 on them.
“You just carry that around on your clipboard?” I ask.
“Nah, man,” the guy says. “Kara called on the radio and had someone bring it over. Better get ready, though. They’re about to start and you’re not even in your pads.”
Shit.
As I’m walking past the man with the clipboard, I can hear the beep of his walkie-talkie. “He’s here. You can tell Kara she can stop reading names out of the phone book,” he says.
Nick’s mom is certainly tenacious.
“Please, a big round of applause for all of our friends here at the Richfield Community Skate and Ride!” the voice on the loudspeaker declares. “Are you ready for some skating?” Nick’s mom says to thunderous applause.
I check the board to see the skating order.
My name is crossed out near the top, but it’s scribbled in again at the bottom.
Last.
I love being last.
Nick’s mom’s voice comes over the loudspeaker one more time, declaring, “Here we go!”
The first skater rolls in and we’re getting started.
First, we’re going to do the street demo, then the vert. The scoring, as this is technically not a competition, is a little lazy: Everyone gets three runs, only the highest scoring run counts and whoever’s got the best score “wins.”
It’d probably seem a lot more like winning if I was actually going to get paid for being their poster boy, but I guess getting my face out there isn’t a bad thing.
It is a rather nice face, after all.
My first run comes up and I start off a little easy, taking my time between tricks, only bothering with one gap and basically just trying not to make the other skaters want to kill themselves before they’ve had a chance to take their other two runs.
If I was as confident on vert as I was on a street course, I’d probably already have my own video game series.
I finish my run only five points up on my nearest competitor.
This is too easy.
The next round goes by and I’m actually outscored by a particularly determined guy with vampire teeth affixed in his mouth.
I’ve really got to stop doing the local demos.
When my second run comes up, I do just enough more to put myself back in first place and I wait for everyone to shit their pants on their third run.
I think they know I’m toying with them. This pleases me.
Still, as skater after skater takes their final run, I’m becoming acutely aware that I’m not going to have long to enjoy my runaway victory on the street course because the vert course is about to make everyone forget that I could ever skate.
Vampire kid—who I’m reasonably certain has never even heard the name Peter Steele—has a solid last run and he takes first place.
He’s up by three points.
Now it’s time to turn it on.
This is why I love being last. When you’re first, it’s all business because you don’t know what everyone after you is going to do. There’s always someone who can knock you off the top of the mountain.
Being last, though…
They call my name for my final run and I’m on my board, coming down the roll-in ramp, feeling a mix of complete control and absolute helplessness.
Just push it out of your mind, Ian. You’ve got this.
I start with a varial heelflip, decent enough on its own, but as I land, I bring down my front foot a little sooner than my back foot, sticking the nose manual. Still on my front two wheels, I nollie into a back foot impossible and I can almost feel the blood draining from the faces of my competitors already.
Problem is, my foot comes down on the side of the board and I botch the landing. I’m running out of time and I have nothing to put on the board but a failed combo.
Shit.
I get back on my board and put a little extra into it as I push toward the ledge, a pop shove it into a Smith grind on the ledge and a 180 out.
At least I stuck that one.
I still have some time, but I’ve got to step it up or I’m going to be out of this thing before I even get to the vert.
Rolling up the halfpipe, I 50-50 the lip, but all I’m really looking for right here is the speed of dropping in, and I get it. Coming up to the fun box, I’m riding switch relative to the rest of my run, and a quick backside 180 into a 5-0 on the rail, and I manage to kick out a double kickflip, revert on the landing and I just might be back in this thing.
The clock says ten seconds now, and the revert hurt my speed coming off the fun box, so I’m pumping as hard as I can up the roll-in and, when I get to the top, time for only one more line, I come back down the roll-in hard.
The sweat is dripping into my eyes and all I can hear is my heartbeat and the sound of the wheels beneath my feet, and I’m crouched as I come up to the kicker.
