Daddy Boss

by Claire Bishop

  I’ve got to make sure I’m solid on a few different approaches for the street competition or it’s not going to matter what I do with vert.

  The street course is obviously not going to be the same as the layout of the skate park here, but the basic elements are present in both.

  I can fine tune the run when I get a chance to skate that course, but until then, I can get some combos put together to make sure I’m in the best possible position going into vert.

  It’s funny, I never bothered looking at what the prizes for second and third place are going to be. Realistically, I’ll be pretty fortunate if I even end up in one of those positions.

  If I can lay down something solid on the street run, though, that’s got to put me in the good graces of sponsors. I mean, these people know not everyone’s a vert skater any more than everyone’s a street skater. Hell, it took them years to convince Mullen to go from flatland to street. I’ve got to be able to come out of this with something.

  I roll up one side of the fun box slow, just enough speed to get me almost to the top and I ollie into a backside flip and try to land in in a nose manual, but my momentum’s wrong, so I just come down.

  Pumping harder now, I’m heading toward the halfpipe and just for my own self-spite, I lift the back of the board so I get that nose manual after all, and I stretch it into a 360 flip before rolling up the quarter-pipe, crooked grinding the lip and throwing in a quick shove it on the way out for good measure.

  I’m starting to feel a little bit looser, a little less consumed by my dad’s bullshit and the true horror of a night at Rob’s.

  I launch into a nollie flip, and I’m starting to feel like everything’s going to work itself out, maybe not immediately, but eventually for sure. Of course that’s when I spot Mia chatting it up with a couple of loose acquaintances of mine.

  I forget what the fuck I was doing and the board clatters in front of me as I land on my feet.

  There’s nothing particular I can think to say to her, but I know that I need to talk to Mia. She keeps getting scared off, and I’m really not that scary a guy.

  I did beat the shit out of Rob, though. That was pretty cool.

  As I’m no longer a teenager, I don’t bother trying to impress with any tricks as I’m rolling up to her. Even if I did go for that approach, she doesn’t notice I’m coming until I’m coming to a scraping stop a couple of feet from the group.

  A couple of people say hi to me and I give a couple quick nods and single-syllable greetings before I turn to Mia.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey,” she says.

  She turns back to talk to a short redhead chick I’ve seen around here a couple of times, but haven’t met, and everyone’s back in their conversations.

  In this group, I know Tyler, Bret and, of course, Mia. There’s also the redhead and who I’m pretty sure is someone’s younger brother, but I don’t really have much to say to anyone but Mia.

  For a minute, I just try to join in the conversation—you know, take some time to map out my approach here. It’s all bullshit skate tales where everyone’s talking about that time they saw that guy and he did that thing and it was just so fucking spectacular and I just want to talk to Mia.

  “So Bret,” Mia asks, pulling my attention away from whatever whoever was saying, “I’ve seen you around, but we’ve never really talked, have we?”

  She’s toying with me, messing with me, just trying to make me jealous. I can assure you it is absolutely, without question, working.

  Still, that’s not how I’m going to win back the heart of my punkish… fuck, I’m off today.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I’m glad we’re making that right.”

  What a dumbass.

  “Me, too,” she says. “You know, I’ve always liked really tall guys.”

  “Really?” he asks.

  “Can we talk?” I ask Mia.

  She looks over at me and makes a big show of rolling her eyes.

  “Just for a minute,” I tell her. “I just want to explain a couple of things to you so you don’t have the wrong idea.”

  Now everyone in the group is looking at me, but I’m really not in the mood to care right now.

  “Fine,” she says with an exaggerated sigh and we walk away from the group together.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m just talking to people,” she says. “Why, is that a problem?”

  “You can talk to whoever you want,” I tell her. “That’s not what I want to talk to you about.”

  “What then?” she asks. “I was kind of in the middle of a conversation there.”

  “My dad kicked me out last night,” I tell her. “It happened after I got in a fight with Rob—long story. Anyway, I’m going to be bunking with Rob for a little bit, and—”

  “Hold on,” she says, “you got into a fight with Rob yesterday and now you’re staying at his place? How’d you manage that one?”

  “Sometimes the best thing two guys can do for a friendship is take a few minutes and beat the shit out of each other,” I tell her. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s a good enough explanation. “I really couldn’t explain it if I wanted to, but it’s kind of a bonding thing.”

  “I’ve seen guys get in fights and still want to kill the other person,” she says.

  “Yeah, that’s different,” I tell her. “This was just a spat—it doesn’t matter. Anyway, as screwed up as that might seem, I’m free. I don’t have to worry about what my dad wants from my life anymore, I can just start living it.”

  “That’s great?” she says, furrowing her brow. “I’m really happy for you?”

  “What happened, Mia?” I ask. “I know Rob talked to you, but that shouldn’t change what we have.”

  “What do we have?” she asks.

  I stepped in it there. Now I’ve got to make a quick decision between something trite, but possibly charming, or something more real, but also less inspiring.

