Snowboard Champ (8 page)

Clay shook his head. “Uh-uh. You said it yourself! Once you beat him,
you’ll
be the big cheese around the school, not him. I know how it works. I was a kid here once myself, and not too long ago, either. If he talks trash about you, kids will just think he’s jealous. And they’ll be right, too.”

It wasn’t much to go on, but at least it was something to hold on to, a hope that things could be better for him here in Dragon Valley.

The next day was Saturday, and Clay took Matt out on the slopes of Dragon Mountain. They started at the jump ramps, where Matt showed his uncle everything he knew how to do — which, he came to see, wasn’t that much.

Clay gave him pointers after every jump: “You need to hit the jump a little faster and ollie as you get to the top,” he advised. And after another run: “Make sure your board isn’t on an edge at takeoff. That makes you lose your balance in the air.”

Clay didn’t feel that Matt needed that many jumps. “You can do a lot of variations with the same few basic moves,” he said, demonstrating for Matt a few times and getting wows from everyone nearby.

So Matt practiced his few jumps. Once he was consistently hitting them, Clay began adding flourishes: “We’re gonna do a little chicken salad,” he said.

“Chicken salad?” Matt repeated, laughing.

“Your front hand grabs between your feet and through your legs,” he explained. “To the heel edge. That’s right,” he added as Matt tried to go through the move while standing still.

Matt could feel himself getting better by the moment. With Uncle Clayton behind him, he would soon be super-skilled physically and super-confident mentally. He smiled at the thought. This contest was going to be no contest at all. He was going to blow Riley Hammett right off the mountain.

On Sunday, they hit the slopes again. “I should’ve spent more time with you from the beginning,” Clay said apologetically, as they rode the lift together to the top of the half-pipe. “You wouldn’t have gotten yourself into this mess in the first place if I’d been on the job.”

“That’s okay, Uncle Clayton,” Matt said. “I mean, you’ve got a life, too. You’re not my dad, after all, and besides, I should be able to take care of myself by now.”

Clay patted him on the head affectionately. “Yeah,” he said, “but you shouldn’t have to.”

They made their way to the top of the half-pipe. “I haven’t done the half-pipe since last year,” Matt said nervously.

“Don’t try to get air the first time down,” Clay advised him. “Just give yourself a nice smooth trip. Get the feel of the pipe. Smooth through the transitions. Then, as you feel more comfortable, you can take some air and even try a few grabs.”

Clay’s approach was great for confidence building. Matt tried things over and over until he had them down, then added a little bit of flourish or extension when he was ready. He could feel himself improving run by run.

After lunch, it was back to the jumps.

“I think we’ll try a little roast beef now,” Clay said, as they rode up the mountain.

“I’ve heard of that move,” Matt replied. “It’s the flip side of the chicken salad, right?”

“Right. Same grab, but with the back hand instead of the front. Yeah, roast beef and chicken salad — and we’re gonna bone it, too.”

“Bone it?”

“Yeah. It’s stylin’, y’know? You straighten one leg while you’re in the air and hold it till just before you land.”

Matt listened to every word his uncle told him. He listened in a way he never listened to a teacher in a classroom. When he’d first moved in with Clay, he’d liked snowboarding a lot. Now it was his passion — and this contest was going to be a defining moment in his life, he could just feel it.

Snowboard Champ lurked in the trees at the top of the mountain, waiting for his quarry to appear. The bank robbers had gotten away clean with the cash, riding off in their commandeered helicopter. The chopper would drop them here at the top of the mountain, where they would snowboard down to their underground cavern hideout. Only they had no idea he was here, ready to foil their plans . . . .

The whir of the rotors alerted him to the chopper’s approach. There! It was letting off its passengers, loaded with the precious cargo stowed in the backpacks they wore.

Here they came, down the hill toward him. He let them pass him, then shoved off in hot pursuit. He carved a path almost directly down the fall line, cutting in front of the robbers one after the other, startling them, and causing them to tumble head over heels down the mountain. And when they stopped tumbling, he was there waiting for them, nylon handcuffs at the ready.