I catch the clock running down out of the corner of my eye: 6, 5, 4…
One more quick push for that little bit extra I’m going to need and in the air, I’m spinning 180, 360—I finally get comfortable in my mute air—540…
The ground is coming up fast as I pull my free hand into my body, trying to get just that final touch and my wheels come down smooth out of the “switch” (ha!) 720 mute, and I don’t really care if winning doesn’t mean anything, I’m off my board, hands at each side of my mouth and I’m shouting, “Woo!”
I take a look back at the kicker and just start laughing. Coming off my board early in the run may have damaged my score enough that I don’t come in first, but getting a 720 off that kicker is enough of a feather in my cap.
After collecting my board, I climb back up to the starting area and wait for the score.
“What was that?!” Mia shouts, coming up to the barrier between the crowd and the skaters.
I walk over to her, grinning so much my cheeks kind of hurt, and I pull off my helmet.
“When I saw I had ten seconds left, I tried to think of the most crack-headed idea I could think of, and trying to pull a 720 off that two-foot kicker when I absolutely couldn’t afford to screw it up seemed like a pretty stupid option,” I tell her.
“Stupid or not,” she says, pointing up to the board, “it worked.”
I turn around and look up at the board.
Half a point: that’s all that separates me and my closest competitor, but I eked out the first-place spot.
“How long do you have?” Mia asks, pulling on my shirt sleeve.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“About five ‘til,” she says.
“Five ‘til five?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says.
“Then I guess I have about five minutes,” I tell her. “Do me a favor: If you see Nick, tell him that his mom should really start scheduling more than five minutes between events.”
“Are you up for this?” she asks.
“What are you doing?” I return.
“What?” she asks, looking up at me with a furrowed brow.
“I’m pretty sure I was a hundred percent up for it until you asked me if I was up for it,” I tell her. “Now, I think I’m closer to seventy, sixty-five percent.”
“You got this,” she says, changing tactics.
I smile.
“Fifty-five, fifty…” I say.
“Oh, just shut up and get over there before we have to listen to Nick’s mom thanking the cast of the A-Team again,” she tells me.
“She what?” I chuckle.
“When she was stalling for you,” Mia says. “I wasn’t entirely sure until she actually thanked Mr. T for his very generous donation, but yeah, she was going through the cast of the A-Team.”
“What’s most impressive about that,” I tell her, “is that you’re that familiar with 80s gonzo crime shows.”
“It’s not a gonzo crime show!” she protests, but stops. Her hand almost goes over her mouth, but she compels it down to her side.
Apparently, I’ve struck a nerve.
“Go,” she says.
I go.
There are a couple of people, including myself, who are doing both street and vert. I’m happy for all the wrong reasons that vamp kid is one of them.
I wonder what happens if he crashes. You’ve got to think those teeth, even if they’re made of shitty plastic, would end up going right through one or more of his lips if he were to come down wrong.
Hilarious.
The way the competition is scored, from what I understand, is the result of a compromise. There were those in whatever meeting where they decided these things who thought the two contests should be scored completely independently of each other as not everyone who signed up for street signed up for vert and vice-versa.
This was thought unfair by the other curiously dedicated fashion who believed that the competition should be scored by taking the combined score on both vert and street, and that those who wouldn’t compete in both would just take the hit of scoring a zero in one or the other disciplines.
The consensus, was that they would take the best individual score and add that to the overall score, then divide that by two. This, of course, produces a number that has no real meaning, other than it happens to still favor someone with a decent score in both vert and street (which are scored using a different method even than each other,) thus accomplishing none of the original goals and convoluting the whole process.
I just love the fact that it’s going to take someone with a calculator to figure out whether a skater is doing well at any given time after the vert scores start coming in.
My focus snaps back to the present moment and what’s actually happening as I climb up to the top of the vert ramp.
I’m really doing this.
After that initial drop in, I seem to have pretty effectively broken through my mental block. I’ve only come off the board a couple of times since.
That said, I now have to do it in front of a shitload of people who are more than capable of ruining my future by posting videos of me breaking my leg before actually getting around to catching any air.