  “Potential,” I tell her. “I don’t know about you, but I think we were pretty great together.”

  “Yeah, we weren’t really together long enough not to be,” she says. “Look, it wasn’t going to work out, so why drag it out? Talk to your dad, maybe he’ll let you go back home. Guy thing or not, it’s got to be a little awkward crashing with someone who made your face look like that.”

  “Yeah, I’m not particularly attractive at the moment, am I?” I ask.

  She looks away and doesn’t answer.

  “Whatever the problem is,” I tell her, “we can work it out. I know you were worried about my dad cutting me off, but he was going to do that anyway. I’m twenty-one, it’s time I was on my own anyway.”

  “Not really on your own, though, are you?” she asks.

  “It’s been less than a day,” I tell her. “Give me at least a week to buy a house and get a staff going.”

  “I’m really not in the mood for this,” she says. “We’re just too different. It’s not going to work.”

  “We’re not different, though,” I tell her. “The same things turn us on. We turn each other on, too. I don’t know where it’ll go, but I’d like to find out; wouldn’t you?”

  “Maybe we’re too alike then,” she says. “Whatever it is, I’m sorry, Ian, but it’s just not going to happen. I don’t regret anything, but I think it’d be best for both of us if we just move on.”

  “Mia, come on, we can talk about…” I start, but she’s already walking away.

  I guess that’s that, then.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Giving up and Dropping In

  Mia

  The worst thing about sitting in front of someone you were very recently in an almost-relationship with is that it’s impossible to get the kind of space necessary to get past it.

  Right now, I’m charging Ian heavily for the fact that I can’t get away from him, and I don’t really care that it’s not his fault.

  Still, we have a project to do, and I’m not
going to be able to get all of this work done by myself.

  So, I’m sitting here, waiting—as usual—for Ian to show up. Today, I thought it would be a good idea to go somewhere entirely neutral, somewhere we hadn’t been together.

  Also, I’m a big fan of frozen yogurt.

  Ian comes in, and I’m already halfway through my chocolate with cookie dough, but I get up and walk over to him so I can stand in line for a refill.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey,” I respond.

  That’s pretty much it until we’re at the counter.

  The fact that I have to meet with Ian is like the fact that I have to sit in front of him, and so I decide to enact my own little bit of justice by ordering first.

  “Yeah, could I just get another one of these?” I ask. “Medium chocolate with cookie dough?”

  “Sure thing,” the woman behind the counter says and goes to reach for my cup, but I pull it back and produce a spoonful of brown, drippy goodness to show her I’m not quite done with my first.

  Ian doesn’t say anything.

  The woman comes back a minute later with a new cup of yogurt, overflowing with cookie dough to the point that I have to eat a few bits of it along the rim to make sure I’m not going to pull a Hansel and Gretel on the way back to my booth.

  I pay the woman and don’t wait for Ian.

  By the time he’s to the table, I’m starting on my second serving.

  “You just wanted a drink?” I ask.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” he says.

  “My, my, my,” I mock, “someone’s in a mood.”

  “If you were having a problem with something, why didn’t you just talk to me about it instead of breaking things off like that?” he asks. “I really liked you, you know?”

  “I told you, it just wasn’t going to work,” I respond.

  I had this dream of getting together with Ian and the topic of us as a sexual item not coming up once. It was a nice dream.

  “I don’t even know what did it,” he says. “You won’t tell me. You won’t talk to me. When I’m walking past you in class on my way to my seat, you won’t even look at me. I guess I just never took you for the manipulative, stuck-up type.”

  Even knowing full well that he’s just trying to get under my skin, I’m shaking with adrenaline and my face is so hot, it’s almost burning.

  “I get that you’re butt hurt that I dumped you or whatever,” I tell him, “but really? Name calling? Is that how you think we’re going to get through this with the least possible amount of bullshit?”

  “Hey,” he says, “we’re in public. Watch your language.”

  With that, I’m flat out pissed.

  “You don’t listen,” I tell him. “That’s your whole damn problem. You have open doors in every direction, and if you’d just open your ears and your mind, you’d be doing just the most amazing things, but all you can do is skate and hate on me. Well, you can be mad if you want, but I’m not going to tolerate this sort of behavior, even if we—”

  “Hold on,” he interrupts, “you’re not going to ‘tolerate this sort of behavior?’ Who are you, my mom?”

  “It’s kind of hard not to act like a mom when the person you’re talking to insists on acting like a child,” she says.

  “You know, maybe you were right back at the park,” he says. “Maybe we are too different. You’re trying to live like your life’s already most of the way over and I’m trying to live like I’ve got a little bit more of it in front of me.”

  I sigh and rub my temples.

  “Ian,” I start, “the problem is that you’ve got every opportunity and you just blow it. Have you figured out what you’re going to do in the vert competition? Have you even managed to drop in yet, or are you going to hope for a game-day miracle?”

  “Just get the hell out of my head,” he says.

  “What does that even mean?” I shout.

