Snowboard Champ (9 page)

“I didn’t
do
anything!” Matt repeated. “I was home last night. Ask my uncle.”

“He should be here any minute,” Officer Pinkshaw said, staring right at Matt. Sure enough, at that very moment, in walked Uncle Clayton.

“What in blazes is this all about?” he demanded, his face red and his eyes bulging. Matt had seen Uncle Clayton angry once or twice in his life, but never like this.

“Your nephew is under suspicion of vandalism and setting off a false fire alarm.” Officer Pinkshaw sounded calm, but Matt could see him tense and put his hand on his club, just in case.

Clay’s hands were balled up into fists clutched at his sides. “Matt would never do anything like that,” he insisted.

“Maybe you should have a talk with the young man,” the principal suggested. “Alone.”

“I don’t need to talk to him to know that he would never do what you’re saying he did,” Clay said, leaning over the desk toward the principal. “If you insist on going forward with this, I’ll have to hire a lawyer. Do you intend to press charges?”

“We’re still investigating,” Officer Pinkshaw said. “But —”

“But nothing!” Clay interrupted him. “You’ve got no proof, and you know it. This is bogus!”

“If you’d like to hire an attorney, that’s your prerogative,” the officer said, getting up to go. “We’ll be in touch with you if and when charges are pending.” He looked at Clay and added, “I’d watch that attitude if I were you, sir.” He went out with Clay glaring after him, looking like he was about to explode.

“Why don’t you sit down?” the principal suggested, offering him a chair.

Clay sat and said, “Look, I’m sorry I lost my temper, but you must see how frustrating this is. I mean, here’s a boy who’s trying to fit into a new school, with new kids, and has anybody in the school reached out to welcome him? To help him adjust? I got exactly two calls from your office. The first was to verify my address. The second was to tell me my nephew had been given a warning for smoking on school property, when I know for a fact he’s never smoked in his life! Does anybody here care at all?”

The principal seemed stung by what Clay had said. “I’m sorry if we’ve failed your nephew,” he said. “But that doesn’t excuse what he’s done.”

“You seem to have your mind made up that it was him,” Clay replied. He laid a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you something. I’d bet every cent I had — my house, my car, the clothes on my back — that this boy didn’t do what you say he did. I’ve known him longer than you have, and better than you ever will.”

“I’m sure you have,” the principal said snidely. “When you’ve got some proof to show, give me a call,” Clay said, getting up. “In the meantime, he’s gonna come to school and learn, and he’s gonna be in that snowboard competition you’re having, and he’s gonna win it, too. Come on, Matt. Let’s get out of here.”

Matt got up to join his uncle. He could have thrown his arms around Clay and hugged him, he was so proud and so grateful to him. Nobody had ever stood up for him that way, especially when it counted so much. He would never forget it. Never.

“I’m afraid not,” the principal said, folding his hands in front of him.

“Huh?” Clay said, taken by surprise.

“Matthew won’t be taking part in the competition.”

“What?” Matt gasped.

No student at this school will participate in any school-sponsored extracurricular activity while he is the subject of a police investigation. That includes our snowboarding contest. I’m sorry.”

“B-but —” Clay sputtered.

“There’s nothing you can do to change my mind, I’m afraid,” the principal said. “The decision is entirely mine, and it is made. Until the young man is cleared of wrongdoing, he will not be a part of any school contest.”

Clay swallowed hard, and Matt fought back the tears that were filling his eyes to the brim. “Come on, kid,” his uncle said, draping an arm around his shoulder. “We’re not wanted here. Let’s go home.”

11

A
s bad as things were, this was only the second lowest moment of Matt’s life. The day his dad called him into the den and told him he was leaving the family had been even worse.

Still, this was pretty bad. Worse than when his mom had said she was going away for a year. Worse than getting beat up by that gang in the playground when he was eight years old.

Snowboard Champ raced down the mountain, dodging the rocks that were raining down on him from atop the cliffs on either side. Tears stung his face. To think that they thought he was the enemy. If they only knew! He’d been trying to save them from the man-eating space aliens. But they had blamed him for everything. Now they were doomed. Earthling sandwiches in waiting . . .