No pressure.
As I won the street competition, I’ll be the fourth person to go.
I have no idea. This whole demo structure is a train wreck.
When I was on the street course, all of my competitors looked so inept, so green. There’s a lot of potential, but it’s years from fruition for most of them.
As the first three skaters go ahead of me on the vert ramp, though, everyone looks like a pro.
I’ve broken with my tradition of freestyling my runs at the last minute, and have meticulously planned out all three of my vert runs, even going so far as to plan out what to do if I finish a run faster than expected.
It’s just a matter of actually being able to do it.
There’s nothing huge on the docket, and I don’t expect to come away with an overall win today, but as the clock resets and I get into position, the tail of my board on the lip, it’s not an idle moment.
The world around me seems to go silent as I put my front foot on the board and start leaning in.
The front wheels come down and I’m to the bottom before I can even think about it.
I’m still on the board as I reach the flat, and I’ve got good speed coming up the other side.
I physically can’t breathe as I catch my first few feet of air, and I do a simple indy grab, coming down switch.
The landing doesn’t scare me in any way like the drop in does, and I land smooth enough, pumping my body, trying to get that extra bit of speed.
Air beneath my wheels, I’m pulling for a lien 540, but I don’t have enough speed, so I have to drop it down to a 360 on the fly.
I’ve spent so much time worrying about how to start a vert run that the other relevant points have taken a bit of a hit, and I’m in my head as I come down and try to remember every tip I’ve ever heard or read on getting more speed on a vert ramp.
Next, I’d planned an easier 360 heelflip for my next up, but after coming out a half-turn early on the last one, I kick a 360 kiwi flip into a tail grab, pulling my hand off the back of the board what can only be a foot or two before I land.
Time’s running down quickly, but I’m starting to feel a little more confident as I work to maintain my speed coming up the other side, and I’ve got decent air coming into my first and only 720 of the run, and I manage to land the 720 melon before the buzzer.
It was nothing groundbreaking, but it was decent, respectable.
I’m up to the top of the ramp, coming off the board at the top and grabbing it as I walk to the far edge, and it’s not until this moment that, with all of the pride I’m feeling at actually completing my first full vert run in a sort-of competition, I’m competing against kids five, even six years younger than me.
My first score comes up and it puts me somewhere in the middle, I think.
My next run doesn’t go quite so smooth, ending as I come off, attempting a fakie 540 varial, but I got a few decent tricks in.
The final run, though, is a mess.
I come off on my first attempt, and it’s not even something difficult, just a rock to fakie that was meant to set up the rest of the run.
There’s plenty of time left, but even after getting back on the board and regaining enough speed to start getting air again, I can never get the momentum to pull anything larger than a 360 nose grab.
Back at the top now, I’m still in the middle of the pack on vert, fourth overall. That is, until my final run scores come in.
I drop down a couple of spots which, at first isn’t that big a problem, but my final run killed my score enough that every single skater going after me tops my score, and I end up second to last.
The only person I beat was the vamp kid, who did end up injuring himself. Sadly, it was a twisted angle and not a fake-canine-inspired injury, but basically, I came in last.
I was expecting this. It’s not such a big deal.
I knew I wasn’t going to win vert, and I knew because of that, I wasn’t going to win the overall, but even after trying to prepare myself for the probability that I’d come in at the lower half in the vert competition, I’m a little gutted at having come in so close to the bottom.
In fact, it’s a fluke that I didn’t come in last.
You wouldn’t think any of this from the way Mia runs up to me after I’m back on terra firma.
“You did so great!” she says loudly, smiling and throwing her arms around me.
“I came in last,” I tell her.
“You did great, though!” she says, giving me an extra squeeze before pulling back. “There were a couple of hiccups, but I’m just so proud of—”
“Could we get out of here?” I interrupt.
Her mouth’s still open a little from where I interrupted her, but she closes it and quickly nods, saying, “Yeah, sure. Let’s take off.”