When they were safely hog-tied, he radioed back to base. “Quarry captured,” he said. “Send the police choppers in.”

“Good work, Snowboard Champ,” the voice on the other end crackled. “How in the world did you do it?”

He smiled under his red and black mask and goggles. “Just . . . lucky, I guess.”

Monday morning dawned, a bright, cold, sunny day, and Matt got on the bus to school in a good mood. Spengler was back at the rear of the bus, and Matt joined him readily. There was a bounce in his step as he walked down the aisle of the bus.

Matt didn’t care anymore if people thought he was a troublemaker. Soon he’d be the king of the hill at Dragon Valley Middle. And just as soon as the contest was over and he was judged the runaway winner, he’d show them just how wrong they were about him.

He sat down next to Spengler, who looked surprised. “Hi!” he said.

“Hi.”

“I thought you might not be speaking to me after what happened last week.”

Matt elbowed Spengler in his good arm. “I was mad at first,” he admitted. “But I realized it wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m quitting, by the way. Smoking, I mean.” “That’s cool. Good move.”

“Hey, my cast’s coming off next week.”

“Oh, yeah?” Good.”

“So I can punch out whoever turned us in.”

“Whoa,” Matt said. “Go easy, okay? We’re in enough trouble already.”

“It’ll be on me,” Spengler said. “What do you care?”

Matt looked at him long and hard. “What
is
it with you?” he asked. Then, softly, so no one else could hear, “Hey, Spengler — how’d you break your arm?”

Spengler stared out the window.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Matt said. “You can trust me.”

“It’s not true, what they’re saying,” Spengler told him. “About my dad breaking my arm. It’s not true.”

“Okay. I believe you. So what
did
happen?” Spengler sniffed, and Matt leaned in toward him so the other kids on the bus wouldn’t hear them.

“I hit it against a brick wall.”

Matt flinched. “On purpose?”

“Yeah. On account of my dad kept screaming at my mom. I had to hit something. I figured, better a wall than a person.”

“Whoa . . . man . . .”

Remembering the jokes those other kids had told about Spengler and how he’d broken his arm, Matt felt sick to his stomach. Here was a kid with
real
problems — while their only problem was who to trash next.

Matt was so angry that, like Spengler, he could have punched a wall right then and there. But no — he had a better way to shut those kids up. When he won this competition and became the coolest kid at Dragon Valley Middle, he would set a different tone.

The bus arrived at school. From the moment he stepped onto the sidewalk, Matt knew that today would be no ordinary day.

In front of the school, a crowd of kids was gathered. They were staring at something on the wall, but they were blocking the view and Matt couldn’t see past them. When he did work his way through them and saw what they were looking at, he froze.

Written on the wall, in bright, spray-painted colors, was a graffiti tag. It read:

Chicago Dukes.

As he stared at the writing, he heard someone mutter, “That’s him over there. He’s the one who did it.” He didn’t have to look up to know the kid was talking about him.

10

T
he crowd parted like the Red Sea on either side of Matt.
“What?”
he asked them. “Hey, it wasn’t me! I swear!”

It wasn’t working. No one looked convinced. Feeling a surge of panic rising inside him, Matt ran up the steps and into the school building. He kept running until he found the boys’ bathroom. Inside, he went into a stall, locked it, and stood there, leaning against the door, trying to catch his breath.

This couldn’t be happening! He couldn’t believe Riley Hammett would go this far. But there were the words on the wall, and whoever had sprayed them up there obviously meant for people to think it was Matt — the new boy from Chicago, rumored to be a gangsta, with a mother in prison for dealing drugs.

Of course
it had been Riley. Who else would have done something like that? Besides, it fit the pattern. First the rumors, now the actual bad stuff, all aimed at making Matt out to be a troublemaker.

But
why?
Why would anyone do such a thing? Why would someone go so far as to hurt somebody that never hurt him?

One thing was for sure — Matt was hurting now. He could feel all the confidence he’d built up in the past two days draining out of him.

He’d been kidding himself. Did he really think he could upset the whole social order? He was just the new kid in town. First you’re curious about him. He’s mysterious and cool. Then you realize he’s different, and you toss him in the bin with the other outcasts.

