Snowboard Champ

by Matt Christopher

  Well, better that than listening to their stupid questions, he thought. He paid for his food, then stalked off to the far corner of the cafeteria and sat at a table tucked behind a big pillar where no one could see him.

  His mind was working a mile a minute. Maybe he should call up his dad and stepmom and say he wanted to move in with them after all. Bad as he knew it would be, it couldn’t be worse than Dragon Valley had been so far. Even living with those three little brats day in, day out . . . hmmm . . . on second thought, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.

  Or he could go off to a boarding school, like his mom had suggested. But that might wind up being just like here, without Uncle Clayton to take care of him and without a great mountain to snowboard on.

  His sandwich felt like lumps of paste going down his throat, and no amount of apple juice would help it go down easier. No, he was going to have to stay here and stick it out, no matter how much it hurt or how much of a school outcast he became.

  Thinking about outcasts reminded him of Spengler. It was Spengler who’d gotten him into this mess in the first place. If he hadn’t sat at the back of that stupid bus that first day, none of this would have happened. He’d have made friends with the popular kids, like Riley and the others. But no, he had to go sit next to Spengler, and ever since, he’d been lumped in with him in everyone’s mind.

  And why had he ignored Riley’s advice to stay away from Melissa? If he hadn’t gone snowboarding with her that day, Riley wouldn’t have challenged him to that contest. He wouldn’t have made a fool of the most popular kid in the whole school — and no one would have cared that he was outside with Spengler instead of in class. No one would have been spreading rumors about him all over the Internet and turning him in to the principal. And then, right when he needed a friend, Melissa had turned on him, too.

  He hated Melissa, he decided, almost as much as he hated Spengler, and even more than he hated his mom for doing this to him.

  In fact, Matt decided, he hated everybody. Shoving aside his mostly uneaten lunch, he got up and left the cafeteria. The period was almost over anyway, and he didn’t feel like killing time in there with all those kids talking about him.

  He was walking past the big bulletin board by the school’s front entrance. All kinds of notices were posted here: announcements for meetings of various clubs and after-school activities, stuff about the science fair in February, calls for volunteers at the local animal shelter and food pantry.

  Then his eyes fell on a yellow poster he hadn’t seen before. The words SNOWBOARD CONTEST caught his attention, and he wandered over to take a closer look.

  “Snowboard contest, Saturday, February 1, open to all students age 11–14,” the poster read. “Girls and boys. Jumps and half-pipe competitions. First prize in each category — a new top-of-the-line snowboard AND complete outfit, including parka, gloves, boots, hat, and goggles. Proceeds to benefit Dragon Valley Home/School Association. Enter by signing up below.” And at the bottom of the poster was a place with horizontal lines for filling in your name.

  There were no names filled in yet. The poster must have been put up just minutes ago, because in this school, Matt knew, there were dozens of kids who would be thrilled to enter. Matt took out his pen and bent over to sign his name on the first line.

  “Don’t bother, loser.”

  Matt hadn’t heard Riley approach. At the sound of Riley’s voice in his ear, he’d let out a little scared sound.

  Now Riley was laughing at him. “You should be scared,” he said. “This competition is no competition at all. I am the snowboard king, man. Didn’t I already beat you once? You know you’re just wasting your time.”

  Matt didn’t respond to Riley’s taunts. Instead, he said, “I know you told everyone I smoked on school grounds.”

  “Not that I’m admitting anything, but what if I did? It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Matt said. “But that’s not the point. You shouldn’t be spreading rumors, true or false. And in fact, I happen to know you’ve been making up a lot of stuff about me.”

  “What if I have?” Riley said, standing his ground. “You wanna make something of it?”

  Matt could have punched him right there. Even though Riley was bigger and looked stronger, Matt knew he could do some damage in a fight. But what would that accomplish? He’d only get himself suspended or even expelled! He could just hear Riley laughing if that happened. So he backed off, forcing himself to stay calm.

  “I didn’t smoke.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Ask Spengler.”

