Freestyle with Avery (10 page)

“Okay,” I promised. “Dad … there’s one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I think that it would be a lot easier for Jason to make friends in Telluride if he knew how to snowboard. But he hasn’t lived here very long and he’s never tried it
before. I know that snowboarding can be expensive … so I was thinking maybe there’s some way we could help him? I know he’d want to help out in return.” Jason didn’t seem like the type to accept a handout. “I was just thinking he could borrow a snowboard … like for the day or something just to try it out.”

Dad shrugged. “It’s no problem. I can always use an extra hand with inventory. He can come in the morning at nine a.m. But are you sure that this is what Jason wants, Avery?”

“Please, Dad! He lives in Colorado! Every kid in Colorado needs to snowboard. That’d be like … like, um … like living in Hawaii and not being able to surf.”

Dad rolled his eyes, but he was totally not mad anymore. “Okay, Avery.”

“Or like living in Boston and hating the Red Sox.”

“Don’t even go there!” Dad laughed and started pushing me to the stairs to get ready for bed.

But I was just getting started. “Or living in the North Pole and hating reindeer. Or—”

“I get the picture,” he said and plopped a furry little ball in my arms.

“Marty!”

Marty made a yelpy noise that I’d never heard before. He kept looking frantically around the room and then up at me. “Don’t worry, little dude,” I assured him. “Farkle’s gone. We’re safe now.”

“Okay, Avery, good night,” Dad said and tried to send me off with a hug, but I was too quick and dodged it instead.

“Time out! Can I call Jason super quick before I go to bed? Please?”

Dad tapped his watch, but handed me the phone and a phonebook to look up Fred and Bonnie Hulbert. I flipped through the pages and crossed my fingers that I had the right one. After three rings, someone picked up.

“Herr-ow,” said a kid at the other end.

“Um, hi. Is Jason there?”

“Who is it?” asked the kid.

“It’s Avery … is this Frankie?”

“Mooooooom!” he suddenly shouted, and then I heard a
“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”
He hung up on me. Whoa.

I sighed and waited a minute before clicking on the phone again to redial the number. But when I did there wasn’t any dial tone.

“Hello?” This voice still belonged to a boy, but older this time.

“Jason?” I asked hopefully.

“Avery?”

I laughed. “Whoa! It’s so weird that you called! I just tried to call you but Frankie accidentally hung up on me. At least, I think it was an accident.”

“Actually … I figured it was you when I saw Madden on the caller ID.”

Duh!
“Oh, right.” I took a deep breath and cut to the chase. “All right, you remember how I was telling you about snowboarding tonight?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay. Well, I was talking to my dad and he said he needed some help with inventory this weekend. If
you worked, he’d loan out a snowboard, and you could see what you think. We could even go tomorrow … if you want.”

Silence.

“Jason?”

“Wow. That’s really nice of you Avery, but …”

Oh, no. Was he offended that I was trying to offer him a job? “If you don’t, that’s okay too,” I added quickly.

“No, I
do
… it’s just that … well … I’ve never done it before. Could be a bad scene.”

“Well you have to start somewhere, Jason. Don’t you think it’d be more fun with me than some old know-it-all snowboarding instructor?”

“Okay,” he said quietly, and then he gave a louder, “Okay!”

“Awesome!” I agreed. “My dad says you can start at nine. I’ll stop by the store to get you after. Tell Ollie good night for me.”

Jason was laughing. “Okay, I will. Bye, Avery,” he said.

“Bye, Jason. Oh! And good night to Radley, too.”

That night, I had a Snurf-tastic dream about the competition. It went like this: It was snowing hard, and I was totally on fire as I executed three perfect flips on the halfpipe. The next thing I knew, I was standing on the platform to accept my FIRST PLACE trophy. All the kids from The Sweet Life were there cheering. Sitting at the judges’ table holding up scorecards that read “10” were Dad, Donnie Keeler, and Jason (I know, weird). I was super excited, waving my trophy in the air and shouting, “Snurfer! Snurfer! Snurfer!” when suddenly a drop of rain hit my face. I tried to keep shouting, but the rain was coming down in buckets. I felt my hair sticking to my cheek and when I wiped it away I realized I was awake and it wasn’t rain at all … it was dog slobber. Marty!

