thought Mrs. Weatherspoon … Well, it was obvious that he had been all wrong about her.
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Brett said.
“Deal.” Then she waved him off. “Thank you again, Brett. You should drop by more often. And I hope your letter brings some results.”
Me too,
thought Brett, feeling a hundred times better. The whole world wasn’t against him after all!
9
O ver the next few weeks, Brett spent most of his time alone with The Lizard, practicing his moves. He tried to stay out of his mothers way around the house, and he was careful to skate in uncrowded areas, so that she wouldn’t have any more opportunities to yell at him. He didn’t see much of Johnee, either. Johnee was spending more and more time with W.E., and Brett didn’t want to hear any more of his stupid theories about the skateboard. He just wanted to ride it and sharpen his skills so that he could take Kyle’s place as the best skater in Springton.
Brett’s hard work was paying off, too. He and the board had become one; it responded so quickly to the slightest touch that Brett felt as though it could read his thoughts. His moves were smooth and effortless, and he rarely lost his balance, even during the most complicated tricks.
Passersby who saw Brett perform his feats often applauded and remarked on his talent. A few of them asked his name and linked him to his letter in the
Herald.
But no one offered to do anything about his suggestion, and Brett had come to grips with the fact that his parents were right about Springton’s attitude toward skateboarding.
One morning, while he was eating breakfast, Brett heard the harsh, grinding sounds of a truck and other heavy equipment not too far away.
“What’s going on out there?” he asked his mother. “Are they building another house?” Ever since the Thysons had moved in, new construction of one sort or another had been going on in their neighborhood.
His mother stepped outside for a moment and returned with a puzzled look on her face. “I don’t know what it is exactly,” she said, “but it looks as if something is happening down on the corner.”
Brett wiped his mouth with a napkin, then went out to investigate. At the corner where Mrs. Weatherspoon lived, he saw a truck and a bulldozer. It appeared that Mrs. Weatherspoon was having something done to her backyard. Brett wondered why she was bothering, since she spent all her time on the front stoop. He thought about going down to ask her — she
had
invited him to drop by, after all — but he decided against it. He had better things to do, namely practicing with The Lizard.
He went back inside, closing the door against the loud, raucous sounds.
The next day they were at it again.
By now Brett was piqued by curiosity, and he walked over to see what the workers were up to. He came to an abrupt stop the minute he saw Mrs. Weatherspoon’s yard. They were blacktopping it!
Brett stared, unable to believe his eyes. Why in heaven’s name would someone blacktop a perfectly beautiful yard?
Poor Mrs. Weatherspoon,
Brett thought. Maybe she was becoming senile. That was the only explanation he could come up with for her strange behavior … unless she just didn’t like grass, or she was tired of having to take care of it.
Yes, that must be it,
he concluded. Without a family around to help, it was too hard for her to maintain a lawn. If only he’d known, he could have offered to help. Oh, well, it was too late now….
“Brett.” A voice interrupted his thoughts.
He glanced up at the stoop, his eyes going first to the rocking chair where Mrs. Weatherspoon so often sat. It was empty.
Then he saw her in the doorway. She was smiling and beckoning to him.
At least she doesn’t seem to regret her decision,
Brett thought.
“Can you come here a minute?” she asked softly.
“Sure,” he said, and ran up the steps.
Mrs. Weatherspoon stepped out onto the stoop, closing the door gently behind her. Her smile broadened. “Do
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Brett said.
“Deal.” Then she waved him off. “Thank you again, Brett. You should drop by more often. And I hope your letter brings some results.”
Me too,
thought Brett, feeling a hundred times better. The whole world wasn’t against him after all!
9
O ver the next few weeks, Brett spent most of his time alone with The Lizard, practicing his moves. He tried to stay out of his mothers way around the house, and he was careful to skate in uncrowded areas, so that she wouldn’t have any more opportunities to yell at him. He didn’t see much of Johnee, either. Johnee was spending more and more time with W.E., and Brett didn’t want to hear any more of his stupid theories about the skateboard. He just wanted to ride it and sharpen his skills so that he could take Kyle’s place as the best skater in Springton.
Brett’s hard work was paying off, too. He and the board had become one; it responded so quickly to the slightest touch that Brett felt as though it could read his thoughts. His moves were smooth and effortless, and he rarely lost his balance, even during the most complicated tricks.
Passersby who saw Brett perform his feats often applauded and remarked on his talent. A few of them asked his name and linked him to his letter in the
Herald.
But no one offered to do anything about his suggestion, and Brett had come to grips with the fact that his parents were right about Springton’s attitude toward skateboarding.
One morning, while he was eating breakfast, Brett heard the harsh, grinding sounds of a truck and other heavy equipment not too far away.
“What’s going on out there?” he asked his mother. “Are they building another house?” Ever since the Thysons had moved in, new construction of one sort or another had been going on in their neighborhood.
His mother stepped outside for a moment and returned with a puzzled look on her face. “I don’t know what it is exactly,” she said, “but it looks as if something is happening down on the corner.”
Brett wiped his mouth with a napkin, then went out to investigate. At the corner where Mrs. Weatherspoon lived, he saw a truck and a bulldozer. It appeared that Mrs. Weatherspoon was having something done to her backyard. Brett wondered why she was bothering, since she spent all her time on the front stoop. He thought about going down to ask her — she
had
invited him to drop by, after all — but he decided against it. He had better things to do, namely practicing with The Lizard.
He went back inside, closing the door against the loud, raucous sounds.
The next day they were at it again.
By now Brett was piqued by curiosity, and he walked over to see what the workers were up to. He came to an abrupt stop the minute he saw Mrs. Weatherspoon’s yard. They were blacktopping it!
Brett stared, unable to believe his eyes. Why in heaven’s name would someone blacktop a perfectly beautiful yard?
Poor Mrs. Weatherspoon,
Brett thought. Maybe she was becoming senile. That was the only explanation he could come up with for her strange behavior … unless she just didn’t like grass, or she was tired of having to take care of it.
Yes, that must be it,
he concluded. Without a family around to help, it was too hard for her to maintain a lawn. If only he’d known, he could have offered to help. Oh, well, it was too late now….
“Brett.” A voice interrupted his thoughts.
He glanced up at the stoop, his eyes going first to the rocking chair where Mrs. Weatherspoon so often sat. It was empty.
Then he saw her in the doorway. She was smiling and beckoning to him.
At least she doesn’t seem to regret her decision,
Brett thought.
“Can you come here a minute?” she asked softly.
“Sure,” he said, and ran up the steps.
Mrs. Weatherspoon stepped out onto the stoop, closing the door gently behind her. Her smile broadened. “Do
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