by Jeff Ross
I looked at Dashawn, then back at the pictures.
“That right there,” I said, pointing at the slab of concrete, “is perfect for the kickflip to 5-0. The building has mirrored windows. From the right angle it would look so sick.”
“It would,” Ryan said. “You have to go skate it.”
I stood and grabbed my board.
“Let’s go,” I said, pulling at Dashawn’s shoulder.
“Hell yeah,” Dashawn said, jumping up.
“If you want it filmed, you’re going to need me,” Natasha said.
“Hell yeah, we need you.”
Ryan stood and brushed his pants.
“You coming?” I asked him.
“Nah, I have to get home. I’ll text you the address. Get some good clips. And don’t forget me when you’re huge.” He gave me a fist bump. Dashawn, Natasha and I sprinted to the bus.
We grabbed a couple of seats at the back that faced one another.
“What’s our security plan?” Natasha asked. She was in a seat by herself, her backpack beside her. She always carried a couple of cameras along with her iPhone. When she was given the right amount of time, she would line up her shots with her iPhone, then start testing levels with her camera, all before we even hit whatever it was we wanted filmed. She was a perfectionist as well, so even when we’d landed something clean and were super stoked about it, she’d find something wrong with the lighting or the angle and send us back to try again.
“Same as always,” I said. “Security, we stay where we are and promise to leave and never come back.”
“Then we wait them out,” Dashawn said.
“Exactly.”
“What about police?” Natasha said. We hadn’t really had many problems with the police in the past. The only time before, actually, had been when Natasha and I were down on the pier and someone from a fish-and-chip wagon complained about the noise. Two cops showed up and asked us to go somewhere else because we were being too loud, and we left. There’d been a couple of families there that day, and the kids had really seemed to be enjoying watching me endlessly slam on a blunt-to-fakie attempt. But there’s no reason to anger the police—after all, they can take you into the precinct and call your parents.
“We run,” I said.
“Really?” Natasha said.
“For sure,” Dashawn said. “No one wants to mess around with the police.”
“Let’s have an exit route in mind, okay? It’s totally going to depend on how they roll in. But if a cop car shows, let’s split in three directions.” My phone buzzed, and Ryan’s text came in with the address. We were really close. The bus stopped outside a McDonald’s. “Meet in there,” I said. “No one texts anyone else. No phone calls or anything.”
“Every man for himself then, right?” Dashawn said.
“I guess, but not really. If we split up, they can only follow one of us, right? I mean, this is private property, and no matter how careful we are, we’re going to leave some marks. Whoever developed this place will be pissed.”
“Cool,” Dashawn said. “Three separate directions.”
It was still warm out as we stepped into the gray-blue evening light. The sun was firing up the sky in an explosion of yellow and orange in the distance. Natasha came out with her fingers forming a box, already making decisions about angles.
“It’s down here,” I said, pointing at a small path in front of us. We looked around as though we were about to commit some kind of horrible crime. We didn’t have to walk for more than two minutes before we found it.
“Holy crap,” Dashawn said. “It’s beautiful.”
Everything glowed. The white concrete and marble. Big fat rails and L bars. There were banks and pyramids. One side was on slightly higher ground, so there was even a natural flow from one end to the other. You could push a couple of times and just roll through a line with ease. The fencing was gone, which was good. If we’d climbed over a fence to get to the space, we wouldn’t be able to act innocent and ignorant if the building had security guards. We stayed behind a tree and watched to see if there was any security around. The inside of the building and parking lot were totally lit. We waited five unbearable minutes just to see if anything moved.
“It’s going to get too dark to shoot soon,” Natasha said. She had her camera out and was checking levels.
“I don’t see anyone in there,” Dashawn said. “There’s nothing inside, so there’s nothing to protect, right?”
“So do you want to go hit it?” I asked.
“Absolutely. Are you going to try that ledge first?”
“Yeah, in case someone shows. I can totally get that thing. It looks perfect.”
Dashawn gave me a fist bump.
Natasha held the camera up. “I’m all set. Practice it right away while I find the right angle.”
I inhaled deeply. “Remember the plan if the cops show,” I said.
Dashawn pointed at a sidewalk on the other side of the lot. “I’ll go that way. Then I’ll circle back to the Mickey D’s.”
“I’ll come back this way,” Natasha said. “I don’t want to run through the trees for any longer than necessary, not with all this stuff. I can ditch my board if I have to and just be some girl waiting for a bus.” She pulled a hat out of her bag and tucked her hair up inside it. She instantly looked different.
“Okay,” I said. I spotted a trail through the brush that seemed to go into a neighboring suburb. “I’ll take that trail, then get on the road back to the McDonald’s.”
“Change up your clothes at the Mickey D’s,” Dashawn said. “Stash your board somewhere and chuck your hat or something. Look different.”
“That’s key,” I said. “Look different. Honestly, though, I don’t think we’re going to get hassled. Let’s say we session for forty-five minutes, then leave. That way we might be able to come back.”
“We only have about forty-five minutes of light left anyway,” Natasha said.
“Then let’s hurry the hell up.”
