The skate park in Venice Beach is surprisingly uncrowded for a Friday night.
After staring at the sun sinking into the Pacific for a few minutes, I listen to the click and clunk of skateboarders riding the gray steps as I breathe in the salty air. I buckle the helmet straps under my chin.
God I love this park. In fact, I think it’s the only thing that got me through the first full week of school: knowing that I’d see the usual group of guys and girls for a bike sesh. Unlike my boyfriend, Ryan, most of the other BMXers don’t attend B-Dub, so the only time I get to see the crew is at the park.
“Nice lid,” Ryan says, smacking the top of my blue helmet. He lets his hand fall to my back for a moment. His simple touch sends a wave of shivers down my spine. I look up at him and am blown away—not for the first time—by how totally gorgeous and awesome he is.
“When are you going to start wearing one?” I ask, mounting my blue Mongoose and squeezing the black grips on the handlebars as Ryan and I roll up to the gray concrete table separating two quarter pipes. The park has so many varied elements—everything from street-style obstacles like stairs with railings to boxes, ledges, and a variety of bowls and ramps—it’s a blast to ride here.
Ryan immediately drops in and his tires rub against the concrete as he gains momentum on the vert. “It’s all good, Mags.” He continues up and down the sides of the ramp, gaining momentum, his big smile infectious.
I shake my head and remind myself not to act like Bella and my parents. I want him to be safe, but I’m not his boss. It’s his noggin. And one of the things that I love most about Ryan is how laid back he is.
I watch Ryan pedal, reaching for my phone when I feel it buzz in the back pocket of my jeans. It’s Bella asking what park I’m at tonight, which is weird since she usually doesn’t care. I text her back and remind her that it’s Friday and she should actually be out having fun. I doubt she’ll heed my advice. I’m sure she’s at Beachwood hitting tennis balls. Speaking of, I wonder when Coach K—that’s what I’m calling her from now on since it’s way less of a mouthful—will post the roster. I’m kind of dying to know if I pulled it off and made the team. Can’t wait to see how my parents react to that one. They’ll probably use the laces from my old tennis shoes to tie me to my bed frame for fear that I’ll get out of the house and ruin things for their perfect daughter.
Below me in the pipe, Ryan’s standing on his pedals and gaining intense speed. “Watch this can-can,” Ryan yells to his friend, a guy with a buzz cut who’s standing next to me waiting his turn.
“You’re sick, dude,” a guy covered in tattoos shouts, straddling his bike.
Once Ryan reaches the coping, he’s airborne. He lifts his left leg off the pedal and moves it over the bike tube. Then, he dramatically leans his body one way while moving his bike the other, completing a 180. In an instant, he moves his feet back on the pedals and he’s back on the seat.
Thump.
Both tires hit the ramp at the same time and Ryan rolls down the transition triumphantly.
I whistle and cheer. Every time Ryan nails a trick, it makes me want to get out there and nail it myself.
“Wow. Man! You blasted that!” a girl with long blonde hair tucked under a camouflage hat yells as we all watch in amazement. “X Games are within reach.” She jostles back and forth on her pink Mongoose bike.
“That’s what I’m hoping,” Ryan calls. His eyes and smile are wider than the pipe, like they always are when he lands a trick. “And I’ll be bringing Maggie with me.”
“Well, I don’t think I’ll be competing,” I say. Big competitions are not really my thing, not after my last one ended in my breaking someone’s nose.
“Aw. You’ll be cheering for your boy in the stands,” the guy with the buzz cut taunts. “How cute.”
“I’m not saying I couldn’t—I’m saying I do this for fun.” I push on my pegs with my feet to make sure they’re tight. “Competition’s not for me. It turns people psychotic.” It occurs to me that there’s a chance I could end up eating my own words when it comes to tennis, but I refuse to let myself think about that.
“Yeah, and I’m sure you’re declining comp-invites with your killer 180s.” The tattooed guy smirks.
“Hey, you gotta cut me some slack. I just started them two weeks ago.” I take a moment to enjoy the view from my perch atop the table. It may be dark but I can still make out the sand and sea stretching out for miles.
Ryan stops in front of me, smiles, and pecks me on the lips. He tastes sweet from the Now and Laters he chews when he rides and I can detect the smell of salt on him, a combination of hard-earned sweat and ocean air. “That one was for you, Mags.”
Well, that’s definitely something tennis is missing besides the sense of adventure—kisses from my boyfriend.
“Who’s up next?” another girl yells, antsy for her turn.
“Me.” I look down into the steep bowl.
I take a breath to prepare for dropping in. I push off the coping, lean to the side, and drop into the bowl. I sail down and as I’m ascending the other side, I pump the transition with my sore legs (thanks, tennis) for more speed.
Once I feel like I’m fast enough, I push the pedals even harder. I reach the top of the jump but turn my handlebars right so that I reverse and ride back down the side of the bowl, enjoying the rush even though I don’t actually do any extreme jumping or anything.