  “Spengler? Ha! That’s a good one. That kid’s a total burnout. Has he even attended class this year?”

  “Hey, maybe he has real problems,” Matt said, rising to Spengler’s defense even though just minutes before he’d been filled with hatred for the social outcast.

  “No, ya think?” Riley said, laughing.

  “You shouldn’t make fun of people’s problems,” Matt said. “Maybe you don’t think you have problems yourself, but take my word for it, you do.”

  Riley glared at him. “You know what my problem is?” he said. “It’s you. But don’t worry. I know how to deal with problems.”

  “Oh, yeah? How?”

  “You’ll see,” Riley said. Leaning past Matt, he signed his name on the first line.

  Matt waited till he was done, then signed his own name right under Riley’s.

  “So be it,” Riley said, staring at him. “Just remember, you asked for it.”

  “Asked for what?” Matt asked.

  “Like I said, you’ll see.” Riley turned and walked away.

  Matt watched him go with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Five minutes ago, he would have bet that his life couldn’t get any worse than it already was. Now he knew better. It was going to get a whole lot worse.

  9

  That night, just before he was about to go to bed, there was a knock on Matt’s door. “Hey, can I come in for a minute?” Uncle Clayton asked.

  “Sure,” Matt said.

  “Hey,” Clay said, opening the door and sitting in the chair by Matt’s desk. “How’s it going?”

  “Okay. What’s up?” Matt asked.

  “I just got the feeling we should talk,” Clay said. “You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind. I’ve kind of let things go along because I was busy. But I’m starting to feel like a bad parent.”

  “You’re not my parent,” Matt pointed out — not trying to be unkind, just stating the truth.

  “I know, but I’m supposed to be watching out for you, and I guess I haven’t been.” He paused again, waiting. Then he said, “Something’s up, isn’t it? I mean, there’s something wrong, right? I mean —”

  Matt stopped him. “Yeah. There is.”

  “I knew it,” Clay said. “But what? You can’t talk about it with me?”

  “No, I can,” Matt said, “It’s just . . . I don’t know. There’s this kid at school, and he’s making life pretty tough for me.”

  “I’ll tell him to cut it out,” Clay offered. “You want me to?”

  “No,” Matt said. “Thanks, but it’s not that kind of thing. He’s just . . . I guess he feels threatened by me or something.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, there’s this girl he likes who likes me . . . .”

  “Aha!” Clay said, perking up.

  “But there’s more to it than that. I crashed into him on the slopes, and then he challenged me to a contest, and I beat him, but he won . . . .”

  “Huh? How’s that?”

  “His friends voted him the winner, but it was an obvious fix. I kind of made him look bad, and now he’s trying to get me into trouble.”

  “Ah. Would that explain the message I had from the principal today?”

  Matt gulped. “Yeah. This kid reported me for smoking on school grounds.”

  “Smoking? You?”

  “I wasn’t,” Matt explained hurriedly. “There’s this kid
with a broken arm, and he asked me to light his cigarette for him, and someone saw me do it . . . .”

  “That was pretty dumb of you,” Clay said. “And now the principal’s going to be watching you. One more mistake and . . . ”

  “I know,” Matt said glumly.

  “Your mom’s gonna throw a fit. She’s gonna blame me for not taking good care of you.”

  “She doesn’t have to know, does she?” Matt asked, a pleading look in his eyes.

  Clay didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “Tell you what. I’ll hold off for a bit, but only if you work on turning things around. Otherwise, I really do have to tell her.”

  “It’s a deal,” Matt said gratefully. “And I might already have figured out a way to make people see me for who I really am — and see Riley for who he really is. There’s going to be a half-pipe and jumping contest sponsored by the school. I signed up, and so did he. He’s famous for being the best boarder in the whole school. Maybe if I beat him in the contest, people will see me differently.”

  Clay cocked his head to one side. “How do you figure?”

  “Okay, this may sound a little lame, but if I’ve learned anything about the kids at this school, it’s that they pay attention to whoever is snowboard champ. If I win, maybe they’ll listen to my side of the story. Who knows, maybe they’ll even realize that Riley isn’t so great after all. Only trouble is, I’m not sure I can beat him.”

