one I got last year for Christmas got stolen, and I can’t tell my dad I need a new one cause he’ll be really pissed off. I wring out my shirt. Bluish-red dye runs down my face and my hands are stained red from yesterday. I duck down and look in the window between a flier for the “Big Mele ,” a punk rock show in this pasture valley, and an ad for a skate demo that’s going to be here in the parking lot next week. My breath fogs up the glass.
I see Clay standing at the back counter, concentrating on screwing a truck on a board. I walk in, hiding the broken end of my board under my arm in case I chicken out. I sneak a look at Clay.
He looks up, sort of happy to see me, I think. Maybe it’s more of a confused expression. “Eh, brah. What’s up? Why’re you wet?”
“Hey, man. Aloha. It’s raining in my hood.” I try to sound cool, unaffected, not nervous as fuck. I start to walk over to him, and notice myself in a mirror mounted on the wall. I’m soaking wet on a sunny day. I look like such a weirdo.
“Hey.” Clay looks up at me.
“Hey.”
“Like your hair.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you just do it?”
I look at my red-stained hands. “Yeah. Part of it.” Oh, my God. We’re talking. A normal conversation. This is too cool. I’m going to pass out. I wish I could, so he’d have to give me mouth to mouth. I stare at him and my mind goes blank. My only instinct is reptilian. I want to pounce on him. I can’t look away. I’m amazed at how beautiful he is.
“So what’s up?”
I snap out of my daze and look down. “Nothing.”
“Want some more weed or something?”
“Uh... no.” I lower my voice. “I need a truck for my board.” I bring it out from under my arm and put it on the counter, wheels up, like it needs surgery. This is so transparent. It totally looks like I just bashed it on the curb or something.
He has to know I faked this. I would’ve had to drop in from a 70-foot ramp onto concrete to break the truck totally off like I did. He’s gonna see through my whole act, figure out that I broke my board to have an excuse to see him. This could be a huge catastrophe if I don’t play it cool. “That’s brand new, dude. What happened?” He sounds impressed. He doesn’t know. Maybe, he thinks I’m an excellent skater that can do 900’s on the ramp. “Some lady bought it yesterday. I put it together myself.” He looks me straight in the eye. “Was that your mom?”
“Oh, yeah, guess so. Birthday present.” I feel really stupid for saying birthday, like I’m a little kid.
“No fuck? Happy birthday.” He leans over the counter and punches me in the shoulder. “How old are you?”
“16.” I feel so incredibly stupid. A lisp came out of nowhere when I said it.
“Sweet 16.” He pinches my cheek. “Dude, why aren’t you wearing the new helmet?”
“’Cause I’m not a huge fucking dork.”
He reaches into the glass case and pulls out two cool-looking wheels and a really expensive truck, looks around to make sure no one’s watching, and hands them to me. “Put these in your pack, quick.”
I feel his warm breath on my face as he whispers it. I want to dive over the counter and attack him and strip
I see Clay standing at the back counter, concentrating on screwing a truck on a board. I walk in, hiding the broken end of my board under my arm in case I chicken out. I sneak a look at Clay.
He looks up, sort of happy to see me, I think. Maybe it’s more of a confused expression. “Eh, brah. What’s up? Why’re you wet?”
“Hey, man. Aloha. It’s raining in my hood.” I try to sound cool, unaffected, not nervous as fuck. I start to walk over to him, and notice myself in a mirror mounted on the wall. I’m soaking wet on a sunny day. I look like such a weirdo.
“Hey.” Clay looks up at me.
“Hey.”
“Like your hair.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you just do it?”
I look at my red-stained hands. “Yeah. Part of it.” Oh, my God. We’re talking. A normal conversation. This is too cool. I’m going to pass out. I wish I could, so he’d have to give me mouth to mouth. I stare at him and my mind goes blank. My only instinct is reptilian. I want to pounce on him. I can’t look away. I’m amazed at how beautiful he is.
“So what’s up?”
I snap out of my daze and look down. “Nothing.”
“Want some more weed or something?”
“Uh... no.” I lower my voice. “I need a truck for my board.” I bring it out from under my arm and put it on the counter, wheels up, like it needs surgery. This is so transparent. It totally looks like I just bashed it on the curb or something.
He has to know I faked this. I would’ve had to drop in from a 70-foot ramp onto concrete to break the truck totally off like I did. He’s gonna see through my whole act, figure out that I broke my board to have an excuse to see him. This could be a huge catastrophe if I don’t play it cool. “That’s brand new, dude. What happened?” He sounds impressed. He doesn’t know. Maybe, he thinks I’m an excellent skater that can do 900’s on the ramp. “Some lady bought it yesterday. I put it together myself.” He looks me straight in the eye. “Was that your mom?”
“Oh, yeah, guess so. Birthday present.” I feel really stupid for saying birthday, like I’m a little kid.
“No fuck? Happy birthday.” He leans over the counter and punches me in the shoulder. “How old are you?”
“16.” I feel so incredibly stupid. A lisp came out of nowhere when I said it.
“Sweet 16.” He pinches my cheek. “Dude, why aren’t you wearing the new helmet?”
“’Cause I’m not a huge fucking dork.”
He reaches into the glass case and pulls out two cool-looking wheels and a really expensive truck, looks around to make sure no one’s watching, and hands them to me. “Put these in your pack, quick.”
I feel his warm breath on my face as he whispers it. I want to dive over the counter and attack him and strip
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