I sat up and gave the little dude a hug. “Goooood morning, Marty Man.” Marty leaped out of the bed and barked at the window. The sun was shining through the curtains, and it was insanely bright. I looked at the clock
on my nightstand. Yikes! It was already nine o’clock. Dad and Jason were definitely at the store by now, and Dad probably let me sleep in. Mucho cool of him, but now it was time to get up. “Thanks, Marty. I totally can’t waste another second. I have a Snurfer to practice for!”

I looked outside as soon as I hopped out of bed. “Wowza!” I exclaimed. It had snowed … a lot! At least that part of the dream came true. There was a thick white blanket over everything—all the cars, roofs, and trees. It was so bright, I had to squint to see clearly. “Perfect powpow here I come!”

One of my top-ten sports rules is, no matter what, dress for comfort. Even though blue was definitely my fave color for basically everything, today I was going to wear my purple snowboarding turtleneck. Okay, I know the BSG would probably be thinking,
Purple? Avery? No way!
But believe me, this was one Snurf-worthy shirt. Dad got it for me last Christmas and it was made of one hundred percent mossbud fleece, so it totally breathed when I boarded, but it also kept me warm and cozy at the same time.

I rolled up my boarding pants and stuffed them in my backpack along with my gloves and wrist guards. Then I pulled my hair into a low side-ponytail so I could get my helmet on. I was ready to ride.

When I got downstairs I noticed a box on the kitchen table in dog bone wrapping paper. There was a note on it too. “Rise and shine, sleepyheads! Remember, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so eat up! I’ll see you at the store. And there’s something special for Marty in the box.”

“Wow, Marty, a present for you! Isn’t Dad the best?” I would’ve let Marty open it, but he wasn’t a very good unwrapper. (Trust me, the BSG tried before and it wasn’t pretty … unless you were a big confetti fan.) So I tore off the paper and opened the box. Inside was a little blue Nordic sweater with the words “Snurfer Dog” knitted on the back. I held it up for Marty to see. “What do you think, pal? A real Snurfer sweater all for you! Pretty cool, huh?”

Marty sniffed at it and barked happily. Cute little Marty sweaters were Maeve’s thing … NOT mine. I mean, come on! He’s the Marty man … the M-Dawg. He’s waaay too cool for cutesy-pootsy sweaters. But a
Snurfer
sweater—well, that was another story. Snurfer Marty was going to look like one put-together pooch, and boy, did he know it!

I took out a bowl for me and a bowl for Marty. His breakfast was obvious: kibbles, kibbles, and more kibbles. But what about mine? Dad was totally right … eating a good breakfast was
crucial
for a day of sweet boarding. Plain old cereal wasn’t going to cut it.

First, I stuffed two pieces of thick wheat bread in the toaster. Then I grabbed a box of granola and some vanilla yogurt and poured them both in my bowl. I sliced a banana, an apple, some strawberries, and even sprinkled on blueberries. A yogurt parfait all for me!
Bing
went the toaster and up popped my toast—golden brown. After I smeared on butter and raspberry jam, the toast was super delicious smelling. Not too shabby, if I did say so myself … and I did.
Eat your heart out, Scott!
It was the perfect pre-mountain breakfast.

“Okay, widdew Marty, ready for a widdew walk?” I held up the Snurfer sweater. The lady on the plane would
have loved widdew Marty in his cutesy-pie sweater.

Marty
arf
ed and trotted over to me. He must’ve loved the sweater too, because he popped his little head right inside! For Marty, that was huge. After I helped him get his paws through the armholes (a tricky operation), he took off prancing around the room. Marty looked like a total stud in his new outfit, and he couldn’t wait to show it off. He was leaping and barking and going crazy while I put his leash on. When I checked out the window, I knew what was up. There was a dog coming around the corner—just about Marty’s size, black and white with spiky fur. A very cool-looking dog.

“You want to make a new friend, don’t you, Marty? New friends rock!” I thought of
my
new friend, Jason. We were going to have a blast snowboarding for sure. I grabbed my backpack, put on my big yellow coat (Okay, Scott’s big yellow coat), and reached into the pocket for my ear warmer.
Oh, no!
It wasn’t there. I checked the other pocket just to be sure and found NOTHING! I could’ve sworn I put it away there last night. What if I’d dropped it in the snow behind Jason’s house? I knew I could always pick out a new ear warmer from Dad’s store, no problem, but still … my ear warmer was a Kgirl original, and I wanted it back!

