Starting from Scratch (Starting from 2)

“You know nothing about my father. Or me. And you know even less about your son,” I spat. “Stay away from him. And stay away from Zero. If I see you at a show, I’ll have you arrested. I mean it. Don’t mess with me.”

I hung up with Ed’s maniacal laughter ringing in my ears. My hands shook and my heart pounded like I’d just been in a serious car wreck. Geez, Ky was right. His dad was a real piece of work. Sure, I got the information I was after, but it was a bit more than I’d bargained for.

10

Ky

Organized sports might not be for everyone, but John Wooden was on to something when he said, “Sports don’t build character, they reveal it.” I’d tried a few team sports when I was a kid. I’d played soccer and basketball on a rec league, but I did better at individual sports where my learning curve didn’t depend on how well other players did on the field. Skateboarding started out as a means of simple transportation-slash-hobby, then progressed to a passion. I’d suffered my share of setbacks. There was always someone better, more agile, and a little cooler, but the benefits far outweighed scraped knees and a bruised ego. Balance, core strength, stress reducer, and yeah…the cool factor helped make friends. In the couple of months since Oliver and I began our casual lessons, he’d become a decent skater. He wasn’t going to be the next Tony Hawk, but something better happened. Every time he mastered a new skill, his confidence grew. Little by little, Charlie and I noticed some nice changes.

Oliver actually liked third grade now. He’d joined the chess club, quit soccer, made new friends, and he never complained about wearing glasses. He wasn’t quick to let his peers’ opinions stop him from doing what he enjoyed. Charlie gave me credit for that, but when I glanced over at my boyfriend rocking a red cashmere coat and a fancy pair of Italian loafers, I knew it was really a joint effort. Anyone who could hang with a gaggle of hardcore skaters and surfers looking like he’d stepped out of a fashion magazine was a shining example of how to be comfortable in your own skin.

I suggested bringing Ollie to Venice Skatepark a couple of times so he could see what “real” skateboarding looked like, and he loved it. He watched the avid skaters with obvious wonder, commenting in an awed tone about how much air they got and how fast they could go. But I was his favorite and yes…there was a part of me that loved showing off for the nine-year-old and even more so, for my sexy boyfriend, who always brought his iPad with him yet spent the entire time watching me do my thing.

I waved at Ollie and Charlie and sniggered when Charlie mouthed, Be careful. Probably good advice, though. I stood at the top of what looked like the deep end of a huge empty pool. I winked at him as I held the nose of my board with my right hand, set one foot on the back, and toppled into the abyss. My breath caught in my chest. The instant high of flying, then twisting and turning to regain balance in seconds flat was exhilarating as fuck. I popped up on the opposite side and rotated in a full circle before disappearing again. I heard cheers along the perimeter and a few gasps of dismay, so I figured I’d better make my dismount memorable. I rode the rails along the side of the concave area, flew across the top of the pool, and skidded to a stop before hopping off and catching my board in the air.

My small audience clapped and wolf-whistled in approval. I slapped high fives and fist-bumped as I made my way to Charlie and Oliver.

“Dude! That monster flip was gnarly!” Ollie enthused.

“No, it was terrifying,” Charlie groused.

Ollie rolled his eyes, then slipped into skater jargon. Every other word was “epic,” “awesome,” and “rad.” I nodded absently and grinned at Charlie’s faux-irritated grin, knowing he didn’t mind being here one bit.

“Hey, what’s that frown for?” I unsnapped my helmet and dropped it on the ground, flashing a megawatt grin his way. He didn’t thaw, so I tweaked his cheek and chuckled when he smacked my hand. “Were you worried about me?”

“Yes. Whatever that was should be illegal,” he huffed. “I’m so…tense. I’m getting a stress headache.”

“I know a good way to take care of that.”

“Keep it G-rated.”

“I always do,” I singsonged. “The best medicine for a headache is a joke. So…did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?”

“No.”

“Great food, no atmosphere.”

Charlie groaned. “That was terrible.”

“C’mon, that was hilarious. I got more. What do you call a fake noodle?” I asked. “Give up? An impasta.”