14

He grabs two skateboards from the back of his car, and we start walking the two blocks from his house to the rec center. The sun is low, almost gone. It’s soupy humid and the crickets are cricketing in a way that reminds me of a hundred summers past, riding my bike around town until the streetlights came on. It was my favorite part of the day, the thing you could always count on.

A couple about my dad’s age is walking toward us. “Well, if it isn’t Scooter Hogan. Staying out of trouble?” the man asks with a laugh.

I feel Ethan stiffen next to me, like a full-body wince. “Hi, Mr. McDermott,” he says. “Mrs. McDermott. Do you know Ali Morris?” They don’t and we say hello.

“I hear you’re still up in Massachusetts figuring out what you want to do.”

Ethan lets out a hard laugh, the kind with pain wrapped inside. “Good news. I figured it out,” he says. “Have a good night.”

We continue on to the skate park. “I’m starting to see what you mean,” I say.

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. We walk a half block before he starts talking again. “So the thing I want you to know about skateboarding is that it’s more than a sport.”

“Is it really a sport though?” I give him a sideways glance.

He stops, and I’m happy to see the lightness return to his face. “Of course it’s a sport. But it’s also a way to move through life. A way to approach things.”

“Wait, are you going to Mr. Miyagi me and make me wax your car?”

“Probably,” he says, and smiles. He looks at me for a second, and I swear I can see impure thoughts race through his mind. We start walking again. “It’s about finding balance and then mastering a trick that you’re sure is impossible. It’s about looking at something that can’t be done and being willing to go after it anyway. It’s about speed and perseverance but also grace and control.” He stops because the streetlights pop on. He looks up at the light and the particles of summer that it illuminates above us. “I love that so much.” Then back to me, “Ali, no joke. You’re made for skateboarding.”

“You’ve known me for one week, Scooter. You don’t know what I’m made for.”

“I’ve known you a long time,” he says. His gaze is heavy on me, full of a million things unsaid. It’s like he knows a thing that I don’t know. Like he sees something I don’t. He takes my hand and entwines our fingers. I feel it all over my body and briefly forget where we’re going. He gives my hand a squeeze and then lets go. “Come on,” he says.

We keep walking until we get to the gate of the skate park, which is, of course, locked. Ethan picks the lock with his pocketknife like it’s something he’s been professionally trained to do and walks in and switches on the lights.

“Just to be clear, we’ve broken in and now we’re turning on the lights?” I’m going to need a map and a compass to find my way back to my comfort zone. Skateboarding, breaking and entering. The thrill of it bubbles in my chest.

“Yes. This is important.” The half-pipe is in the center of the concrete park, illuminated by tall halogen lights. Around us is complete darkness, as if we are in the center of a spotlight on an empty stage. The crickets chirp from just beyond the chain-link fence on every side, and fireflies flash in the corners of my eyes. The sweet honey smell of tuberose and lilies hangs in the air.

He catches me taking this all in. “Admit it. It’s pretty cool.”

“It is,” I say.

We walk to the half-pipe, and he sets our boards down. He gets onto his. “It’s unsteady to stand on wheels. It makes no sense, right?”

I nod.

“Do it anyway,” he says.

I step onto my board and it feels like a banana peel. It’s going to slip out from under me and I’m going to be flat on my ass. He reaches for my hand and I lose focus as I close my fingers around his again. I squeeze it involuntarily, maybe to intensify the feeling. Maybe to keep it there.

“I’ll steady you, bend your knees,” he says. His body is close enough to mine that I can smell the faint mix of pine and sunscreen on his skin. He rolls me back and forth a few times. “See? You’re doing great. Now hop off and back on; try to keep your feet by the bolts.”

Hopping off is easy, hopping on is terrifying, and I grab his other hand.

“Not bad,” he says. “Now let me roll you around a little.” With both of my hands in his, he walks sideways, cruising my board along. “Feel okay?” he asks.

I squeeze his hands in response. I don’t want to talk. I like the sound of the wheels on the concrete and the feel of Ethan so close, holding my hands. I am immersed in my senses—the thickness of the night air, the electricity coming off of Ethan’s hands. The smell of the grass and the blacktop in the stale air. He stops me and we are face-to-face. With the few inches the board gives me, we are eye-to-eye. And I know that I will kiss this man. As many times as he’ll let me.

“I want to turn you around,” he says.

“What?” I don’t know why everything sounds dirty.

“Get off the board and face the other way.” Right.

I hop off and turn around and get back on the board facing the half-pipe. Ethan is right behind me and takes both of my hands in his again. I can feel his chest against my back, and I want him to wrap our hands around my waist and stay there. He talks directly into my ear. “So the point of skateboarding is to master the impossible trick. You can get hurt in a ton of different ways. You’ve got to control the fear. At some point, I’m going to send you to the top of that ramp and you’re going to skate down, and you’re going to trust that it’s going to work out just fine.” I can feel his breath on my cheek as the sound of his voice moves through my body. “Because if it doesn’t work out it’s going to be all concrete and broken bones. Which is why you need to practice like crazy and then be graceful and present.”

I let out a breath. I don’t want him to move.

“Tell me, Ali. Are you thinking about Pete and his apartment right now?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s the thing about skateboarding. It’s the ultimate terror ride, so all the other stuff just floats away.”

I turn around in one step and don’t topple the skateboard. This is mostly because Ethan catches me around the back as I turn. He says, “So, in that way, it’s about mindfulness and progression. Just tiny steps forward.” We are eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, and finally his chest is pressed against mine. I have stepped into something completely unfamiliar and unexpected. And I want to take another step forward.