Marty looked at me with his big dog eyes. “Okay, okay, we’ll go.” I made a mental note to ask Jason about the ear warmer later.

The dog and his owner were on the sidewalk right in front of the house when we got outside. “Hi!” I called to
the dude. He was wearing a red jacket and bright yellow hat. I couldn’t see his eyes because of his sporty sunglasses (that sort of made him look like an insect!), but his nose was covered with freckles. “My dog wants to meet your dog, I think. He’s new in town.”

“Radical! Join the club,” the guy said. He gave Marty a friendly rub on his head, then stood up and pulled off his hat. A huge blast of yellow hair puffed out. He pushed up his glasses to hold his crazy hair back. This dude was smiling real big like he knew an inside joke … but a joke that I was supposed to know too. It took me a second to figure out where I’d seen that hair before. Then I remembered—the cover of
Mountain Monthly
, my favorite snowboarding magazine.

“No way! You’re … you’re … the Egg! The Golden Egg! Donnie Keeler!”

“‘Fraid so,” he said with a laugh. “I guess you’re a boarder, too.”

“Wow! How’d you know?”

Donnie Keeler bent down and patted Marty. “‘Cause only snowboarders know who I am off the slopes. Which is totally cool. I like that the only people who know me are the real fans.”

I tried to think of something smart to say so he’d know I was a real fan, but the only thing that came out was, “Hah. Yeah.”
Hah. Yeah
?
Good one, Ave.

“You can call me DK, by the way,” he said and held out a gloved hand for me to shake. “And this guy”—he nodded at his dog—“is Crud.”

I laughed and shook his glove with mine. I would have
to explain to Marty later that
crud
was a snowboarding word that meant inconsistent snow … you know, like icy or slushy. Crud snow is NOT sweet to board on, AND Crud was probably the funniest dog name in the history of dog names. “I’m Avery Madden,” I said. “It’s awesome to meet you.”

“Wait … Madden? By any chance, is your dad Jake the Snurfman?”

“Yup.”

“No way! I’m judging the Snurfer Competition.”

“I know,” I said proudly. How sweet was it that I already had the inside scoop on what was going on in Telluride? “We’re so excited that you’re here. I’m going to be in the competition.”

DK saluted me. “Sweet. Good luck little Snurfette.”

I laughed and covered my mouth. No one had ever called me “Snurfette” before, but I really liked it. Imagine the Snurfer loudspeakers: “It’s a bird … it’s a plane … NO … it’s Snurfette! Boy, can she shred!” Oh, yeah. It definitely had a nice ring to it.

“So what kind of dog is Crud?” I asked DK. “At first I thought he was a terrier, but his fur looks more like a collie.”

“Right on! Crud’s a Border Jack—a mix of a Border collie and a Jack Russell terrier. Boarders and Borders just get each other, you know? Who’s this guy?” He scratched Marty’s belly and Marty rolled around in the snow, loving every minute of it.

“This is Marty. My friends and I found him in a garbage can and decided to adopt him. He’s a mutt just like Crud,
but we don’t know what kind. I like to call him a Serengeti Wallaby, ’cause who knows—he could be from Africa, or Australia, or anywhere!”

Marty and Crud the Border Jack were playing in the snow piled up beside the sidewalk. There were so many things I wanted to ask the Golden Egg—like especially if he had any secret shred-tastic boarding tips! Instead, here we were just talking about our dogs, like any old normal people in Telluride. I really wanted to stay and talk some more, but I knew Dad was waiting for me at the store.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, DK, but I gotta run. I’m going to my dad’s store to help out this morning.”

“Wait, before you go … do you know anywhere around here where I could get a decent breakfast? I’m craving a huuuge waffle! It’s what my mom always makes before I go boarding.” With his messy hair and tanned cheeks, DK looked like he was a teenager. Then I remembered—DK
was
a teenager. I read in
Mountain Monthly
that DK was just seventeen! Five years older than me … practically the same age as Scott. And he traveled to all these places by himself. Wow. I totally understood why he’d want a waffle to remind him of home. I searched my brain for the perfect place.

It was honestly weird. When I looked around—like
magic
—there was this sign for a restaurant that I’d never seen before. “Come Visit Maggie’s: Home of the Famous Waffle Mountain.” A new breakfast place in Telluride! Was luck on my side this morning or what?

We tied up Marty and Crud outside and walked in. “Wow, this place looks amaaaazing, Snurfette!”