Skateboard Tough by Matt Christopher Page A

a fuss. She wasn’t crazy about his skateboarding in the first place. But he wasn’t going to give up this beauty, no way.
    “Maybe so, Mom,” he said. “But that’s his tough luck. It was in our yard and I’m going to keep it. That isn’t all,” he went on, jumping to his feet. “I’m going to ride it, too!”
    Brett carried the skateboard to the driveway. After pulling on his gloves, he placed his left foot on the skateboard and pushed off with his right.
    “What was in the box?” asked the worker who had found it.
    “This board,” Brett replied, coming to a halt. “I’m just going to try it out.”
    “Lucky for you that you like skateboarding,” said the worker.
    “Yeah, it
is
lucky,” Brett said.
    He shot a quick smile over his shoulder, then whisked down the driveway to the cement sidewalk, where he placed both feet on the board, came to an almost abrupt halt, spun the board in a complete 360-degree turn, then raced down the walk.
    He did a wheelie — raising the nose wheels high off the sidewalk — then reversed the move, touching down the nose wheels and lifting the rear wheels. The board performed so noiselessly that Brett felt he was practically skating on a cushion of air. His own board, Cobra, never sounded as quiet nor skated as smoothly as The Lizard.
With a board like this,
Brett thought,
I could become really good. I might even have a chance at becoming as good as Kyle.
    Kyle Robinson was unquestionably the best skateboarder in Springton, and Kyle made sure everyone knew it. Brett would love to see someone challenge him someday, and who knew? Maybe with The Lizard, it would be him.
    Brett’s mind raced with thoughts of some of the tricks he could do, and several that he
wished
he could do. He also wished that there was somewhere he could go to practice in peace. Back in Ridgeville, his old town, there was a skateboarding arena, and twice a year the town sponsored a skateboard contest. But here in Springton, kids only had the sidewalks — it was illegal to skate on the street — and skating on sidewalks was no thrill, with pedestrians coming and going. They’d bore a hole through you with their mean glares.
    Brett’s thoughts were interrupted by the squeak of Mrs. Weatherspoon’s high-backed chair as she rocked back and forth on her front stoop. Brett would swear that she spent ninety-eight percent of her life on that rickety old rocking chair. He knew from his mother that Mrs. Weatherspoon had no family nearby — her husband was dead, and her only daughter lived out of state — and he figured she was lonely. On an impulse, Brett waved to her, but she just continued to stare straight ahead. He guessed she didn’t see him through the tinted lenses of her thick-framed glasses. Or maybe she was just unfriendly. Well, maybe if she were nicer, she’d make some friends … then she wouldn’t have to spend all of her time by herself, sitting on the porch.
    Putting Mrs. Weatherspoon out of his mind, Brett cut to the right, onto the curb, and headed back toward his home. He did an Ollie — positioning his front foot behind the front trucks of the skateboard, he pushed his back foot against its rear, then jumped up, the board hanging onto his feet as if it were glued to them, and landed with the tail of the board slamming against the walk.
    He did it again, then whisked onto the curb and glided across it. Back on the sidewalk, a feeling of absolute confidence swept through him as he thought of a maneuver he had always wished he could do but had never tried — the Ho-ho, or handstand, standing with his hands on the board and his feet in the air. Just thinking about it used to scare him out of his wits.
    Now, taking a deep breath,
he did it,
then flipped back onto the board with both feet.
All right!
he almost shouted. He had done it! He had finally done the Ho-ho!
    His heart was filled with exultation now, an exultation he had never felt while riding his own skateboard.
This is heaven,
he