That was what would happen to him. He’d be permanently grouped with the Spenglers of this world. Well, so be it.
Better Spengler than them,
he thought. At least Spengler never did anything mean to anybody.

No,
Matt thought miserably.
Spengler only did hurtful things to himself.

He took one more deep breath, steadied himself, and opened the stall door. He stared into a mirror, not sure if he looked okay or not. Was that fear showing in his eyes?

He went out into the hallway, and the first person he saw was Melissa. He’d almost forgotten about her ever since the contest had come up. She hadn’t called him, either, and he fully expected her to turn her back on him now as she had before. But to his surprise, she hurried over to him.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he said back.

“I was gonna call you . . . ,” she began.

“Yeah?”

“But I was mad busy this weekend.”

“That’s okay. So was I,” Matt was quick to say.

There was a wall between them that had not been there before. It was invisible, but Matt could feel it.
A wall of ice.
She still had her doubts about him — and now, he had his doubts about
her,
too.

He went off to class, but he knew it would only be a matter of time until he was called down to the principal’s office. When second period began, though, and he still hadn’t been called in, he began to relax. Maybe it
wouldn’t
happen. After all, nobody could prove it was him.

A chill came over him then. Maybe someone
would
say they’d seen him. One of Riley’s friends. They’d lied about the cigarette, hadn’t they? Of course, that could have been a misunderstanding, perhaps even an honest mistake. He’d had a cigarette in his hand, after all. But if someone would spray graffiti and make it look like it was him, they might also lie and say they saw him do it.

By the middle of third period, he could stand the tension no longer. He asked the teacher to be excused, and she gave him a bathroom pass. He was on his way down the hall when he saw Riley coming toward him. He was with two other students and the chemistry teacher, Mr. Bonom. They were carrying beakers and talking about their experiment. They paid no attention to Matt as they passed. But Riley noticed him, all right. Matt saw his eyes flicker as they went by each other.

He’d better not go outside, Matt decided. Where then? The boys’ room again. He hoped no one was in there. He needed to collect himself and get ready in his mind to explain things to the principal.

He had no sooner gone in there, however, than the fire alarm went off. The boys’ room was next to the main office, and Matt could hear the school secretaries talking outside the door.

“What’s going on?” one said. “There wasn’t a drill scheduled.”

“Somebody must have pulled the alarm,” said another.

“I hope there isn’t really a fire,” the first one said.

“If there isn’t, somebody’s gonna be in big trouble,” the second replied.

Matt’s heart sank. He knew in his heart what had just happened, even though he had no proof. He was finished here in Dragon Valley. It was all over. He had lost the game before it ever got started.

The call came in the middle of fifth period, and Matt was prepared for it. What he wasn’t prepared for was the policeman sitting next to the principal.

“Matthew, this is Officer Pinkshaw,” the principal said. Officer Pinkshaw had a shaved head and a fat neck and was looking at Matt as if he were a criminal.

“Hi,” Matt said, offering his hand. Officer Pinkshaw didn’t take it.

“Matthew,” he said, “I want you to tell me and the principal the truth now.”

“Yessir,” Matt agreed. He was sitting down, but he could feel his legs trembling.

“Are you responsible for the graffiti that was sprayed on the school building last night?”

“No!” Matt said much too loudly. “I swear, I had nothing to do with it!”

“Somebody set off a false alarm this morning,” the principal went on. “Was that you?”

“NO!”

“I understand you weren’t in class at the time the alarm was pulled,” said the principal.

“I was in the bathroom!” Matt protested, his voice wavering.

The officer sighed. “Look, son,” he said, “I’ll be frank with you. Vandalism is a serious offense, especially on public property. This town also has an anti-gang ordinance. And setting off false alarms — well, I don’t have to tell you how serious that is. People can get seriously hurt if the fire department is off on a false alarm and can’t respond in time to a real fire.”

“I know that,” Matt said, his voice now a whisper. “The long and short of it is,” the policeman went on, “if you cooperate, things will go a lot better for you.”