1
H old it! Hold it!”
Instantly, Brett wheelied to a stop, putting all his 121 pounds on his left foot, forcing the front end of “Cobra,” his skateboard, to rise and the rear to scrape against the sidewalk.
His mouth parted as he started to say something, then he realized that the man hadn’t yelled at him, but at the guy operating the digging machine. He was one of the workers constructing a foundation for the garage Brett’s mother and father were having built in the backyard just beyond the driveway. Brett and his family hadn’t lived in Springton long — only about six months — because of his father’s change of jobs. One of the things his parents had always wanted was a new garage, and now, finally, they were getting it.
“What did you find?” the operator asked. Both he and the worker on the ground wore yellow coveralls and helmets.
“Some kind of box!” the worker yelled back, jumping down into the narrow trench that had been dug.
Curious, Brett skated onto the driveway toward the digging machine, hopped off the skateboard, and walked gingerly alongside the huge yellow monster to get a look at the box the enormous-toothed shovel had dredged up. The worker was lifting the box — a wooden one about a foot square and a yard long — out of the hole as Brett approached.
The man’s broad, sweaty face broke into a smile as he looked up at Brett. “Know anything about this?” he asked, his voice a deep, throaty drawl.
“Not a thing,” Brett said. “Can I take it?” he asked, reaching for the box with his gloved hands.
“Sure. It was on your property,” the worker said, and handed it to him.
“Thanks,” Brett said. He carried the box to the back stoop. Then he whipped off his gloves, flew into the house, and flew back out with a bristle brush, a hammer, and a screwdriver.
What could be in it? he wondered as he hurriedly brushed off the dirt that had stuck to the box. And why had somebody buried it there in the yard?
He felt eyes watching him from behind the screened door, and knew his mother was there, as anxious as he was to see what was inside the box. After he’d removed most of the dirt, he drove the screwdriver into the crack separating the nailed-down lid and the box proper. Little by little he got it loose. Finally, after pulling out the nails, he lifted off the lid.
His eyes opened wide. A skateboard! A shiny blue-and-white-striped skateboard!
“I don’t believe it.” Mrs. Thyson’s muffled voice came from behind the screened door. “Who’d bury a skateboard?”
“I don’t know, Mom,” Brett said, surprised and thrilled by the find. “But it’s mine, now! And it’s a double kick tail! Mine’s just a kick tail.” A double kick tail meant that both ends of a skateboard curved up, making it more effective for performing tricks.
Gingerly, as if it were an egg, he lifted out the skateboard and hefted it for weight and quality. His heart thumped with excitement.
“Mom, it feels great!” he whispered with awe. “Really great!”
Tenderly, he turned it over. “The Lizard” was imprinted in script between the trucks that held the urethane plastic wheels. Brett tried to guess how old the skateboard was. The worn wheels and ends showed that it had had plenty of use, but the shiny colors looked brand new, as though the board had been painted just before it had been placed into the box and buried.
“You’re not going to keep it?” his mother said. “It doesn’t seem right, you know.”
Brett’s heart sank a notch. He looked up at her, his brown eyes sad, like those of a pup that had just been denied a bone.
“Why not?” he said. “It was buried in
our
yard. Whoever buried it didn’t want it anymore, right? What’s wrong with my wanting to keep it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe whoever buried it had a good reason. Maybe he — I assume it was a he — wouldn’t want his skateboard ever to be used again.”
Brett should have known his mother would put up
H old it! Hold it!”
Instantly, Brett wheelied to a stop, putting all his 121 pounds on his left foot, forcing the front end of “Cobra,” his skateboard, to rise and the rear to scrape against the sidewalk.
His mouth parted as he started to say something, then he realized that the man hadn’t yelled at him, but at the guy operating the digging machine. He was one of the workers constructing a foundation for the garage Brett’s mother and father were having built in the backyard just beyond the driveway. Brett and his family hadn’t lived in Springton long — only about six months — because of his father’s change of jobs. One of the things his parents had always wanted was a new garage, and now, finally, they were getting it.
“What did you find?” the operator asked. Both he and the worker on the ground wore yellow coveralls and helmets.
“Some kind of box!” the worker yelled back, jumping down into the narrow trench that had been dug.
Curious, Brett skated onto the driveway toward the digging machine, hopped off the skateboard, and walked gingerly alongside the huge yellow monster to get a look at the box the enormous-toothed shovel had dredged up. The worker was lifting the box — a wooden one about a foot square and a yard long — out of the hole as Brett approached.
The man’s broad, sweaty face broke into a smile as he looked up at Brett. “Know anything about this?” he asked, his voice a deep, throaty drawl.
“Not a thing,” Brett said. “Can I take it?” he asked, reaching for the box with his gloved hands.
“Sure. It was on your property,” the worker said, and handed it to him.
“Thanks,” Brett said. He carried the box to the back stoop. Then he whipped off his gloves, flew into the house, and flew back out with a bristle brush, a hammer, and a screwdriver.
What could be in it? he wondered as he hurriedly brushed off the dirt that had stuck to the box. And why had somebody buried it there in the yard?
He felt eyes watching him from behind the screened door, and knew his mother was there, as anxious as he was to see what was inside the box. After he’d removed most of the dirt, he drove the screwdriver into the crack separating the nailed-down lid and the box proper. Little by little he got it loose. Finally, after pulling out the nails, he lifted off the lid.
His eyes opened wide. A skateboard! A shiny blue-and-white-striped skateboard!
“I don’t believe it.” Mrs. Thyson’s muffled voice came from behind the screened door. “Who’d bury a skateboard?”
“I don’t know, Mom,” Brett said, surprised and thrilled by the find. “But it’s mine, now! And it’s a double kick tail! Mine’s just a kick tail.” A double kick tail meant that both ends of a skateboard curved up, making it more effective for performing tricks.
Gingerly, as if it were an egg, he lifted out the skateboard and hefted it for weight and quality. His heart thumped with excitement.
“Mom, it feels great!” he whispered with awe. “Really great!”
Tenderly, he turned it over. “The Lizard” was imprinted in script between the trucks that held the urethane plastic wheels. Brett tried to guess how old the skateboard was. The worn wheels and ends showed that it had had plenty of use, but the shiny colors looked brand new, as though the board had been painted just before it had been placed into the box and buried.
“You’re not going to keep it?” his mother said. “It doesn’t seem right, you know.”
Brett’s heart sank a notch. He looked up at her, his brown eyes sad, like those of a pup that had just been denied a bone.
“Why not?” he said. “It was buried in
our
yard. Whoever buried it didn’t want it anymore, right? What’s wrong with my wanting to keep it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe whoever buried it had a good reason. Maybe he — I assume it was a he — wouldn’t want his skateboard ever to be used again.”
Brett should have known his mother would put up
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