Under the Bridge

by Michael Harmon

  “I can’t believe you.” I sat at my desk, staring at my homework.

  Indy was sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He looked over, turning the volume down on his iPod. “Dad can kiss my ass.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about Cutter.”

  He shrugged, groaning. “So what? I got high. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “We had a deal.”

  He rolled his eyes, turning away. “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “You knew just like I did what was going to happen when I got home. I just needed to chill.”

  I grunted. “He was pissed for sure.”

  He turned back to me, then sat up, running his fingers through his hair. “No, Tate. Not just pissed. You saw it. That was hate, man. He wanted to hit me so bad.”

  “He doesn’t hate you. He just doesn’t want … He just wants you to do good.”

  He looked at me. “You know what I wish?”

  “What?”

  “That I had a fucking cheerleader squad on my side for once. Why do you always defend him?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Bull. Yeah, you do.”

  “Well, he doesn’t look for trouble, Indy. You do. Why can’t you just lay low for once? Give it a break?”

  “Because he never gives me one.”

  “Yeah, he does.”

  “Like when? Remember when I asked him to build a half-pipe in the driveway? When we first got into skating?”

  I nodded. “Yes. And he built it.”

  “No, dude, he didn’t. He said we didn’t have the money, until you wanted one also—then we suddenly had the money. Same with everything else. You get an F on a test and he tells you to pick it up. Just try harder next time, right? I get an F and he goes off the deep end, telling me I’m wasting everything.” He paused, looking at the floor, then lay back down. “Whatever. I’m done talking.”

  “You know why he does it, Indy.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Because you’re smart and I’m not. And he knows it. You’re, like, the most brilliant idiot in the world and everything could be easy for you. I have to study and work to do anything good, and you don’t. You could pass every class you have without cracking a book open, but you won’t. So he rides you.”

  “Great. Makes me feel so much better.”

  “You know what I’m saying.”

  “I know. And I didn’t ask for it. School isn’t for me, and as far as Dad is concerned, I’ve never been for him. You like wrenching on the truck with him and fixing stuff and watching sports and fishing. All that crap.”

  I shrugged. “You don’t like those things.”

  “No shit. But why can’t he like anything I do?” He pointed at his computer. “When was the last time he read one of my stories? Huh?”

  I clenched my teeth, frustrated. It was funny, because while Indy hated school and everything about it, he wrote stories constantly. And they were good. But Dad didn’t like them because Indy wrote about life. Real life. And that included sex, drugs, and cusswords. Things that Dad thought were ruining our country. “I don’t know.”

  “I do. I don’t fit into his stupid redneck world because if you don’t like football or trucks or shooting shit with guns, you’re not good enough for him.”

  “He doesn’t see things that way, and you know it.”

  “Whatever.”

  A few moments passed. I knew it was useless to talk anymore, because every time we did, he just got so worked up that he exploded. “Just don’t get high again, okay?”

  He closed his eyes. “Sure.”

  “Promise.”

  “I promise,” he said, then opened an eye, peering over at me. “Dork.”

  I smiled. “Bigger dork.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Gunmetal clouds blanketed the sky, and a few claps of thunder rumbled through the neighborhood, threatening to bring rain. Dad hadn’t said a word that morning to Indy, and they avoided each other until we left for Under the Bridge. There was a silence in the house that I couldn’t really describe, other than being reminded of a funeral home, and I was glad to get out.

  As we hit the curb in front of the house and dropped our boards to head out, Dad came out of the garage and called to Indy. I stayed at the curb for a couple of minutes while they talked, and when Indy came back, his face could have been cut from stone. I sighed. “What’s up?”

  “Dad bought a home drug-testing kit at the store last night. I’m also grounded to the house every day after school to do homework, which he’ll check. And if I skip again, Mom will drive me to school every day and pick me up, and I can’t leave the house at all for the rest of the year, including summer.”

  “Wow. Hard-core. Did you tell him you weren’t going to smoke anymore?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  I rolled my eyes as we began walking. “Well, because you’re not going to.”

  He shrugged. “He has the drug test for that, and besides, I guess I’m a liar now, too.”