  “Well, if that’s the best plan you’ve got, I’ll help you make it happen,” Clay said, slapping his hands together. “I’m gonna work with you, pal — and you’re gonna take over that title!”

  Matt couldn’t deny that he liked that idea. Uncle Clayton could teach him some awesome jumps and tricks. Still, he’d just realized there was one major problem with his plan. “If I beat this kid, he’ll just make my life miserable.”

  Clay shook his head. “Uh-uh. You said it yourself! Once you beat him, you’ll be the big cheese around the school, not him. I know how it works. I was a kid here once myself, and not too long ago, either. If he talks trash about you, kids will just think he’s jealous. And they’ll be right, too.”

  It wasn’t much to go on, but at least it was something to hold on to, a hope that things could be better for him here in Dragon Valley.

  The next day was Saturday, and Clay took Matt out on the slopes of Dragon Mountain. They started at the jump ramps, where Matt showed his uncle everything he knew how to do — which, he came to see, wasn’t that much.

  Clay gave him pointers after every jump: “You need to hit the jump a little faster and ollie as you get to the top,” he advised. And after another run: “Make sure your board isn’t on an edge at takeoff. That makes you lose your balance in the air.”

  Clay didn’t feel that Matt needed that many jumps. “You can do a lot of variations with the same few basic moves,” he said, demonstrating for Matt a few times and getting wows from everyone nearby.

  So Matt practiced his few jumps. Once he was consistently hitting them, Clay began adding flourishes: “We’re gonna do a little chicken salad,” he said.

  “Chicken salad?” Matt repeated, laughing.

  “Your front hand grabs between your feet and through your legs,” he explained. “To the heel edge. That’s right,” he added as Matt tried to go through the move while standing still.

  Matt could feel himself getting better by the moment. With Uncle Clayton behind him, he would soon be super-skilled physically and super-confident mentally. He smiled at the thought. This contest was going to be no contest at all. He was going to blow Riley Hammett right off the mountain.

  On Sunday, they hit the slopes again. “I should’ve spent more time with you from the beginning,” Clay said apologetically, as they rode the lift together to the top of the half-pipe. “You wouldn’t have gotten yourself into this mess in the first place if I’d been on the job.”

  “That’s okay, Uncle Clayton,” Matt said. “I mean, you’ve got a life, too. You’re not my dad, after all, and besides, I should be able to take care of myself by now.”

  Clay patted him on the head affectionately. “Yeah,” he said, “but you shouldn’t have to.”

  They made their way to the top of the half-pipe. “I haven’t done the half-pipe since last year,” Matt said nervously.

  “Don’t try to get air the first time down,” Clay advised him. “Just give yourself a nice smooth trip. Get the feel of the pipe. Smooth through the transitions. Then, as you feel more comfortable, you can take some air and even try a few grabs.”

  Clay’s approach was great for confidence building. Matt tried things over and over until he had them down, then added a little bit of flourish or extension when he was ready. He could feel himself improving run by run.

  After lunch, it was back to the jumps.

  “I think we’ll try a little roast beef now,” Clay said, as they rode up the mountain.

  “I’ve heard of that move,” Matt replied. “It’s the flip side of the chicken salad, right?”

  “Right. Same grab, but with the back hand instead of the front. Yeah, roast beef and chicken salad — and we’re gonna bone it, too.”

  “Bone it?”

  “Yeah. It’s stylin’, y’know? You straighten one leg while you’re in the air and hold it till just before you land.”

  Matt listened to every word his uncle told him. He listened in a way he never listened to a teacher in a classroom. When he’d first moved in with Clay, he’d liked snowboarding a lot. Now it was his passion — and this contest was going to be a defining moment in his life, he could just feel it.

