Chapter 9

“I’m CJ—”

“Can you even skate?” Mick asks.

Beneath those stumpy dreads, his eyes flash in a challenge, and

CJ’s cheeks burn with an indignant heat.

“I can do a kick flip,” CJ replies. As

he steps off his board, his heart begins to thud like a drum in his

chest—Brendan’s watching him now, Mick sees him,and his

body floods with adrenaline. His legs feel shaky, his fingers numb.

He gets this way when he’s put on the spot, one reason he used to

hate school, it made him this nervous whenever the teacher called

on him in class. No, not nervous, anxious, brimming with

anticipation because he knows he can skate, he knowshe’s

better than these jokers, and now’s his chance to prove it. “I can

even do a triple heel flip,” he tells them, which isn’t exactly

true but he’s thought about it and thoughtabout it until

he’s pretty damn sure he can pull it off. With a laugh that sounds

more confident than he feels, he brags, “Shit man, I was skating

before I could walk and I’m telling you, you’re doing it

wrong.”

Mick snatches up his board and stands aside.

“Show us, then,” he mutters. When CJ doesn’t move, he nods at the

empty curb. “Go on. Show us if you know what the hell you’re

doing.”

I do.Before he can think it through,

CJ nudges his board into position. In his mind, he hears Richard’s

sensible voice, Babe, don’t. You don’t have to prove anything to

these jerks. You’re better than them and we both know it.

Yeah, he knows. But he’s talked himself up,

he can’t wimp out now. “You have to start back a bit farther,” he

mumbles, only partially speaking to the skaters. Richard’s voice is

his conscience, telling him to not be foolish, this is a

parkinglot with cars passing by and no one’s going to stop

if he falls on his ass in the street, they’ll run him the fuck

over, Mick was just lucky. Richard, please,he thinks,

silencing his lover. I know what I’m doing. Trust me—you always

do.To Mick, he says, “And kick up beforethe curb,

that’s the secret. Watch me, I’ll show you.”

Stepping onto his board, CJ lines up the

distance in his mind—not much, which is why he doesn’t really like

skating on the sidewalk. There’s never enough room to get a good,

long run, but he’ll deal. He’s done it before.

He backs up a bit. Brendan moves aside to

give him more room, but he doesn’t need it. From the corner of his

eye he checks the traffic—the parking lot in front of him is empty.

Alright then,he thinks, taking a deep breath. Skating does

this to him, gives him this rush, this tension, he loves it.

Kicking off hard from the ground, he drives the board across the

sidewalk, fast and hard. The way I like it,Richard’s voice

teases. He can almost seethe wicked gleam that would

flicker in his lover’s eyes at such a remark. It makes him grin,

spurs him on.

Just before he reaches the curb, he jumps. A

twist of his foot spins the board beneath him, launching it off the

sidewalk in a perfect shot. See?he thinks as he pulls his

legs up to give the board room to move. Now how hard is this? I

mean really.He clears the curb and brings both feet down on

the board with the slightest wobble before he finds his balance

again, and then he’s skating across the lot, jump complete. In his

mind, an imaginary crowd goes wild. Thank you. Thank

you.

The blare of a car horn snaps him back to

reality. “Get the hell out of the way!” someone cries as CJ skates

to a stop. Before he can turn, a Beemer flies by, close enough that

the back of his jacket billows out from the car’s passing.

“Fucking ass!” Mick yells after the

driver. CJ waits for an opening between cars and then darts back to

the safety of the sidewalk, where Mick growls, “Can’t they see

we’re skating here? Jesus.”

CJ stares after the car that almost hit him.

Richard drives a BMW, though his is an older model. And in

better shape, too,CJ tells himself. Runs like silk.He

has half a mind to jog over to the spot that the car pulls into and

knock on the window, wait for the driver to roll down the glass,

then lean in and boast, “Myguy has one of these, too. Yours

looks like shit compared to his.”

He should do it, but he’s not like that. “I

wish we could use the pipe,” he mutters. He looks at Mick, who just

ignores him, so CJ turns to Brendan. “What time is it anyway?”

Brendan shrugs. “I dunno. You waiting for

someone?”

CJ bends to brush dust off his artwork and

tells him, “I’m supposed to meet my guy here at one.”

At that, Brendan and Mick exchange a glance

but neither says anything. CJ’s ready for it, though—he’s had

problems before, even with other skaters, once they find out he’s

with Richard. Mostly it’s stupid shit, mean remarks, nothing bad

enough to start a fight, though once he did kick some dude’s ass

for laughing at his guy. “Not him?” the fuckhead snickered

as Richard approached the ramp where CJ was hanging with a few

other skaters.