  “Did he say you were a liar?”

  “Tate, why would he get a fricking drug test if he thought I’d be honest about it? I’ve never lied, man. Every time they’ve asked, I’ve told them.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He laughed. “Well, if I’m a liar now, I guess I’ll live up to his expectations.”

  “Dude, don’t.”

  “Why not? I’ve got nothing to lose.”

  “Only your freedom. You want to be stuck in the house for the rest of the year?”

  He dropped his board, the clatter echoing down the street as he hopped on it. “Ain’t gonna happen, bro. Come on, the crew is there already.”

  The park was crowded when we arrived, and as we sat back watching some guys trying to tackle the Monster, Indy relayed to Sid and Piper “last evening’s entertainment.” I was surprised that he left out the part about getting high, but I didn’t say anything about it.

  Piper munched on a bag of Doritos, stuffing chips in his mouth. “Let’s hit the six set at the church, huh? Too busy here.”

  Sid stood. “I’m out. My aunt Carol called this morning and offered me twenty bucks to do yard work.”

  Piper laughed. “You? Work? What’s wrong with that picture?”

  Sid grabbed his board. “My dad blew all our money gambling again, and I need lunch money for next week.”

  We bumped fists. “Cool. See you later.”

  Sid left, and as the clock on the church tower reached four o’clock and the bells sounded, we skated across the empty parking lot. When we rounded the corner, a few junior high kids were skating the set of stairs. Piper spit. “Grom action.”

  Groms were different than the kidlets skating the park with their pads and helmets and their moms clapping every time they pulled a manual for longer than two seconds. Groms were younger street skaters. With dirty clothes, long hair, worn-out sneakers, and street attitude, groms skated the city looking for good stuff to roll on. They were us a few years ago.

  I nodded as we neared. “Cool. One of ’em is Mitchell.” Mitchell was a seventh grader at Sacajawea Middle School, and the kid and his crew lived on their boards. I saw him everywhere, and I mean everywhere. Sometimes I wondered if he ever went home.

  Mitch saw us and waved, threw an ollie down the six set like it was nothing, and skated toward us. Brown dirty hair down over his collarbone, bangs in his eyes, a small nose, and big ears made him look almost like a mouse. He smiled, showing a gap in his teeth. He’d taken a fall last year, trying to ride a grind rail at the Bank of America on Riverside Avenue, and knocked a tooth out. “Hey, Tater. What’s up?”

  “Park’s busy.”

  He laughed. “Park sucks now. I like ghetto fabulous better.”

  Indy and Piper skated off to the far side of the parking lot, piling two concrete parking dividers on top of each other to kick-flip over. I looked at Mitchell’s board. “New deck, huh?”

/>   He beamed. “Yeah. Saved for two weeks raking lawns, and my dad said he might get me some trucks in a while.” He turned his board over, showing me. “Axle thread is stripped. Wobbles, you know?”

  The last time his dad put out any dough for Mitchell was paying the hospital for his birth. I nodded. “I’ve got an extra pair sitting around until then if you want them.”

  He brightened. “How much?”

  I shook it off. “Nothing. I got new ones and the old ones are just sitting there. Come on over in the next couple of days and we’ll bolt ’em on. We’ll work your bearings over, too.”

  He smiled. “Awesome.” He set his board down and skated to his buddies at the stairs. Piper and Indy had three dividers stacked up now. Indy cleared it, but Pipe took a digger, his board clattering as he hit the pavement. I laughed as I skated over to them. “Kick it higher, Pipe.”

  He got up, rubbing his palms. “Yeah, sure. I don’t have springs in my feet, man.”

  Indy hit it again, pulled a one-eighty with the kick, and landed it, wobbling a bit but keeping his balance.

  Piper spit again. “You suck, Indy.”

  Indy laughed. “Your sister sucks.”

  “Ha ha, asswipe. If I had a sister, she wouldn’t be into losers like you.” His eyes twinkled. “Go back to your sponsor if you’re so good, weenie boy.”