  Snowboard Champ lurked in the trees at the top of the mountain, waiting for his quarry to appear. The bank robbers had gotten away clean with the cash, riding off in their commandeered helicopter. The chopper would drop them here at the top of the mountain, where they would snowboard down to their underground cavern hideout. Only they had no idea he was here, ready to foil their plans . . . .

  The whir of the rotors alerted him to the chopper’s approach. There! It was letting off its passengers, loaded with the precious cargo stowed in the backpacks they wore.

  Here they came, down the hill toward him. He let them pass him, then shoved off in hot pursuit. He carved a path almost directly down the fall line, cutting in front of the robbers one after the other, startling them, and causing them to tumble head over heels down the mountain. And when they stopped tumbling, he was there waiting for them, nylon handcuffs at the ready.

  When they were safely hog-tied, he radioed back to base. “Quarry captured,” he said. “Send the police choppers in.”

  “Good work, Snowboard Champ,” the voice on the other end crackled. “How in the world did you do it?”

  He smiled under his red and black mask and goggles. “Just . . . lucky, I guess.”

  Monday morning dawned, a bright, cold, sunny day, and Matt got on the bus to school in a good mood. Spengler was back at the rear of the bus, and Matt joined him readily. There was a bounce in his step as he walked down the aisle of the bus.

  Matt didn’t care anymore if people thought he was a troublemaker. Soon he’d be the king of the hill at Dragon Valley Middle. And just as soon as the contest was over and he was judged the runaway winner, he’d show them just how wrong they were about him.

  He sat down next to Spengler, who looked surprised. “Hi!” he said.

  “Hi.”

  “I thought you might not be speaking to me after what happened last week.”

  Matt elbowed Spengler in his good arm. “I was mad at first,” he admitted. “But I realized it wasn’t your fault.”

  “I’m quitting, by the way. Smoking, I mean.” “That’s cool. Good move.”

  “Hey, my cast’s coming off next week.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Good.”

  “So I can punch out whoever turned us in.”

  “Whoa,” Matt said. “Go easy, okay? We’re in enough trouble already.”

  “It’ll be on me,” Spen
gler said. “What do you care?”

  Matt looked at him long and hard. “What is it with you?” he asked. Then, softly, so no one else could hear, “Hey, Spengler — how’d you break your arm?”

  Spengler stared out the window.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” Matt said. “You can trust me.”

  “It’s not true, what they’re saying,” Spengler told him. “About my dad breaking my arm. It’s not true.”

  “Okay. I believe you. So what did happen?” Spengler sniffed, and Matt leaned in toward him so the other kids on the bus wouldn’t hear them.

  “I hit it against a brick wall.”

  Matt flinched. “On purpose?”

  “Yeah. On account of my dad kept screaming at my mom. I had to hit something. I figured, better a wall than a person.”

  “Whoa . . . man . . .”

  Remembering the jokes those other kids had told about Spengler and how he’d broken his arm, Matt felt sick to his stomach. Here was a kid with real problems — while their only problem was who to trash next.

  Matt was so angry that, like Spengler, he could have punched a wall right then and there. But no — he had a better way to shut those kids up. When he won this competition and became the coolest kid at Dragon Valley Middle, he would set a different tone.

  The bus arrived at school. From the moment he stepped onto the sidewalk, Matt knew that today would be no ordinary day.

  In front of the school, a crowd of kids was gathered. They were staring at something on the wall, but they were blocking the view and Matt couldn’t see past them. When he did work his way through them and saw what they were looking at, he froze.

  Written on the wall, in bright, spray-painted colors, was a graffiti tag. It read:

  Chicago Dukes.

  As he stared at the writing, he heard someone mutter, “That’s him over there. He’s the one who did it.” He didn’t have to look up to know the kid was talking about him.

  10

  The crowd parted like the Red Sea on either side of Matt. “What?” he asked them. “Hey, it wasn’t me! I swear!”

  It wasn’t working. No one looked convinced. Feeling a surge of panic rising inside him, Matt ran up the steps and into the school building. He kept running until he found the boys’ bathroom. Inside, he went into a stall, locked it, and stood there, leaning against the door, trying to catch his breath.