Skateboard Tough Read Online Free PDF

cut in from her chair near the picture window. “It could be a waste of time.”
    Thanks, Mom,
he wanted to say.
I knew you’d he with me all the way
. How she had consented to let his father buy him his first skateboard he’d never know. He must have caught her at a weak moment.
    “Go for it, Brett,” Shannon said. “If you don’t, you’ll never know.”
    She shot a glance at her mother right after she said that, as if she expected her mother to make some kind of harsh remark. But Mrs. Thyson just pursed her lips and turned her attention back to the TV set.
    “I second that,” Mr. Thyson said. “It’s worth a shot. And we’re proud of you for thinking of it, right, hon?” He looked at his wife, who acted as though she hadn’t heard him.
    Brett smiled, and got up. He excused himself and headed for his bedroom, eager to get going on the letter. He couldn’t wait to tell the whole town — including his mother — that skateboarders could be responsible.
    He cleared off a space on his small desk, got a pen and paper, thought for a bit, then began to write:
    Dear Editor,
    I’m one of the many kids in Springton who enjoy skateboarding, but there’s no place for us to skateboard except on the sidewalks. And nobody wants us to skateboard on them. They say we’re dangerous and cause a lot of trouble. So what can we do? Nothing!
    But we’re not going to do just nothing. We’re going to keep skateboarding. Skateboarding has become a national sport. It’s even become an international one. A lot of cities and towns have built special rinks for skateboarders. Why can’t Springton do the same for its kids? If they did, then we would stay off the sidewalks. We wouldn’t be a menace, like some people say we are. And we’d be happy.
    I hope that you will print this letter, and that it will get somebody to thinking about building us a rink. There are fields for baseball, football, and soccer. But there’s not a single place for skateboarding.
    I hope that whoever reads this letter will think about that.
    Sincerely yours,
    Brett Thyson
    He read the letter over and felt satisfied with it. Then he wrote the newspaper’s address on an envelope, put on a stamp, and went downstairs.
    “It’s finished,” he told his parents.
    “I guess you don’t want us to read it,” his father said.
    “It’s not much,” Brett said with a shrug. “Anyway, if it’s printed, you can read it then.” He headed for the door. “I’m going to mail it now.” Before his mother could say anything, he added, “I’m going on my bike.”
    There, Mom. Satisfied?
    He stuck the letter inside his jacket pocket, opened the garage door, and got his bike. The Lizard was there on the bench, and he gave it a passing glance, as if he felt guilty for taking the bike instead of the skateboard. “Maybe tomorrow, Liz,” he said half aloud.
    It was fourteen blocks to the post office. He took his time riding there, staying as close to the right-side curb as possible, swinging out into the street only when there was a parked car in front of him. He passed the tennis courts, and noticed the crowd, the cars in the parking lot.
    See what I mean, Mr. Editor?
he thought.
Even tennis players have their place; we should have ours
.
    He finally arrived at the post office, a sprawling brick building with half a dozen steps leading up to the double doors. He went in and dropped the letter into the slot marked STAMPED LETTERS .
    There,
he told himself proudly,
I’ve done it. I’ve written and mailed the letter. Now I can only wait and see if it’ll be printed and if anybody will do anything about it.
    He rode back the same way he had come, so he could stop and watch some of the tennis matches. His mother and father used to play tennis, he remembered, then quit because his mother started to get bothered by arthritis. Brett had played some tennis himself before he got into skateboarding. Once he switched, he was hooked.
    He watched for a while, then got back