Shredded Read Online Free PDF Page B

can do, but the tricks—and the big air—will come easier if I’m warmed up first. So that’s what I do. I lay down a few lazy runs, little more than carving up and down the sides of the pipe with a few 360s and 540s thrown in to keep me from getting too bored. Not great for getting me out of my head, but good enoughto get the blood pumping, which is enough for now.
    After my fourth run, I pause at the top of the half-pipe and look up at the sky. It’s midnight black streaked with purple and gray; even the thought of dawn is a good hour away. There are some stars in the sky—not too many that aren’t obscured by the clouds or drowned out by the lights over the half-pipe, but I can see a few. They’re beautiful. Bright. And clear, so clear. Like there’s nothing cloudy or foggy or fucked up about them.
    I don’t know why, but looking at them makes me think of Ophelia. Which is stupid, because she’s a lot of things—hot and tough and obviously smart—but she’s a long way from clear. In fact, something tells me that she’s just as messed up as I am. She didn’t say or do anything to give me that idea, besides dumping a drink all over me, but the way she holds herself and the look in her eyes tell me there’s a lot more to her than she’s got on display.
    Which is exactly why I’m going to back the hell off, and fast. I don’t have the effort to invest in her, not when there are a million other girls out there who aren’t as much work, and who’ll be a hell of a lot easier to forget. I’ve got more than enough crap in my own life to deal with without worrying about what she’s got going on, too.
    That probably makes me a creep, but to be honest, I don’t give a shit. That’s the way it is. The way it has to be.
    This time when I shove off, I decide to go for it. I push myself, aim for big air, and catch it the second time I hit the top of the half-pipe. I use it to propel me faster down the pipe, and the next time I reach the top I let loose with a cab double cork 1260. There’s no way I’m going to land it—it’s pretty much impossible—and I brace for the fall. For the pain that’s as much a part of me as the guilt.
    It doesn’t come.
    Instead, I land the trick—the first time I’ve ever managed to stick it—and keep going. Up the pipe into a quick front flip 720 and then back down again. This time when I reach the top I do a triple back rodeo. It’s a crazy thing to do, especially without a spotter and in the dark, but I don’t give a shit. Because those moments when I’m spinning—when I’m flying—make everything else worth it.
    I manage to complete the rotation, but I’m coming down fast and hard. Again I brace for the pain, anticipate it. Again it doesn’t come. I hit hard but manage to stay on my feet and ride backward to the end of the half-pipe.
    A muffled shout sounds behind me, and I turn to see Ash standing there watching me, his fist in the air. Then he’s running toward me and I’m bending down, unlocking my board. Pretending to be busy so I don’t have to make eye contact with him.
    “Holy shit, man! That was fucking amazing.”
    I shrug, flip my board over. Do the check I should have done forty minutes ago.Everything’s solid, but I kind of wish it wasn’t. Then I’d have something to do with my hands, with myself, when he claps a hand down on my back.
    “Seriously. What the fuck? Cam told me you busted out with an inverted double cork yesterday, but she didn’t say anything about a triple back rodeo. When the hell did you figure out how to do that? And how the shit did you get air like that off the half-pipe?”
    “That’s the first time I ever landed it.” The first time I ever attempted it, too, but I’m not about to tell Ash that. If I do, he’ll try to get all up in my head and demand to know why I’m trying shit like that out here by myself. And telling him I was expecting—not trying, just expecting—to fuck it up and add a few more scars to