Chapter Four
This place was unbelievable. I would have bowed down before the architect if I knew who he or she was. I would kiss his or her dirty boots. I would offer up my first and only A in mathematics if it would please them. They had created, likely without even knowing it, the best skate park in town.
My wheels whistled.
The air rushed across my face.
I felt like I was moving faster and more smoothly than ever before. Without really thinking about it, I landed a backside 50-50 on a low handrail, popping off at the bottom and then cruising up a pyramid and doing a perfect pop shove-it off the side.
“This is so sick!” I yelled.
“Keep it down,” Natasha said. She’d popped down a three-step to stand beside me. “Are you going to do one-off shots or a line?”
Looking at the space, it seemed like a line would be best. Ryan’s pictures had not done this place justice. There was a little four-step right before the concrete ledge. After the drop there was a bit of space and then a bench that ended on a steep downslope.
“I’m going to tre flip those stairs,” I said. “Then kickflip to 5-0 the ledge. I’ll try a blunt slide across that bench, then fakie out on the slope. Do you think you can film all that?”
“That’s crazy,” Natasha said, staring at the little screen on her camera. “Are you sure you can land all of that?” She looked at me seriously.
It was a bit much. A tre flip has the board spinning on both axes beneath you. A blunt is when you slide across something on your tail, but your board is straight up in the air. Landing fakie just meant I’d land backward, but even then there was the possibility of wiping out.
Hard.
“DS!” I yelled.
Dashawn had just bailed on a handrail. He stooped to grab his board. When he turned to us, his face was glowing. “Yeah.”
I held my fingers up like a little skateboarder and pretended to do the line, calling out the tricks along the way.
“You think?”
“Just land that tre clean and the rest is yours. Though I still think you want a 180 off the ledge. It just looks so sick.”
“Maybe next time.” I ran up the stairs. “You ready, Tash?” She gave me a thumbs-up, which meant she’d already begun filming.
It was ridiculously easy to get the speed up for the four-step. It was as if the universe wanted me to move faster. I didn’t need to push more than three times, and I was cruising toward the top of the stairs at the perfect speed. I popped the tre flip and somehow landed it cleanly. Right on the bolts. I pushed twice and landed a perfect 5-0 on the ledge and even managed a little pop off the end. Two more pushes and I was set up for a blunt slide across the bench, but my wheels stuck on the surface, and I was tossed straight ahead and down the bank. Natasha rolled past me and did a slow circle, already looking at the screen on her camera.
“Dude,” Dashawn said. “You had that.”
“We need to wax that bench,” I said. “What the hell is that even made of?”
Dashawn skated up the bank and ran a finger along the bench. “It’s plastic! But painted silver.”
“I totally thought that was metal.”
Dashawn started laughing. “This place is ridiculous.” He checked his watch. “Half an hour left.”
I pulled a block of wax out of Natasha’s bag and started working it along the edge of the bench, then farther up, where my wheels would need to slide. A blunt slide is a really difficult trick that requires a lot of balance and, even more so, speed. Plus, if whatever you’re hitting isn’t slippery, you stop dead. Therefore, you need to spread wax, just like candle wax, wherever your wheels are going to make contact, so they’ll slide.
“Go easy on that,” Natasha said, putting her hand on mine on top of the wax, “or you’ll be launched into space.”
“It really stuck that time,” I said, finishing the job and handing Natasha the wax. “You set to film again?”
“Go for it.”
As I was skating back, I watched Dashawn land a Smith grind down a handrail as if it was nothing. “You have to film him too!” I yelled. “That was awesome.”
“In time, bro,” Dashawn called back. Our voices echoed off everything, then boomed into the air. Dashawn grabbed his board and ran up the stairs.
I set up in the same spot. I can get pretty superstitious about these things. Everything had worked the first time, I told myself, so if I did it all the same again, only now with the bench waxed, it would be exactly the same. But this time I’d land it.
Three pushes and I was cruising at the four-step. I popped the tre flip but not quite right, and I kicked out. Natasha immediately looked to the screen.
“That was the wind,” I said.
“Sure,” she replied.
I set up again. Three pushes, pop and a miss. This is skateboarding though. You can land something perfectly once and then not get it again for hours.
“Focus, Ry,” Dashawn yelled.
“I got this,” I said. One of my big issues is that when something comes easy the first time, I start to think it will always be easy. But the opposite is almost always true. That first try is all about luck and natural ability.
And then your mind kicks in.
Three pushes, and the edge of the stairs was right there. I hit a perfect tre flip and could sense Natasha rolling along beside me as I angled toward the ledge. I popped an ollie to 5-0 on the ledge, and as I came off I could tell a 180 would be doable. But I wanted this line first. Another two pushes and another pop onto the bench. It slid like butter. I managed to pop off but flew at an angle rather than straight, so when I landed I was sideways. I stumbled backward and sat, sliding down the bank to the ground. My board followed me. I grabbed it and started running back up as quickly as possible.
“I had that!”
“We can edit.”
