Snowboard Champ

by Matt Christopher

  Matt smiled at the thought. Wait till Riley ran into Snowboard Champ!

  The letter from his mom came the afternoon before the contest. He didn’t open it. He needed to concentrate on the contest for one more day, and he was afraid whatever was in the letter would upset him, or at least distract him.

  But he couldn’t stop thinking about it all evening, and even lying in bed that night. Time after time, Uncle Clayton had told him that focus and concentration were everything in snowboarding. How was he supposed to concentrate when all he could think about was what might be in that letter?

  He sat straight up in bed, flicked on his bedside light, and ripped open the envelope, which was postmarked Karnataka. Matt thought that was somewhere in India, but he wasn’t totally sure.

  Dear Matt,

  Well, it’s been a while since I called, and it will be a while longer till I can call again. I am going to be in small villages with no phones or cell-phone towers. I’m taking lots of pictures and keeping a diary so I can remember all the little details to tell you about. Sometime, I hope, I’ll be able to bring you here for a visit.

  I know I’ve promised to tell you all about what I’m doing, running all over the world while you’re back there — and I hope I hope I hope you’re okay and that your uncle is not letting you run totally wild. Anyway, I thought I’d take this opportunity to tell you what I do.

  I’m sure it sounds boring, but what I do is called microloans. I represent our government’s lending institutions out here in the field, prospecting for opportunities so that people can lift themselves out of poverty by building small businesses. I know it must sound terribly un-glamorous, but I find it fascinating and very rewarding.

  The other day, I arranged a loan of $100 for this woman to start an egg-production business. All she needed were some chickens, some feed, and the materials to build a chicken coop. And now, with only $100 — the cost of a pair of sneakers in the States! — her family’s whole life has been changed. Now they will have some cash in addition to the food that they grow, and they can gradually improve their lives.

  I make many loans like this every week, and I love seeing how happy it makes people. If only there were enough money to give everyone that chance! But honey, I do miss you, and I promise that I’ll be gone no more than the year I’ve already committed to. After that, I’ll get a post near home, and we’ll be together again.

  Stay safe, and work hard in school. Love you, baby,

  Mom

  So. She wasn’t a spy after all. Matt had to admit it was a slight disappointment. But thinking about his mom out there in the world, going from place to place spreading opportunity and happiness — well, it was pretty cool, he had to admit. He tucked the letter back into its envelope and stuck it under his pillow. Then he closed his eyes and slept.

  12

  Matt awoke when the rising sun, streaming in through the window, hit him square in the eyes. He’d left the shade up on purpose. This was one morning when he didn’t want to oversleep. He practically leaped out of bed, he was so eager to get to Dragon Mountain.

  Clay was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping some coffee and wolfing down doughnuts. “Want shum?” he asked with his mouth full, pointing to the sugary stuff.

  Matt didn’t need to be invited twice. At home with his mom, doughnuts were strictly off-limits. Still, as he wolfed down a powdered sugar and a chocolate glazed, he reflected that she was probably right. It was one thing to be a pig at thirteen. But he hoped by the time he turned twenty-seven, he’d have developed better eating habits than Uncle Clayton.

  “Let’s go!” Matt said, pushing back his chair, getting up, and going to the back of the loft to get his board. He passed the doorway and froze. There, laid out before him, was a display of all-new snowboarding gear — but not just any new gear. The gloves, the helmet, the boots, and the knee and elbow guards were all in lightning bolts of red and black. And on the back of the thin, insulated racing jacket, incredibly, were written the words SNOWBOARD CHAMP.

  Matt could not believe his eyes. How had Uncle Clayton known? He couldn’t have! Unless . . . “Hey, Uncle Clayton?” he called.

  Clay appeared in the doorway behind him, a satisfied look on his face. “Yeah?”

  “I can’t believe this!”

  “Hey, your mom told me to take care of you, right? So? I’m taking care. You’ve gotta look good when you do good.”

  “But — Snowboard Champ?” Matt asked.

  “You don’t like it?” Clay asked. “I just saw it in the store and thought it was kind of ‘you,’ know what I mean?”

