After we worked for a while, the priest put down his brush and asked, "Mind if I ask a favor, eh?"
"Of course not," I replied.
"I'd like to try to skate."
You could've knocked me over with a kitten's whisker. "Sure! Take my board!"
He tossed a glance over his shoulder towards the empty churchyard. "Just don't tell any of my congregation. A priest is supposed to be...well," he cleared his throat, "I guess you'd call it...proper, if you know what I mean."
We all laughed. Fr. O'Riley was right—he was certainly different from any priest I'd ever known.
He placed one foot on the board and began pumping furiously with the other foot. "Hold on world, here I come!" he called to no one in particular. Though the incline was only a gentle one, it was enough to give him momentum. Soon all we could see was his backside and his flailing arms and hands.
"Oh, no! He's gonna crash!" Andy exclaimed.
"He's way too old for this," Cam said under his breath.
In seconds the priest righted himself, made a wide U-turn, and zoomed back towards us. We breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"Hey, way to go!" Cam yelled.
"Not bad, Fr. O'Riley," Megan said. "You should skate more often!"
The priest twisted his face into a wry smile. "Agreed, my dear. Maybe with a little more practice . . ." He stopped talking, then laughed heartily. "Can't you just hear the talk around town? Small town priest turns skateboarder."
"That's rad!" Pete exclaimed from behind me.
Fr. O'Riley nodded his thanks. "I can remember back in the old days when skateboarding first got started. A typical board wasn't much more than an old crate on roller skates."
"Did you skate then?" I asked.
"No, but the thought crossed my mind a time or two." He straightened his shirt. "That reminds me. There was something I planned to mention, and I guess there's no time like the present."
"What?" we chorused.
"I assume, accordin' to everything I've heard, that you kids are havin' a hard time findin' a place to skate."
I released a cleansing breath. "You can say that again." I didn't want to tell him that Mr. Crosham was one of our biggest problems.
"How'd you like to use the church parkin' lot durin' off-hours?" he asked. "If you have ramps, bring them. You can even build a half-pipe down on the end where no one goes."
I gasped. "Wow! You really mean that?"
"You've got to be kidding!" Andy said with a grin.
"Well now, you want I should say it's all a big joke?" His dark eyes danced beneath busy white eyebrows
"Oh, Fr. O'Riley!" I cried. "Thanks! Thanks a bunch." I darted a sidelong look at Cam and saw the happiness shining in his eyes. Soon we were all talking and laughing. I wanted to pinch myself to make sure it was for real. At last our problems were over!
* * *
"What's going on?" Cam asked the following Saturday. Dad had escorted him into our family room where Angie and I'd been playing Clue and arguing about whose turn it was to unload the dishwasher.
I grinned up at him and got that familiar little thrill running down my spine. "Oh, just another sisterly squabble." Even though most of the commotion at our house had ended two months earlier, I hadn't forgotten her telling me how she'd felt left out. I was trying hard to be more patient with Angie.
"You got back early?" I asked, glancing at the clock in the hallway.
"Yep. Things were kind of slow, so the boss said to take off." He was smiling mysteriously, but before I could ask why, Angie started yammering as usual.
"Cam, wanna see my school picture? Come on! Pretty please? It's in my room."
"Sure, kiddo, but first give me five!" He held out his hand while she smacked it hard.
"Oh! You're a strong little thing, aren't you?" He waved his hand about as if to cool it off, all the while smiling crookedly and feigning discomfort.
"Surprised you, huh?" She grinned like a Cheshire cat.
I shook my head as he trailed behind her into her room. "You two better make it snappy!" I exclaimed with mock sternness. "I'm not waiting forever."
In a short while, he appeared again—without Angie. I could hear her talking loudly on her cell phone in her room. Lucky thing for Cam, I thought. A phone call gave him a chance for a fast get-away.
"So are you ready to go?" Cam asked.
I blinked. "Go where?"
"Hello, Cam!" Mom breezed past us carrying a cardboard box.
"Hey, Mrs. Williams."
