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Scooter
All the kids had skateboards. Even some of the girls had skateboards. Geraldine Jenkins had a skateboard. Pitifully uncoordinated Geraldine Jenkins. But Ricky's mom said no, it was too dangerous. Of course it was dangerous. But not too dangerous. Not if you knew what you were doing. It wasn't fair. Ricky even offered to use his own money, the check that Grandma sent for Christmas, but still his parents said no. That check was for college. Like in college they'd teach skateboarding. Ha! Ricky pouted. His mom just gave him that slyly sorrowful look. Deal with it. Okay, what if I promise to be really really careful? No. What if I— No. Mom, you're not even letting me finish. Okay, finish. What if I wear kneepads and a crash helmet and— No. What if I take lessons? They have a— No. Too dangerous. You have a bike. You're not getting a skateboard. Period. Ricky's sister, Emily, who was in high school, said it was because Mom was knocked down by a skateboarder one time. "Was she hurt?" Ricky asked. "She was mad," Emily said. "The guy didn't even say he was sorry. There were a whole pack of them, and they barely stopped." "Were you there?" "In a manner of speaking," Emily said, "which is partly why she was so mad." The next day Ricky's dad said come out to the garage, I've got something for you. For a moment Ricky's heart went crazy. His pulse skittered out of control. He was getting a skateboard after all. Good old Dad, he knew what boys needed. Dad rolled up the garage door. There it was. An old scooter. Ricky's heart plunged. "This was my scooter when I was your age," Dad said. "Isn't it a beauty?" Dad. "I could really get this baby going. Man, it was the nearest thing to flying." The thing was pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Thanks, Dad. Ricky's dad patted him on the shoulder. "Go on, take it out for a spin. There's still enough light. Once around the block. See how she handles." "I've got some homework," Ricky said. No way could you even tell anyone you had a silly kid's scooter. You'd get laughed to death. Ridiculous handlebars! Ridiculous tires. Even a stupid kick-stand kind of a thing on the rear wheel. Pathetic. All week the scooter sat in the garage untouched. "How come you're not using your scooter?" Ricky's mom asked. Ricky shrugged. Answer me, young man. Your dad went to a lot of trouble to— Ricky ran up the stairs. Later Ricky's mom sat at his bedside. "I'm sorry," she said, trying to soothe him. "I know how you feel." "You do not," Ricky said, burrowing his face deeper into the pillow. "If you knew, you'd get me a skateboard. You're not being fair." "Not everything is fair," Ricky's mother said. "I don't care." "Okay, Ricky. Sleep well." She kissed the top of his head and left the room. The next day after school Ricky took the scooter out of the garage. He meant to walk it the two blocks to Geraldine Jenkins' house, then if anyone saw him, he could simply say—something, but if they saw him actually riding it, it would be worse. Walking the scooter was awkward, however, so Ricky risked riding it the last block. It wasn't so bad. But it wasn't a skateboard. He rang Geraldine's bell. "What's that?" she wanted to know. "A scooter." "Cool." "I thought you'd like it. Want to try it out?" "Maybe," Geraldine said. "What's the catch?" "There's no catch. I just thought maybe you'd like it. I notice you don't use your skateboard much." "Ho, ho, so that's it—you want to trade your scooter for my skateboard." "Not trade exactly," Ricky said. "It'd still be your skateboard. You'd keep it here. You'd just let me use it whenever I needed it." "I don't know," Geraldine said. "Please." "Maybe if you gave me a ride on the back of the scooter." "A ride?" "Sure." "It's kind of a one person scooter." "No, there's enough room. If we squeezed together a little bit." "I guess we could try it," Ricky said. "Once." Ricky got on the scooter first. "You just try to keep your balance," he told Geraldine. "Let me do the pushing." "I'm going to have to hold on," Geraldine said. She started out with her hands on Ricky's shoulders, but as soon as they began rolling, she had to grip Ricky around his waist. "This is fun," she said, "can you go faster?" "I can go very fast," he said. He picked up speed. The scooter flew along the sidewalk. "Whee!" Geraldine cried. "Faster, Ricky, faster!" For a moment things were wonderful. The rush of fresh air skimming his face, the forward surge of self, even the little pull of Geraldine—all systems go go go! But a moment later Ricky saw that the corner was going to be a problem. Swerve and Geraldine would fly off. Shoot straight into the street and risk getting plowed by a speeding car. Stop short and catapult Geraldine into the air, after which she'd probably crash on her head. The corner, as it turned out, was not a problem. They never got to the corner. They got to the crack. Not a big crack, but the far lip of it was raised enough to catch the scooter's front tire. The unexpected jolt caught Ricky unprepared. He tried to rear back, to lift the scooter over the obstacle, and maybe he could have had it been just him, but Geraldine added to the momentum. Airborne and veering, the scooter, with Ricky and Geraldine still aboard, slammed into Mrs. Levitt's rose bush. The scooter came out of the encounter in good shape. It was a sturdy little scooter. Ricky and Geraldine were not so lucky. Thorn scratches criss-crossed their faces, arms, and legs. Sticky blood seeped lazily from some of the wounds. Ricky's right shoe was lost. Geraldine's tee shirt was ruined. The two of them got unsteadily to their feet and inspected each other. Some of the tinier thorns were still embedded in the skin of Ricky's palm. Crushed rose petals littered Geraldine's hair. "You all right?" Ricky asked. "I think so," Geraldine said. Then she laughed. "That was fun. Can we do it again tomorrow?" "I don't know," Ricky said. "Maybe." He scootered slowly home, wondering what he was going to tell his mom. story by Walter Galen |
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