  “Oh, it is,” Matt said. “It’s perfect.”

  Unbelievable, he thought, the way life works sometimes.

  They arrived in plenty of time to register for the competition, but there was already a mob of kids there. It almost seemed like every student at Dragon Valley Middle School had entered the contest. Even Spengler was there, broken arm and all.

  “Are all these kids in the contest?” Matt asked him. “Nah. Most of them came to watch — like me. Baaa . . . baaa.”

  Matt went to check out the list of competitors. In the sixth and seventh grade competitions, there were twelve contestants each. In the eighth grade competition, much to his surprise, there were only four contestants: Jeff Perkins, some girl named Sally Spitzer, Riley Hammett, and Matt.

  He guessed nobody else was stupid enough to want to get humiliated by Riley. Oh, well, at least he wasn’t the only other person going up against him. He felt a sudden rush of gratitude for Perkins and for Sally Spitzer, whoever she was.

  He went over to read the rules and procedures sheet. The three grades would rotate locations. The eighth graders would start on the jumps, then, after a break, compete in the half-pipe. Each sixth and seventh grade contestant got three jumps and two runs down the half-pipe, and the two best riders faced off in a final. For the eighth graders, there were four jumps each and two half-pipe runs. Matt guessed that was due to the lack of contestants.

  Okay, so now he knew what he had to prepare. He thought about all the jumps and airs he’d practiced with Uncle Clayton. He couldn’t possibly do them all. Which ones should he do for the contest?

  “Hi, Matt.”

  He turned around, and there was Melissa. “I came to see you whip Riley.” She grinned at him, but there was a pleading look in her huge green eyes. “I’m . . . sorry I haven’t had time to hang out lately.”

  He didn’t answer. He just stood there, waiting to see if she had anything more to say. “I, um, heard you were cleared. I mean, that you didn’t do any of that stuff they said you did.”

  “Yeah? So?” he said, keeping his distance.

  “So . . . that’s cool,” she said. “I knew you couldn’t have done that stuff, anyway. But it’s cool that you didn’t get in any trouble.” She paused. “So . . . who do you think actually did it? Riley?”

  Matt shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Probably. But I’m not gonna go making any accusations. That’s what they did to me.”

  “Right,” she said, biting her lip. “Well — good luck today.” She leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  A few weeks ago, that would have really made him happy. Not now. The only people who hadn’t given him the cold shoulder had been Uncle Clayton and Spengler. They were okay with him. As for everyone else, well, he’d forgive them in time, but not yet. First he had to prove something — to them and to himself.

  Uncle Clayton came back from parking the truck. “Whew!” he said. “What a madhouse!”

  “Yeah, but there’s only four of us competing in eighth grade,” Matt said.

  “Wow,” Clay said, his eyes widening. “Okay, all the better for us. Is that kid you talked about . . . ?”

  “Yeah, he’s in it.”

  “Good. But remember, Matt — it’s just you and the mountain.”

  “Me and the mountain.”

  “That’s right.” Clay gave him a clap on the shoulder. “L
ookin’ good, dude,” he said. “Just apply the mind.” He tapped a finger to his forehead. “I’ll be sending you the vibes from the stands.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Clayton.” Matt hugged him, and they did their usual elaborate handshake. Then Clay turned and walked off to get a good seat toward the front of the lodge’s gigantic deck.

  Matt went outside, fastened on his board, and slid over to the jump lift. As he rode to the top, he sat next to a girl with long, straight blond hair. She wore a hearing aid in her left ear and a contestant’s number — 8/3 — on her chest. Matt’s number was 8/4.

  “Sally?” he asked her. “Sally Spitzer?”

  She turned to him, smiled, and nodded.

  “Matt Harper,” he said, offering his hand.

  She shook it. “You’re new in school,” she said, speaking a little louder than necessary, as people with hearing problems sometimes did.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I haven’t seen you before.”

  But he had seen her. He just hadn’t noticed her. Or rather, he’d noticed her hearing aid and tuned the rest of her out, without even realizing it.

