thought, as he did the Ho-ho once again.
“Careful, wimp, or you’ll break your back!” a voice yelled from the direction of the sidewalk.
At the sound of the familiar voice, Brett steered the board onto the street and flipped over onto his feet. But his aim was off and his left foot missed the deck, causing him to lose his balance and fall.
It was a good thing he knew how to fall, rolling over onto his back and then onto his feet with hardly a feeling of pain.
A laugh broke from the kid who had yelled at him, but by the time Brett had regained his feet, the kid, Kyle Robinson, was speeding down the sidewalk, his laughter trailing in his wake.
2
O h wow! Hey, I never saw you skate like that before! Is that you, Brett Thyson, or somebody else?”
Brett gathered his wits together and saw a familiar face staring at him from almost the same spot where Kyle Robinson had first cried out to him. It was W.E. Winsor, all four feet two inches of him. Brett didn’t know what W.E.’s real first name was, but W.E. stood for Walking Encyclopedia. He was only eleven but he had a memory that everybody who knew him envied.
“W.E.!” Brett exclaimed, surprised. “Where’d you come from?”
“I was behind Kyle,” W.E. said, standing straddle-legged on the sidewalk.
“Oh. I wish that guy would mind his own business,” Brett mumbled, looking in the direction Kyle had gone.
“You don’t like him very much, do you?”
Brett shrugged. “I don’t know him that well. What bugs me is the way he’s always showing off.”
“He
is
a darn good skateboarder. I think you’re just jealous,” W.E. added, grinning.
“Maybe,” Brett admitted, “but one of these days, I’d like to show
him
a thing or two.”
“I don’t know, Brett. Kyle’s pretty good.”
“Yeah. But I’ll be better.” Brett patted the board in his hand. “Now that I’ve got The Lizard, anything’s possible.”
W.E.’s eyes landed on the skateboard and stayed there. “When did you get
that?”
he asked.
“Maybe forty, forty-five minutes ago,” Brett answered. “Why?”
“It looks used.”
“It is,” Brett said. “But it works great. Watch.”
He rode the curb again for a few seconds, then burst into an 180-degree turn that he finished skating backwards. Seconds later he was dancing back and forth on the curb, and — as W.E.’s mouth fell open — Brett leaped across the short span of grass to the sidewalk, did a 360, and finished with a perfect two-point landing.
“Geez!” W.E. exclaimed, incredulous. “A Gator Slide, and an Ollie One-foot with a perfect three-hundred-and-sixty-degree pivot! Man, I didn’t know you even
knew
those moves!”
“I didn’t,” Brett said, smiling.
W.E. stared at him. “Huh? You mean you just
did
them?”
Brett shrugged. “Well, I tried, and I did. And you saw me, right?”
“You bet your incredible moves I did!” W.E. said. “And when did you learn those grinds?”
“Grinds?” Brett echoed. “I did grinds?”
“Look, don’t tell me you did grinds — on that curb there — and didn’t even know it?”
W.E. knelt before the board and studied it. “Something about this board looks awful familiar, Brett,” he said, his voice more subdued now. “Where did you get it?”
Brett hesitated. For some reason, he was reluctant to say anything about where it had come from. But he should have guessed that someone — especially W.E. — would be curious about it.
Well, he could see nothing wrong in telling W.E. After all, he hadn’t
stolen
the skateboard. It was rightfully his.
“It was in a box, buried in our yard,” Brett explained. “I don’t know who put it there, but it’s mine now.”
Brett waited for a reaction, but W.E. didn’t say anything. He just slowly rose to his feet and moved back a couple of steps, still looking at the skateboard as if at any moment it might come alive.
“What’s the matter?” Brett asked. “Why that look?”
“I’ve seen that board
“Careful, wimp, or you’ll break your back!” a voice yelled from the direction of the sidewalk.
At the sound of the familiar voice, Brett steered the board onto the street and flipped over onto his feet. But his aim was off and his left foot missed the deck, causing him to lose his balance and fall.
It was a good thing he knew how to fall, rolling over onto his back and then onto his feet with hardly a feeling of pain.
A laugh broke from the kid who had yelled at him, but by the time Brett had regained his feet, the kid, Kyle Robinson, was speeding down the sidewalk, his laughter trailing in his wake.
2
O h wow! Hey, I never saw you skate like that before! Is that you, Brett Thyson, or somebody else?”
Brett gathered his wits together and saw a familiar face staring at him from almost the same spot where Kyle Robinson had first cried out to him. It was W.E. Winsor, all four feet two inches of him. Brett didn’t know what W.E.’s real first name was, but W.E. stood for Walking Encyclopedia. He was only eleven but he had a memory that everybody who knew him envied.
“W.E.!” Brett exclaimed, surprised. “Where’d you come from?”
“I was behind Kyle,” W.E. said, standing straddle-legged on the sidewalk.
“Oh. I wish that guy would mind his own business,” Brett mumbled, looking in the direction Kyle had gone.
“You don’t like him very much, do you?”
Brett shrugged. “I don’t know him that well. What bugs me is the way he’s always showing off.”
“He
is
a darn good skateboarder. I think you’re just jealous,” W.E. added, grinning.
“Maybe,” Brett admitted, “but one of these days, I’d like to show
him
a thing or two.”
“I don’t know, Brett. Kyle’s pretty good.”
“Yeah. But I’ll be better.” Brett patted the board in his hand. “Now that I’ve got The Lizard, anything’s possible.”
W.E.’s eyes landed on the skateboard and stayed there. “When did you get
that?”
he asked.
“Maybe forty, forty-five minutes ago,” Brett answered. “Why?”
“It looks used.”
“It is,” Brett said. “But it works great. Watch.”
He rode the curb again for a few seconds, then burst into an 180-degree turn that he finished skating backwards. Seconds later he was dancing back and forth on the curb, and — as W.E.’s mouth fell open — Brett leaped across the short span of grass to the sidewalk, did a 360, and finished with a perfect two-point landing.
“Geez!” W.E. exclaimed, incredulous. “A Gator Slide, and an Ollie One-foot with a perfect three-hundred-and-sixty-degree pivot! Man, I didn’t know you even
knew
those moves!”
“I didn’t,” Brett said, smiling.
W.E. stared at him. “Huh? You mean you just
did
them?”
Brett shrugged. “Well, I tried, and I did. And you saw me, right?”
“You bet your incredible moves I did!” W.E. said. “And when did you learn those grinds?”
“Grinds?” Brett echoed. “I did grinds?”
“Look, don’t tell me you did grinds — on that curb there — and didn’t even know it?”
W.E. knelt before the board and studied it. “Something about this board looks awful familiar, Brett,” he said, his voice more subdued now. “Where did you get it?”
Brett hesitated. For some reason, he was reluctant to say anything about where it had come from. But he should have guessed that someone — especially W.E. — would be curious about it.
Well, he could see nothing wrong in telling W.E. After all, he hadn’t
stolen
the skateboard. It was rightfully his.
“It was in a box, buried in our yard,” Brett explained. “I don’t know who put it there, but it’s mine now.”
Brett waited for a reaction, but W.E. didn’t say anything. He just slowly rose to his feet and moved back a couple of steps, still looking at the skateboard as if at any moment it might come alive.
“What’s the matter?” Brett asked. “Why that look?”
“I’ve seen that board
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