I appreciate the enthusiasm as a concept, but when surrounded by hordes of people and having only managed to defeat a guy who’s letting a line of tomato juice roll down his chin as the paramedics wrap his foot.
Even though I don’t say any of this to Mia, she seems to understand, as we don’t talk until we’re almost back to the car.
“You left some of your stuff back there,” she says quietly.
“I’ll have Rob grab it,” I tell her, my eyes on the ground as I wait for her to unlock the car door.
“You left your helmet,” she says, and I look over at her.
For some reason I can’t begin to understand, the pure, caring look on her face fills me with an indescribable anger, and I explode, “Will you just unlock the fucking car already? Jesus, I’m not your fucking kid! You don’t have to keep telling me I did great when I skated for shit!”
“Ian,” she says, holding up her hands, “calm down. I’m just trying to be supportive.”
“I know!” I shout, and it’s not lost on me that I’m doing more to humiliate myself right now than I ever did back in that skate park. “It’s condescending as shit and it’s fucking pissing me off! Can’t we just get the fuck out of here already?”
Her sympathy dries up pretty quickly and she’s gritting her teeth as she says, “Fine,” and presses the button on her key fob, unlocking the doors.
I toss my board in the back and slam the back door before opening the front, getting in the car and slamming that door, too.
“What is with you?” Mia asks. “We knew you weren’t going to take first.”
“It would have been fine, not taking first,” I seethe. “Skating like shit in the street competition, effectively coming in last on vert, and having you tell me it was something to be proud of is about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know you’re upset,” she says harshly, putting the key in the ignition and starting the car, “but you don’t have to take it out on me. That’s not fair and I’m not just going to sit here and let you do it.”
“Well then quit blowing smoke up my ass,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says and pulls out of her spot, slamming on the gas once she’s in drive and I know I should dial it back.
It’s not her fault. She’s been supportive and, without her, I don’t think I would have even been dropping in by now.
Still, I can’t let it go.
“I mean, it’s like going to a kid’s soccer game where the kid just sits down in the middle of the field picking his nose and his parents tell him he showed good hustle out there; it’s just bullshit,” I tell her.
“It’s not bullshit,” she says, “and I want you to stop taking this out on me. We can talk about it if you’re upset, but—”
“Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?” I ask. “I’m just surprised you didn’t come up to me and ask me if I had any boo-boos from falling down.”
“You need to stop,” she says. “I’m not kidding.”
“Well, you can’t seriously tell me that you’re really that proud of me,” I jab.
“No,” she says, pulling over to the side of the road, “I can’t. Get out.”
“What?” I ask.
“Get out,” she repeats. “I’m not going to play your chauffeur while you sit there and berate me and tell me three different times that I’m acting like a mom—well, you’re acting like a child. Get out.”
“You’re seriously kicking me out of your car?” I ask.
“If you can keep your mouth shut unless it’s opening for an apology, you can stay in the car. Otherwise, yes, I want you out right now,” she says.
So there’s my choice: Realize that the only person I should be mad at right now is myself for the way I’m treating Mia or just keep being mad at anything and everything and end up having to call Rob and Nick for a ride back home. It’s really not a difficult decision.
I’m in the wrong.
Only problem is, someone forgot to tell my mouth.
“Fine,” I tell her. “If you need me to sit here and blow sunshine up your vag so you can feel better—”
“Out,” she says. “Get out of my car right now.”
The vein throbbing in her beet-red forehead convinces me that she’s not messing around, so I open my door and get out.
As I’m pulling my board out of the back and dropping it to the ground behind me, Mia turns around in her seat and says, “By the way, one of the things you forgot to grab was your cellphone. It came out on your second run, and I didn’t see you retrieve it. Have fun getting home.”
With that, she slams on the gas and it’s not me, but the force of her acceleration that closes the back door as she drives off, leaving me about two miles from the skate park. By the time I’m there, Rob and Nick won’t be.
I can’t begin to explain what the hell I was thinking.