Last Man Out by Mike Lupica Page B

this,” Tommy said when they both took a break. “But I can see how you need to be careful.”
    â€œWho said anything about being careful?” Mike said, flashinga smile. “You got potential, man. Can’t worry about being
too
careful.”
    Tommy knew he wasn’t going to learn everything he wanted to learn in one day, not even close. But he was determined to learn as much as he could in one session.
    Mike took him halfway up the hill, and showed him a basic twist, Mike jumping down off a little mound and landing in the grass. One time Mike lost his balance and fell, before quickly rolling back up to his feet.
    Tommy said, “That would definitely
not
have ended well in the bowl.”
    â€œIt’s why you practice,” Mike said. “They’re not risks if you know what you’re doing.”
    â€œYou’ve been doing this your whole life,” Tommy said. “I’ve been doing it for an hour.”
    â€œOnly one thing to do, then: Keep at it so you can keep up!”
    Tommy practiced in the grass for a few minutes, then went back down into the bowl, got back on the board, and came off the small ramp this time and managed to get himself turned around in the air so he was facing where Mike was standing when he came down. And totally nailed the landing this time. Now he was the one pointing at Mike and yelling,
“Oh yeah!”
    â€œDon’t want to burst your bubble,” Mike said. “But these ramps and roll-ins here don’t even compare with the street parks you get in other places.”
    â€œ
Street
parks? Like in a real street?”
    â€œNo, but they want you to feel that way,” Mike said. “Morestairs, railings, even benches you fly over, with real half-pipes and quarter-pipes. This place here is like a baby pool. Like something out of the skateboarding dark ages.”
    â€œOkay,” Tommy said. “What’s next, the X Games?”
    â€œFollow me,” Mike said.
    They walked back up the hill and along the stream that ran through Wirth Park and spilled into the Charles River. Then they were winding around, and walking up another small hill, until Mike said, “Okay, we’re here.”
    They were standing next to an ancient-looking stone wall that must once have been part of the fort here, looking down at a steep, paved road that led to a wider road below, where Tommy saw a man and woman go by on their bikes.
    Tommy turned to Mike, grinning.
    â€œLet’s do this,” Tommy said.
    â€œHad a feeling you’d say that,” Mike said. “I wouldn’t have brought you if I didn’t think you could handle it.”
    â€œShow me the way.”
    No running start from up here. Mike just hopped on the Warrior board, crouching, arms out, picking up speed, a
lot
of speed, until he disappeared around a curve near the bottom. He reemerged on the biker’s path, still on his board, which he now held over his head. Then he put it under his arm like it was a football and sprinted back up the hill.
    When Mike got to him, Tommy was already reaching for the board.
    â€œI got this,” Tommy said.
    â€œRemember what we’ve been talking about all day.”
    â€œBalance.”
    â€œExactly,” Mike said. “Don’t look down at the board. Just look where you’re going. There’s nothing for you to be worried about.”
    â€œDo I
look
worried?” Tommy said.
    Mike grinned. “Just worry about landing on the board instead of on your butt.”
    Tommy could feel the beat of his own heart, coming faster now, like it was about to explode. Maybe skiers in the Olympics felt this kind of excitement at the top of a mountain before they pushed off. It was like the feeling he got before a big third-down play on the goal line, when the game was on the line. But somehow it was even more than that. It was dangerous, too.
    Tommy looked down the hill and knew something that made his heart