She dumped the box onto the closest chair and rubbed her hands together. "I was out in the garage, gathering up extra boxes. Next weekend's the big rummage sale at the community center, and I've got to get some things organized."
Poor Mom, I thought as I squeezed back my annoyance over still another interruption. Now that she didn't have Dad's campaign to "organize," she apparently had to dream up something else. Her life was the same way with everything separated into neat little compartments. Good thing I don't take after her.
After she'd vanished out of sight, I looked again at Cam and repeated, "Okay, so where are we going?"
"To the church!"
"The church?"
"Yes! The lumber's here." His voice bubbled with eagerness. "The delivery guy dropped it off in the parking lot a little while ago. I've already talked to Fr. O'Riley, and he's given us the green light to get started building the half-pipe!"
"But...but I don't get it. What lumber? And when did this all happen?"
"I told my folks about the priest and the parking lot and the half-pipe. They said they wanted to help, so they put in an order for the lumber this morning." He brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. "And if everything goes right, I should have enough money saved up to pay them back in a couple of weeks."
"This is unreal! Things are happening even faster than I'd imagined."
He gave me a tender kiss, then clasped my hand and led me to the hall coat closet. "Grab a warm jacket. You might need it."
Although my knees were still wobbly from his kiss, I managed to I paw through the closet and shrug into my fleece-line denim jacket.
"Your parents are really generous," I told him after we'd driven away in the Mercedes. "I mean, getting all that lumber together for us . . ." Hiding my smile, I noticed some biscuit-colored paint streaked against his blond hair. He stopped at a cross-walk while two kids about Angie's age sauntered by. "Fr. O'Riley says he's got saws, hammers, and anything else we might need in his rectory."
"He's been a big help already," I mused aloud. "I like his attitude. He thinks skating's cool and we're worthwhile."
"He's not the only one," Cam pointed out. "Take Mr. Crosham, for instance. And your dad."
I had to admit—regardless of Cam's presumed motives—he was right. Maybe there was hope for Preston yet.
After we arrived at the church parking lot, I jumped out of the car and sniffed the smell of the freshly-cut plywood. Excitement flowed through me. I'd never built a thing in my life before, not even a birdhouse like Angie did at camp last summer, but I was willing to give it my best shot.
Cam looked down at me. I detected a glimmer of tenderness in his eyes, deep misty pools of green that I could almost get lost in.
"We've got our work cut out for us," he muttered, grazing my cheek with his hand.
"I bet it's going to take weeks to get the half-pipe done."
"The longer the better . . ."
"What?" Was he out of his mind? "I thought you were the one who couldn't wait."
"Yes and no." The dimple in his chin deepened. "I figure if I can hold onto you long enough till we get this thing done, then maybe—just maybe—you'll keep sticking around."
At a loss for words, I studied his face. Hold onto me? Did he mean that? More than anything, I wanted to believe him, but my doubts kept getting in the way. Changing the subject, I pulled back and asked, "So where's Fr. O'Riley? How do we get started?"
Cam dug into his pocket and pro
duced a piece of folded graph paper. "He should be along any second now. When I talked with him earlier, I showed him these rough plans I got at New World Skates. He thought they looked excellent, and I'm really stoked that he's supporting us this way."
I stared down at a penciled sketch of the half-pipe, and my veins thrummed with anticipation. "I can't believe it! It's really happening."
"Believe it. It's for real! Fr. O'Riley suggested we build it in three parts," he continued, tracing the lines with his index finger. "The middle is here at the bottom and the two raised sections are on either end. That way, if we ever have to, it'll be a lot easier to move to another spot."
"Good idea," I said. "Who else is going to help us?"
"Pete, Randy, Nick, and a few others. Pete said Megan wanted to come, but she's studying for a test."
I laughed. "Be glad. Knowing Megan, she'd spend more time hitting her thumb with the hammer than getting any work done." I glanced over at the south side of the old grocery store. In the late afternoon grayness, I could see our clean, newly-painted wall. It gave me a good feeling inside. Even if Mr. Crosham hadn't offered to pay us for our work, it would've been worth it just cleaning up that mess.