  “So, you board, huh?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’m not that good, but I love boarding more than anything. Plus, I didn’t want to just let Riley Hammett win.”

  “You don’t like Riley?”

  “He’s mean,” she said, as if it were a big secret. “He says mean things about me all the time. He thinks I can’t hear him whispering to his friends, but I can read his lips.” Two big tears formed in her eyes.

  “Riley’s going down today,” Matt promised her. He admired this girl for her courage. And he shared her passion for snowboarding. “Gimme five on it.”

  They slapped hands and hopped off the lift at the top of the ramp slope.

  And there was Riley Hammett, waiting for them. He wore a bright yellow outfit with a sign saying 8/2 plastered to his chest and back. To his left, Matt saw Perkins wearing 8/1. They were all here. It was time to do what he’d come here to do.

  The contest officials gathered them together. “We’re on a tight schedule,” said Mr. Evans, Matt’s home-room teacher, who was serving as chief judge of the contest. “Got to get you out of here by eleven so the sixth graders can come in. So you’ll each have approximately one minute to prepare for each jump. You’ll go at the sound of the whistle.” He blew it to let them know what it sounded like.

  Sally raised her hands in frustration. “I can’t hear that,” she said.

  “Well, I’m sorry, young lady, but —”

  “Listen,” Matt broke in, “why don’t you give a hand signal, too, so everybody gets it?”

  Mr. Evans thought for a moment, then said, “Very well. That sounds like a good idea. I’ll go like this.” He brought his arm down in a comical way that made all the contestants laugh.

  It was the last time any of them would laugh until the contest was over. And not all of them would be laughing then, either.

  “You get one practice jump each,” Mr. Evans said. They went in order, with 8/1 going first. Perkins had obviously been practicing. He did a very nice jump with a smooth landing. Nothing fancy, but then, everyone would be saving his or her best jump for the actual contest. Riley was next. He did a spectacular grab in midjump and landed so smoothly, barely any snow was disturbed. “Just to show everyone who’s boss,” Matt muttered under his breath.

  Then he remembered to take his mind off Riley and keep it on himself and the mountain. He missed Sally’s practice jump because he was concentrating on his preparation, but he did hear the cheer that went up from the bottom of the jump, where the crowd was gathered. So. She was good . . . .

  Never mind. Just me and the mountain. Matt stared down the ramp to the jump-off point, then slid into his ride. He let the jump come to him and took the air easily, relaxing into it. At the top, he felt a rush of exhilaration. He knew he’d never jumped this high before. Immediately, he pulled his concentration back onto the landing, which he made with just a little wobble.

  Okay. He was ready. Bring it on! he thought. Here comes Snowboard Champ.

  Now the contest began in earnest. They were to jump in the same order the first time, then shuffle the order so it would be fair to everyone.

  On the first jump, Perkins fell badly. At first, Matt thought he’d been hurt, but he got up slowly and made his way back to the lift for another run.

  Riley repeated his midair grab and landed perfectly, putting on the pressure. Again, Matt missed Sally’s jump because he was busy getting ready for his own. Again, he heard the cheers, which seemed even louder than those for Riley.

  Matt had chosen to do a chicken salad for an appetizer, then give them the roast beef for the main entrée. For dessert, it would be a 360 and his own Combination Special. That is, he’d do it that way unless circumstances changed. If Riley should happen to, oh, say, break his leg, then . . .

  Me and the mountain . . . me and the mountain . . . Again, Matt had to force himself back into focus. He made his jump, but it wasn’t quite as good as his practice jump. When the scores went up after the first round, he was in third place behind Sally and Riley.

  Wait a minute — Sally was in first place?

  This time she went first, and he watched her jump — a high-flying 180 half-cab. She landed fakie and thrust her fists into the air. Even Matt found himself cheering, although he noticed that Riley wasn’t.

  Riley’s second jump was also a half-cab. Midjump, he boned it, straightening out one leg and grabbing the board with one hand. He landed perfectly and waved to acknowledge the applause from below.