“Hey, where are we going?” Matt blinked back to reality as Clay turned the car off the main road and through the familiar gates of Dragon Mountain Resort.

“Gonna hit the slopes,” Clay said, staring straight ahead.

“Huh?”

“Anger management. Gotta work off some of this rage, dude. I don’t know about you, but I’m in need of some ridin’!”

Whatever Matt had expected Clay to do, it hadn’t been this. Matt’s mom would have scolded him or acted hurt. She’d have assumed he was guilty. So would his dad. But Uncle Clayton was different — and for the first time since he’d come to Dragon Valley, Matt felt like he was in exactly the right place.

They rode the mountain that day until night fell, with no stopping to rest or eat. They rode the black diamond slopes at top speed. It was Matt’s first time riding these expert trails, but he had no trouble with them. He was concentrating like he’d never done before in his life. Everything seemed so focused, so automatic.

All his frustrations streamed away behind him, blown by the fierce wind that fired up the slopes and into his face. Whatever tears there were, they froze on his cheeks, and he felt the cold air go down into his lungs like fire.

When they finally went home, they were too exhausted to talk much. But as they pulled into the driveway and Clay turned off the engine, he said, “Matt, you’re gonna be in that contest.”

“What? How’m I —”

“Not only are you gonna be in it, you’re gonna win it.”

“But —”

“I don’t know how,” Clay said, “But I can feel it. Y’know — ESP? You believe in that stuff?”

“I guess,” Matt said, not really sure if he did. He hoped Uncle Clayton was right, though.

“Life’s not fair a lot of the time,” Clay said. “But if there’s any justice in this world, you’re gonna win that contest.”

Matt swallowed hard. “Thanks, Uncle Clayton,” he said. “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

“De nada,”
Clay said, sniffing. “Come on, let’s get some grub. I’m starving.”

School was torture. Before, all the kids had their eyes on him wherever he went. Now, even the
teachers
were watching him. He felt like a criminal, pointed at, whispered about, mistrusted. He had no friends. Even Melissa steered clear of him. He was Spengler — no, even
lower
than Spengler on the totem pole.

In French, a balled-up piece of paper landed on his desk, then rolled into his lap. He picked it up and opened it. It read, “R-U-OK?”

He looked up into Melissa’s huge green eyes. He shook his head “no.” She bit her bottom lip, obviously feeling sorry for him, and he suddenly couldn’t look at her anymore. He didn’t want her pity. He didn’t want
anyone’s
pity.

At lunch, he couldn’t bear the cafeteria scene, so he went down the main hallway toward the library — a quiet place to kill time, where no one would bother him. A place where he could even get his homework done, so he’d have the whole late afternoon and evening to go boarding again.

Being on his snowboard had become Matt’s only refuge, the only place in his life, aside from his daydreams, where he felt like a hero and not a zero.

“Will Matthew Harper please come to the main office?” the voice on the loudspeaker said. “Matthew Harper to the main office. Thank you.”

Uh-oh. Now what?

He pictured the widened eyes and whispers in the cafeteria as his name came over the loudspeaker yet again. He walked out of the library and trudged down the hall like he was on a death march.

“The principal wants to see you,” said Mrs. Harrison, the guidance counselor. “Have a seat on the bench over there.”

Matt did as he was told and waited for the grim door to open and the bony finger to beckon him inside. Obviously, something else bad had happened and he was being blamed again.

The door finally opened, and the principal’s face appeared. “Would you come in here, Matthew?”

Matt rose and put one foot in front of the other until he got to the doorway. Inside, to his surprise, he saw Spengler sitting with a woman who could only have been his mother.

“Sit down,” the principal said, indicating an empty chair. Matt sat.

The principal went behind his desk and sat back down, then leaned forward toward Matt and folded his hands in front of him. “Apparently, there’s been a mistake. I’m afraid we may have been too hasty in our treatment of you, young man.” He glanced at Spengler and his mother, then back at Matt. “Mr. Spengler here says he saw you in the boys’ room at the time the fire alarm was pulled and that you didn’t do it.”

“Spengler?” Matt turned and gave him a grateful look. Spengler gave him a wan smile in return.