  Indy raised his chin, showing Piper his neck. “See this, man? No leash attached.” Indy had been offered a sponsorship by a local board shop and he’d taken it, but after a while, the politics and crap of selling out got to him, and he quit.

  Piper’s eyes went across the parking lot to Mitchell and his friends. “Speak of the devil.”

  We turned, and four skaters—including Corey Norton, who had two local sponsors and was gunning for a national board-company sponsorship—skated around the corner toward Mitchell and his buddies. Corey had taken Indy’s place when he bagged on the sponsorship, and there was definite bad blood between his crew and ours. Corey thought he won the sponsorship over Indy. Not the case. And besides that, Corey was a rich prick.

  We watched for a minute as Corey and his crew skated the stairs, shouldering the kids out of the way and moving into their spot. Mitch, who reminded me of a firecracker on wheels, kept skating, holding his ground.

  Piper saw me staring. “He can handle himself, Tate. Don’t sweat it.”

  I shook my head. “Twelve-year-olds against seventeen-year-olds. That guy is a jerk.” I watched as Corey rode across Mitchell’s line as he jumped the set of stairs, blocking his landing. Mitchell dodged midair to miss and tumbled down the last two steps, his board flying and landing at Corey’s feet. It bounced and hit Corey’s board.

  Corey yelled at him, and Mitchell, on his butt and rubbing his skinned elbow, gave him the finger and yelled something back. Corey, his face twisted and pissed off, bent down, picked up Mitch’s new deck, and slammed it down against the stair rail, snapping it in half and throwing it down.

  I set my board down and skated, with Piper and Indy following. Halfway there, I flipped my board up and walked. Piper and Indy joined me. Piper snorted. “Uncool, man. That was way uncool.”

  I didn’t say anything, just walked, my eyes on Corey.

  Indy bumped my arm. “Tate …”

  I ignored him. As we neared, all heads turned. Mitch was on his feet and picking up his busted board. I faced Corey. “What’s your problem?”

  Corey stared at me. “He got in my line.”

  I faced Corey, then looked at Mitch. Blood ran down his elbow. “You okay, Mitch?”

  He nodded, half of his broken board in his hand and a crushed expression on his face. Unless he stole to get a new one, he’d be walking for weeks. I knew chances were he’d steal.

  I stared at Corey. “Give me your wallet.”

  Corey smirked. “This isn’t your deal, Tate.”

  Piper set his board down, standing beside me. “Why’d you do that, man?”

  Indy shook his head. “I knew you were low, Corey, but that was really low.”

  Corey grimaced at Indy. “Maybe if you put as much time into your board work as you do your mouth, you’d be able to find a sponsor, Indy.”

  Indy smiled. “I’m not a sellout, and besides, I could hammer you any time of the day.”

  Corey smirked again. “You and me and the vert, man. I’ll walk all over you, same as I did to get your spot on the team.” He paused, then grinned. “Better yet, why don’t you and your crew beg for a sponsor and go up against us at the Invitational? We’ll be there.”

  I cut in. “Hand it over, Corey.”

  Corey’s face twisted into a sneer. “What, you’re going to rob me?”

  Corey’s crew laughed, all but a guy named Stick. Even though he was on the same team, I never knew why he hung with Corey. He was cool. I glanced over at Mitch, and then I swung. My knuckles throbbed, and the jolt of the impact against Corey’s cheek cracked up my arm and into my shoulder as he flew back, twisting away and down to the pavement.

  Blood flowed from his nose as he rose, and I rushed him, spinning him around and putting him in a headlock. Three quick rights into his ribs later, I yanked him around, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling him straight. “Give me your wallet.”

  Blood streaked down his shirt, his breathing was ragged, and as I looked in his eyes, I saw fear. He dug in his back pocket, taking his wallet out. I took it with my free hand and threw it to Indy, then brought Corey close, talking low. “You mess with him again and I’ll trash you.” Then I shoved him back.

  He skidded on his butt, bracing himself with his arms and gaping at me. “You’re a psycho, man. Total psycho.” He looked at his crew. “Dude’s a psycho.”

  I studied him for a moment. “Call the police, Corey. See what happens.”