  It doesn’t really occur to me until the shout, but we’ve been pretty loud for a while, now. This appears to have drawn the attention of pretty much everyone in the frozen yogurt shop.

  Ian, however, doesn’t seem so aware of the shift in the room.

  “You tell me that you don’t want to be with me, then you sneak into my room and we have sex three times over the course of eight hours, and then you don’t want to be with me again,” he says. “Have you ever stopped to think that maybe the problem has nothing to do with me?”

  “I never said it was all your fault,” I tell him, shielding the half of my face closest to the open restaurant. “Let’s just talk about this later.”

  “Excuse me,” a strange voice says, and I look up.

  A tall man with a mustache and a tie is standing over the table.

  “This is a family-friendly establishment, so I’m going to have to ask the two of you to take it elsewhere,” he says.

  “You’re kicking us out?” I ask, more confused than anything.

  “I would like you both to leave,” the man says, putting his hands on his hips. “Right now.”

  “Whatever,” Ian says, getting up from the booth. “We’re leaving.”

  I get up, unable to close my mouth, though I do manage to grab what’s left of my yogurt, and I follow Ian out of the shop.

  It’s not entirely clear whether we’re still going to try to get the final bit of planning done tonight, or if the smart move is to just go home and start cold-calling people to ask them if they have any prejudices that might fit my study. That being the case, I walk more near Ian than by him, just waiting for him to tell me to get the hell away from him.

  I don’t know what caused me to curse like that in the yogurt shop, but it was actually kind of liberating to just forget about everyone else and lace into somebody.

  “I’ve got to tell you,” I say to him, “I’m still pretty pissed at you, but it was pretty bad ass, us getting kicked out like that.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “I know we both kind of flew off the handle back there, but I still think we can work together and get this project done if we just sit down and do it and, you know, maybe try a little extra hard not to piss each other off,” I say.

  Oh, come on. I’m being really conciliatory right now.

  Finally, I get to the point where I’m feeling really strange walking, and I ask, “Are we going to try to figure some stuff out, or should I just give up for the night?”

  “I don’t know,” he says.

  “Hey, you’re talking to me,” I say, falling a little short of the cuteness I was hoping to inject as a diffuser. “That’s some progress.”

  For a while, we just walk.

  The awkwardness dies down after a while, and it’s actually a little cathartic walking. We’re not talking. That probably has something to do with the peace of the moment.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “I’m picking up my board and heading to the skate park,” he says. “I don’t think I’m going to be bringing back the gold, but I at least want to try to make a good showing.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Is that something you wanted to do on your own, or—”

  “You can come if you want,” he says. “I’m just on a schedule these last two weeks, and I have to get my time in at the park every day.”

  “Doesn’t really seem like you scheduled much time for our little meeting of the minds,” I observe.

  “I kind of figured it’d go the way it went,” he says. “It’s been a while since I’ve been kicked out of somewhere, though. It’s good to know I haven’t lost my chops.”

  “It doesn’t really seem that hard,” I say, faking a chortle. “All we had to do was sit down and try to talk to each other in a civil way.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Have you thought about maybe just backing out of the Midwest competition?” I ask. “I’m really not trying to be mean here, but if you can’t get a score out of vert, are you even going to be able to place?”

  �
�It’s really not an option,” he says. “I have to try for the sponsorship.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “I know I’m not going to win,” he says. “I’m not stupid. Even with time on the board like I have, you can’t take up a whole new discipline and expect to have it down well enough in two weeks to pass up some of the best unknowns in the country. It’s just—I have to try.”

  “Why?” I ask. “It’s going to hurt you more than it’ll help you if you’re on ESPN, falling on your face.”

  “Yeah,” he says, “I’m not looking forward to that part.”

  We come up to a house and Ian says, “Wait here,” before going inside.

  It’s funny, even being so uncomfortable around Ian right now, while he was walking with me I didn’t even notice that we’d ended up in a really bad part of town. There aren’t really any parts of town where you’ll get shot just for going there, but when we’re on the news for something violent, the vans and the cameras they bring are almost always parked in this four-or-five-block radius.

  Ian comes back out after a minute and we start walking in the direction of the skate park.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, “but what are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I know I’m not your favorite person right now,” he says. “Why do you still want to walk with me?”

  “It’s something to do,” I tell him. “I blocked out a couple of hours for us to work on getting this thing finalized before we start doing interviews next week. Really, we should have had that done a while ago. Now we’re not going to have a lot of time to extrapolate from the data.”

  “Have you ever noticed how scientists really love saying ‘these data?’” he asks.

  “What?”

  “Data is both the singular and plural form of the word, right?” he asks. “Whenever any scientist is giving a lecture or an interview or speaking casually with someone, at some point, the phrase, ‘these data’ is bound to come out of their mouth. Do you think it’s a status thing, like people who aren’t scientists don’t really use it, therefore it’s a sign that you’re in the club if you do sort of thing?”

  “Why am I still walking with you?” I laugh.