Soon the other kids arrived. For the next couple of hours we measured and sawed and hammered and measured again as if our lives depended on it—Fr. O'Riley included. At last, trying to work in near-total darkness, we had to rely on a make-shift spotlight the priest had rigged up for us.
"I can hardly wait for the first time I drop into this half-pipe," Andy said above the whine of the power saw.
"Yeah, and it'll be cool carving the edges," Nick agreed. "I plan to work on my front side nose slides and 5-0 grinds."
I sat down on a sawhorse and let out an audible sigh.
Andy grinned. "You look wiped out."
I pulled a face. "So what if I am? Have you heard me complaining?"
My hands tingled and my back ached. Still, it felt wonderful to know that when the half-pipe was finally finished, we'd have a place to skate that was safe and legal. Already the broad U-shaped foundation was looking good.
Fr. O'Riley straightened, rubbing his back, then nodded towards the small house where he lived next to the church. "Let's call it a night, okay? I ordered three big pizzas, just waitin' inside. Anyone hungry?"
"Yes!" we shouted in unison while Nick and Pete pumped fists into the air. A few minutes later we hurried inside and gathered around a cozy woodstove in the front room. I closed my eyes and allowed my thoughts to drift as the inviting warmth wrapped around me.
Cam's voice jerked me from my reverie. "Darn! I think I left my wallet on the saw horse. I'll be right back."
"Wait," I said. "I'll go with you."
Fr. O'Riley handed Cam a flashlight. "Here. This might come in handy."
We hurried back outside. Cam beamed the flashlight on the sawhorse and murmured, "At least it's still—"
Footsteps pounded from somewhere close by. As I whirled around and peered in the direction of the old store, I gasped.
Shadowy figures were vanishing into the night.
Chapter Nine
"Cam!" I exclaimed. "Look! Over there!"
Beneath a pool of streetlight that illuminated the wall of the old store, we gaped at the newly-applied spray paint. New graffiti was plastered from one end to the other.
My hands shook. "They're getting away!"
"Oh, no, they aren't!" he said hotly. He tore out after them.
"Wait!" I yelled. "I'm coming too!"
"Go back inside the rectory," Cam hollered back to me.
"No, I want to help!" Already Cam was about a hundred feet ahead of me. It looked as if he might even catch up with them, but then what? A shudder zipped through me.
The cold winter air smarted my eyes as I raced ahead, dodging an old tire someone had dumped in the middle of the parking lot. Skateboards clattered behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. Pete and Nick must've heard our shouts. They were approaching, quickly gaining ground.
I rounded the north side of the store. Looking past Cam, I caught sight of three figures, two short bulky frames, the other tall and lanky. My head thudded.
Instantly they piled into a white van parked next to a dumpster.
I stopped in my tracks as the van lunged forward. Wheels screeched. The smell of burning rubber filled the air. Seconds later, the van swerved to the right and careened out onto the highway.
"I got their license." Cam sprinted back to where we stood waiting. "Those dudes weren't too smart, leaving their van parked under a streetlight. I was just close enough to see. Help me remember it, Jessie. He rattled the number off effortlessly.
"Got it!" I repeated it back to him.
"This sucks!" Pete said. "If the cops can't track down these jerks now, they never will!"
Cam's jaw tensed. "I'll head straight over to the police station."
While the rest of the kids put away the tools in the storage shed, Cam and I took off. Sergeant McFarland, a stock middle-aged patrolman, scowled as he listened to our story. After what'd seemed like an eternity, he finished entering his report into his computer. "I'll get on it immediately," he said. Then he disappeared through the back door.
"Fr. O'Riley said if you need any more eye witnesses, just give him a call!" I yelled after him. I doubted whether he'd heard me.
I shrugged. Though I was exhausted, waves of optimism washed over me. Maybe—at last—we'd know the truth! It was time the people of Preston stopped blaming us for something we hadn't done.
Back at the rectory, where the others were still munching on pizza and drinking soft drinks, I collapsed onto a floral printed couch next to Cam. The spicy smells of pepperoni pizza wafted in from the kitchen, and in the background, I heard music playing.