“No,” I said, running toward Natasha. “It has to be super clean. That’s my thing. You have to get me rolling away or it doesn’t count.” I stopped and pushed against her to look at the little screen. “How are my arms? I’m not flailing, am I?”
“No,” she said. “It’s tight. You had it.”
I pulled my hat off and wiped my face. The heat was seeping out of the air and into the ground, but it was still really warm outside.
“This time,” I said, dropping my board and pushing away from her. I waited until she was set up, then did the same three pushes toward the stairs. I managed to land the tre flip, but as I was approaching the ledge, the parking lot erupted in blue and red lights. I put my foot down and came to a stop. Two cruisers had come in, one through the entrance to the parking lot, the other via the exit. They were moving fast.
“Split!” I yelled. I pushed hard, taking a quick look behind me to see Natasha running up the stairs toward where we’d entered the lot. She would be gone in seconds. If she decided to ditch her board and take her hat off, she could instantly look like any girl waiting at a bus stop. I looked up at the top of the stairs but didn’t see Dashawn anywhere.
“Cops!” I shouted, then pushed hard and took off across the parking lot. I glanced back once to see a big cop getting out of the car. He was tall and thick with a big, black moustache. I was already in the shadows, so if he saw me I would be little more than a blur. When I got to the far side, I popped my board up and clasped it under one arm. I didn’t dare look back. Not even for a second. If I turned around, I might trip on something. The trail cut left, then right. There were roots everywhere, along with fallen branches. Seconds later I was on a suburban street, where I dropped my board, jumped on and pushed harder than I ever had before.
Chapter Five
I came up behind the McDonald’s and stopped beside one of the Dumpsters. It was filthy and disgusting, but there didn’t seem to be anyone around, and the one light behind the restaurant was shattered. I removed my hat and chucked it under the Dumpster, then kicked my skateboard under before walking as casually as possible to the side door and going in.
It smelled like all McDonald’s do and, on a Sunday night at just after six, was pretty busy. I went to the counter and ordered a large drink, filled the cup at the machine and sat down. I kept pushing at my hair and wiping at my forehead to try to stem the flow of sweat. Luckily, I’d sat down right beneath an air-conditioning vent, and soon enough I was cool—cold even.
I didn’t see Natasha come in. She had removed her hat and slung her backpack over one arm. She dropped the backpack on the floor and slid in across from me at the table.
“That was crazy,” she said.
“Did you see Dashawn?”
“No,” she replied. “I booked it. There was a bus stopped at the corner, and I hopped on, then got off a couple of blocks east. What about you?”
“I went through the woods, then skated straight here. I don’t think anyone was following me.”
Natasha reached across and grabbed my drink, then took a long pull from it. “I heard them yelling though,” she said.
“Me too.”
“What were they saying?”
“I don’t know. But they came in the way D was going to leave,” I said. “He likely had to go around the other side to get away.”
“Text him,” Natasha said.
I gave her my stone-cold look. “We discussed this before. No texts. I wouldn’t give you guys up if I got busted, and Dashawn won’t either. But if we start texting each other, the police will have our names and start looking for us. They would just have to get a hold of his phone.”
“He didn’t get busted,” she said. “That would seriously suck. If he got busted.”
“He’s fast. He will have gotten away. Anyway, I think the cops just pulled in to scare us. They likely didn’t even get out of the cruisers.”
“Two carloads? That was four cops,” she said, throwing herself back in her seat. “They seriously have to have something better to do. Aren’t there any
real crimes being committed around here?”
“Apparently not.” She grabbed my drink again, and I pulled it away from her.
“What?” she said, letting go. “Fine, I’ll get my own.”
As she was waiting in line, a cruiser pulled up, and two cops got out. They came inside, looking left and right, scanning the place. I slid the straw into my mouth and pulled my cell from my pocket. As the one cop’s eyes passed over me, I dropped my cell on the table and opened the Facebook app. The cops split up, one moving to the other side of the restaurant, the other coming right toward me.
I noticed Natasha returning from the counter. I flicked my eyes toward the door, and she walked outside without stopping. The cop slowed as he passed me, making a really big show of glancing down at my phone. I was flipping through posts as though I had been there forever and had nothing but time on my hands. I didn’t even look up, because looking up might engage the cop. He might suddenly want to have a conversation. He might even start asking me questions, and then I’d be sweating all over the place and, very likely, confessing to crimes I didn’t commit.
The cops did a full circle of the restaurant, then went back out to their car. I had to wait them out. They were sitting in the cruiser, the interior light on. I had no idea what they were doing out there. Finally they flicked the light off and pulled away. A minute later Natasha came in, wearing my hat, and sat down across from me again.
“You would think we just knocked over a bank,” she whispered.
“Were those the same cops?”
“I have no idea, but they were in here looking for someone.”
“What the hell is with this? We were just skating.”
Natasha took a long drink, then tied her hair into a ponytail. “We need to get the bus back home,” she said, looking at her phone. “It’s Sunday, and the last one goes at seven.”
I picked up my phone and discovered I was shaking. It was six thirty.
“We can’t leave until right before it comes,” I said. “Two kids standing around with skateboards at the bus stop are going to stand out.”