But
Spengler?
Why had they believed
him,
a kid like that with a record like his?

As if he’d heard him ask, the principal said, “Mrs. Spengler was with him at the time, and she corroborates his story. They were . . . ahem . . . on their way to this office.”

Now
Matt understood. The school must have asked Mrs. Spengler to come in for a meeting with the principal, and somehow they’d seen him at the crucial moment.

With all the bad breaks he’d had in his life, here for a change was a really good one! Matt exhaled for what felt like the first time in days.

Then something else occurred to him, something very important. “Does this mean I can be in the snow-boarding contest?” he asked.

The principal frowned. “The graffiti incident still casts a shadow over your record, I’m afraid. However, in light of the fact that we’ve judged you wrongly once, I’m willing to believe it could be possible we’re wrong about that as well. For now, in the absence of further proof, I’ll agree to let you participate.”

“YES!” Matt yelled, jumping right out of his chair. “Thanks, Mr. Koppel! Thanks, Spengler! Thanks, Spengler’s mom!”

The principal was smiling now. “Good. I’m glad we’ve worked this out. And Mr. Harper . . . ”

“Yes?”

“Please convey my apologies to your uncle, will you? I’m sorry we had to drag him in here.”

“Okay.” Matt thought it would have been better for the principal to say so himself, straight to Uncle Clayton’s face if possible. But at the moment, he didn’t want to argue. He’d gotten what he wanted. He was back in the contest!

Now the only thing to do was
win
it.

So he and Clay practiced on the half-pipe every minute they could. They practiced on the jumps. And they talked over the mental preparation part, over and over again. “Remember,” Clay said, “you’re not competing against the other boarders. You’re competing against the mountain. I’ve seen what you’ve got, dude. If you nail your landings, you’re gonna win this thing.”

“You really think so?”

“Are you kidding? Snowboarding talent runs in the family.”

They worked on his jumps and half-pipe runs every day after school. Twice, they saw Riley. Whenever they did, Matt would bag whatever he was doing. “Come on, Uncle Clayton, let’s go do some downhill.”

They’d go off where Riley wasn’t and wait till next time to practice. Matt didn’t want Riley to realize how good his competition was getting. Luckily, and surprisingly, Riley only showed up those two times. Matt, who was there constantly, with and without his uncle, would have known if Riley had come to practice more often. Apparently, Riley was feeling pretty good about his chances.

Matt smiled at the thought. Wait till Riley ran into Snowboard Champ!

The letter from his mom came the afternoon before the contest. He didn’t open it. He needed to concentrate on the contest for one more day, and he was afraid whatever was in the letter would upset him, or at least distract him.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it all evening, and even lying in bed that night. Time after time, Uncle Clayton had told him that focus and concentration were everything in snowboarding. How was he supposed to concentrate when all he could think about was what might be in that letter?

He sat straight up in bed, flicked on his bedside light, and ripped open the envelope, which was postmarked
Karnataka
. Matt thought that was somewhere in India, but he wasn’t totally sure.

Dear Matt,

Well, it’s been a while since I called, and it will be a while longer till I can call again. I am going to be in small villages with no phones or cell-phone towers. I’m taking lots of pictures and keeping a diary so I can remember all the little details to tell you about. Sometime, I hope, I’ll be able to bring you here for a visit.

I know I’ve promised to tell you all about what I’m doing, running all over the world while you’re back there — and I hope I hope I hope you’re okay and that your uncle is not letting you run totally wild. Anyway, I thought I’d take this opportunity to tell you what I do.

I’m sure it sounds boring, but what I do is called microloans. I represent our government’s lending institutions out here in the field, prospecting for opportunities so that people can lift themselves out of poverty by building small businesses. I know it must sound terribly un-glamorous, but I find it fascinating and very rewarding.

The other day, I arranged a loan of $100 for this woman to start an egg-production business. All she needed were some chickens, some feed, and the materials to build a chicken coop. And now, with only $100 — the cost of a pair of sneakers in the States! — her family’s whole life has been changed. Now they will have some cash in addition to the food that they grow, and they can gradually improve their lives.