  Matt stuck with his plan. His chicken salad was second nature to him now, and he needed to feel comfortable in what he was doing. Later in the contest, if he fell behind, he would pull out all the stops.

  He lifted off perfectly again — the result of his constant practicing — and in midjump, he decided to add a little waggle, just for effect. The whoop of appreciation he got when he landed told him it had gone over big-time.

  Sure enough, the leaderboard had bunched up. Perkins brought up the rear after his first-round fall, even though his second jump had been clean. The other three were neck and neck going into the third round.

  Riley was first this time, and he brought out the big gun — the 360 turn. He wobbled a little on the landing, though, and Matt sensed an opening. For the third time, he had to remind himself to shut the other boarders out of his thoughts. He would stick with his plan and do the roast beef. There would be time for a 360 on his last jump.

  He took off, started his jump, and hit the ramp edge just right. Boy, he was getting a lot of height today! Then, in midjump, he realized he’d gotten too much height. Thinking quickly, he tucked his head under, forcing his body into a somersault. Dizzy, staring at the snow from upside down, he navigated himself into landing position by feel alone — and hit it!

  With some flailing, he managed somehow not to fall. The shouts of the onlookers rang in his ears — or maybe it was just the blood pounding, driven by his racing heart. He had improvised in midjump and landed something so spectacular not even Uncle Clayton had thought of it! A full head-over-heels somersault!

  The leaderboard now showed him at the top, and by a comfortable margin. Riley was really going to have to do something amazing and stick it on the landing, too.

  Sally shook her head at him in amazement. “Where have you been hiding?” she asked admiringly.

  “It was a total accident,” Matt told her truthfully.

  “Yeah, right,” she said with a laugh. “You’re awesome!”

  “Well, thanks,” Matt said humbly. He knew there was still one jump to go. He still had to land it to win.

  He did. His 360 was a little short, but he hit the ground with no problem. Safe at the bottom, he watched as Riley prepared for his last jump.

  Even from down here, Matt could see the tension in Riley’s body as he pushed off. He took off into the air and tried to do what Matt had done — a fu
ll somersault. Matt held his breath. Could Riley land the dangerous jump?

  No. Riley wiped out on his landing and lay there motionless. The contest officials rushed as fast as they could through the snow toward him, but when they got there, Riley was already on his feet, pushing them away. Matt realized that Riley wasn’t hurt, he was just furious. He’d been beaten in one part of the competition. The half-pipe was his only chance to save his reputation.

  Sally had come in second in the jumps. “You were incredible,” she told him as they walked together over to the half-pipe area.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate that, coming from you.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, looking ready to be hurt.

  “I mean, you’re an awesome boarder,” he said.

  She brightened instantly. “Really?”

  “Come on,” he said. “You know you’re good.”

  She shrugged adorably. “I guess. Anyway, good luck.”

  “You, too.” They shook hands. “Hey,” he said, hanging on to her hand. “You . . . want to go boarding sometime?”

  “You mean, just us?”

  “Yeah, you know . . . ”

  “Sure!”

  “Cool.” He stuck his hands back into his pockets. Yeah, Sally was all right, he thought. So what if she wore a hearing aid? She was cool. And man, could she snowboard!

  Perkins went first on the practice run. He took air a couple of times, but Matt could see he was discouraged. Matt was sorry to see it. If more kids had entered the contest, kids who maybe weren’t as good as the three of them, Perkins wouldn’t have looked so bad by comparison. Well, maybe next year kids wouldn’t be so afraid to enter.

  Matt lined up for his practice run and felt Riley’s angry eyes on him. Things were great around this town until you showed up, Matt could almost hear him thinking.

  Well, great for who? Matt was sure things would be better for most kids around here once Riley Hammett was taken down a peg or two.

  He did an easy practice run just to get the feel of the course. He had a program in mind for the various turns in the half-pipe, but he didn’t want to give them away beforehand. Unlike the ramp slope, the half-pipe was icy today. Matt could feel himself slipping a little here and there. He’d have to be careful on his runs, but then again, so would everybody else.