  Silence. He fidgeted. His crew waited. I noticed a family getting out of a sweet-looking Lexus in the parking lot. A man, a woman, and two girls. They stared at the scene, and the lady flipped open her phone, dialing.

  One of the girls was my age, and I recognized her from English. Kimberly Lawson. Varsity cheerleader and volleyball player. She was an inch taller than me, and I’m six feet. Superstar girl.

  Indy hooted, looking through Corey’s wallet. He took a condom out and held it up. “You hold these for your mom, Corey?” Then he laughed, flicking it at him.

  I shook my head, looking at Corey’s ruined face, and I almost got sick. “Knock it off, Indy.”

  Indy rolled his eyes, then dug in the wallet again. “There’s eighty bucks in here.”

  I glanced at Mitch. “How much was the deck?”

  Mitch sniffed, his eyes wide as he stared at me. “Thirty-two bucks at Badger’s.”

  I nodded. “Take forty, Indy.”

  Indy took two twenties and folded the wallet up. He threw it to Corey.

  I looked at Corey. “Get out of here.”

  They did, with Corey wiping his bloody nose on his stained shirt as they went. Mitch stood back, away from us. I took the twenties from Indy, glancing at Kimberly as they went in a side door to the church. “Come on, Mitch.”

  “Where?”

  “Badger’s.”

  He smiled, beaming. “Right now?”

  I steamed. “Yeah. Right now.”

  Indy shook his head. “Tater the superguy.”

  I glowered. “Shut up, Indy. Your mouth is going to get you nailed one of these days. You know that, right?”

  “Me, nailed? I tried to warn the guy. And let’s see, I haven’t been in a fight in … never. Let’s see about you, though.” He counted off on his fingers. “That guy down at McDonald’s last year, Paul Tyson in the parking lot this spring, Kyle Jefferson in the courtyard, two guys at the park who you literally creamed, that Indian dude who tried to steal your wallet, and now Corey. And that doesn’t count junior high. I don’t have enough fingers for that.”

  Piper smiled. “The only reason you never have to fight is because everybody in this city knows your brother.
You have an impenetrable shield of Tate armor around you.”

  Indy screwed his eyes up. “Whatever. I’m bagging off anyway. Meeting somebody.”

  Piper hit Indy’s shoulder. “What’s her name?”

  Indy flashed a grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  I watched as Indy skated away, then turned to Mitch. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  Piper looked at me.

  “What?” I said.

  “That was pretty hard-core, Tate.”

  I shrugged. “You saw what he did.”

  “Yeah, but …”

  I turned to him. “But what? He broke the board, he pays for it. Besides, I asked him three times, and it’s not like Mitch could have clocked him.”

  “Sure, Tate, I’m just saying …”

  I looked at Piper. “You were saying you were going to buy him a new board? Is that it? Because otherwise, I don’t see a solution.”

  Piper didn’t answer.

  I nodded. “Leave it alone, then, huh? Things are shitty, and I don’t want them shittier. Besides, the cops are going to roll up in a minute. That lady called.”

  Piper nodded, dropping the subject as the three of us walked toward Badger’s skate shop. A moment passed. “So, have you thought about the Invitational?” he said.

  The Pro Skater Invitational was coming to the Spokane Veterans Arena in a little under three weeks. Huge pipe, a circuit of pro skaters, and major TV coverage. The deal with this skate tour was that in every city they went to, any local sponsored amateur could compete with other local amateurs the day before the event. The winner in each city would get a national sponsorship. And it would be televised, which was a huge opportunity for national exposure.

  “We’re not sponsored.”

  “I know, but have you thought about it?” Piper asked.

  “We’re street skaters, and corporate sucks, remember?”

  Piper eyed me. “You can tell me that all you want, Tate, but I know you want to go sponsored. I’ve known it since last year. Since Indy bailed on it.”

  I shrugged, happier with his not-serious side.

  He went on. “Just because Sid and Indy hate the corporate gig doesn’t mean you have to. Or me.”

  I furrowed my brow. “You’ve thought about it?”