"What happened at the police station?" Andy asked. "Are the cops going to arrest them?"
"The chances look good," Cam answered. "Getting that license plate number was really our ace in the hole."
After the conversation had drifted off to talk about the try-outs at school for Our Town and the Senior Grad party, I rested my head on Cam's shoulder and sighed. "Wow, what a night," I said. "I'm tired."
"Me too," he murmured. "Tired and hungry."
After we'd both scarfed down a few slices of pizza, I looked over at the priest. It was obvious, despite still another spray-painting incident a while earlier, he was enjoying our company.
"Fr. O'Riley?" I asked.
"Yes, my dear?"
"Why are you doing this? Going out of your way to be so nice to us, I mean."
His eyes took on a far-away look. "I may seem old to you, but I'm not too old to remember my own youth. Back when I was a kid growin' up in a little town in Wisconsin, I owned a motorcycle. A dirt bike, to be exact. That's what I really loved to do—tear around the countryside, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face and the wind rushing past me. So did a few of my best buddies. We couldn't be on the highways, of course, so we found old roads in a deserted pasture. But soon the farmers started to complain. 'No good hoods' they said. 'Nothin' but a bunch of hell-raisers. They're scarin' our cows, raisin' too much dust, and destroyin' our peace and quiet."
As we talked, I leaned forward, eager to catch every word. Already I was beginning to understand . . .
"We didn't mean to bother them, or their cows," he continued with a wry chuckle. "We simply wanted to have fun. But soon we found ourselves as branded as the cattle in their pastures. To them, motor cycling and delinquency practically went hand-in-hand."
"So what did you do?" Pete asked. "Did you have to get rid of your bikes?"
"Fortunately not. An elderly couple who liked kids and owned several acres of untended pasture decided to take action. They hired a bulldozer which carved out miles of trails for us. What a red letter day when we finally were allowed to take our bikes onto their land. I'll never forget that old man and woman for as long as I live."
"So what you're saying is that you were misunderstood
too?" Cam asked. "You know how that feels."
"Yes. But it goes far beyond misunderstandin'. It's really a story about knowin' someone out there believes in you. Someone who is willin' to stand up and say, 'Take another look, folks. You've got it all wrong. These kids are worth it.'"
My throat tightened. "And now you're doing the same thing for us."
"That's right. Maybe now I can pay it forward."
Deeply touched, I thought about his story. Some day when I was grown up and living in an exciting foreign country, I'd have an opportunity to crusade against prejudice and narrow-mindedness too. But who knew? Perhaps the opportunity would happen here in my own backyard. Maybe I wouldn't have to travel to the far corners of the world to make a difference.
Pete's voice yanked me out of my thoughts. "I sure hope those jerks don't mess around with our half-pipe," he said determinedly. He bit into his pepperoni pizza and lifted a shoulder. "I don't trust them one bit. And what I don't get is this—why can't Preston catch up with the times? I mean, skateboarding is highly respected in the rest of the world. It might have taken a while, but boarding is even part of the Winter Olympics now, not to mention the X games."
"You got it, man," Nick put in.
"I'll keep an eye on the half-pipe," Fr. O'Riley said. He folded his hands in his lap. "That's a promise."
"Did the van look familiar?" I turned to Andy who'd lived in Preston for nearly as long as I had.
"Nope. Not at all. I'm sure they were outsiders."
"Ditto," Pete agreed with a scowl. "They had to be from out-of-town. I've never seen a van like that around here before."
"Don't sweat it," Cam said. "Like I told Jessie at the police station, I know we'll catch up with them. I just have this feeling."
My heart sank. He might be feeling hopeful, but somehow I wasn't anymore. Maybe I was just too tired to think clearly now.
That night as I tried to sleep, I kept thinking about Fr. O'Riley's story and how he was helping us. Thoughts of the kids in the white van also churned in my brain. What if the police discovered the van had been stolen? What if they never tracked down the identity of the driver and his buddies? All the "what ifs" kept swimming around in my head, nearly driving me crazy.
Skateboard Blues Page 6