“Aw. Come on,” one of Ryan’s friends yells, straddling his bike next to Ryan on the table watching me.
“You can do it!” Ryan yells.
Adrenaline pumping through my blood, I ride faster this time up the side, and before I hit the coping, I gain air. This time, I don’t look down and complete the 180.
Thump.
Hell’s yeah! I ride up the vert and brake on the flat.
“Sick,” Ryan yells, touching my arm as I ride by. With my blood pumping from the rush, I continue up the side and climb onto the concrete table. Then I roll by the crew and down the ramp. Instead of staying in the pipe, I head toward the skateboarders.
I skateboarded for a bit before I got bored with it. That’s when Ryan found me: watching the freestyle riders instead of practicing my ollies. Once I discovered BMX, I dumped my board for a bike, but I still rip a bit on the longboard for fun.
I take on a short ramp adjacent to the pipe, jump slightly with both tires off the ground, and complete a simple bunny hop.
Ryan rides up next to me. He wraps his arm around me and squeezes. I lean my head against his shoulder, still sitting on my bike. There is nowhere else I’d rather be right now. There’s nothing better than the hum of tires on the ramp mixed with the sounds of the Venice Beach Boardwalk—the zooming of rollerbladers, the excited squawking of the seagulls, the drum circle at the front of the park. The smell of Big Daddy’s Pizza tickles my nose.
“So, I have something to tell you…” I say to Ryan.
“Yeah?” Ryan pulls off his black knit hat, showing his crystal-blue eyes.
“I tried out for the tennis team.”
“Is that where you were after school? I thought you checked out on me.” Ryan squeezes me tighter, then runs his other hand through his curly blond locks.
“Are you crazy?” I trace my index finger over his cheek. “I would never check out on you.”
“I didn’t even know you played tennis.” He shifts on his bike.
“I know,” I say. “I don’t really. I mean, I haven’t since I was basically a kid. The coach invited me to try out while I was practicing with Bella last weekend. I figured I’d give it another shot.”
In the background I can hear our friends yelling in excitement. Someone must have nailed a cool trick.
“I can’t say I’m surprised you got recruited. You picked up BMX pretty fast. You’re one heck of an athlete.”
I look down at my black Vans. My face burns.
“So why did you stop playing in the first place?”
“Long story. But don’t worry. I’ve got it under control now.”
“How so?” Ryan asks, pulling up his jeans, which sag when he rides.
I’m always surprised when it comes to Ryan. Other guys I’ve hung out with talked a lot but never really asked about me. I think they just liked me because I could keep up with them.
I roll my bike’s fat tires forward, then backward. “The whole tennis thing is just part of my master plan.”
“What do you mean?” Ryan asks.
Before I can answer, one of our friends pulls up on her Haro bike, balancing on the table. She gives me a wounded look. “Did you say tennis, Mags? Really?”
I shrug. “Just tired of Bella getting all the fame and glory, you know?”
“I’ve got a sister like that at home,” she says, adjusting her gloves. “Like cheerleading is some great achievement.”
“Well,” I say, “tennis is at least a legit sport.”
“Have you seen the girls that play? They’re the biggest snobs.” She scrunches her nose like there’s an odor in the air, then rides off to get some air on the pipe.
“You know, I think Maggie’s got some major cojones to go out on the court and mix it up with B-Dub’s finest!” Ryan calls after her.
“Hey, who knows?” I say to Ryan, turning my bike so that I’m facing him directly. “Maybe if my family sees me rack up some tennis trophies, they’ll take the riding more seriously.”
“Is that what this is about?” Ryan asks, placing his knit hat back on his head.
“Sort of.”
“You know, no one gives this sport the respect it deserves. Most people think we just hang out here and ride our bikes like we’re six.”
“Yeah, that’s part of it, but it’s more than that.”
Ryan obviously misunderstands my meaning because he says, “Really, Mags, you don’t need to feel like it’s your job to force people to get BMX.” He gives me a quick peck. “My mom sometimes says I should ride my beach cruiser to the park. Get some use out of it.”
I giggle at that one, letting my frustrations with my parents fall into the backdrop. “Can you imagine hucking tricks on a cruiser? I’d like to see that.”
“I know, right?” Ryan cracks up, shaking his head. “Ready for this?”
“Which one?”
“Maybe a dipped 360.”
“Watch me!” Ryan drops in and coasts down the vert. Once he reaches the top of the pipe, he airs out, almost getting high enough to be eye level with me on the table.
I swallow hard as I watch him in the darkening sky. The other guys I’ve hung out with were fearless, but Ryan takes it to a whole other level. At the last second, he hangs up on the coping. He face twists.
I hide my eyes so I don’t see him wipe out.
“Oh, man!” someone screams.
But, instead of a thump, I hear a swish.
When I turn back around, Ryan is knee-skating down the bowl with his hands out, showboating. His bike slides behind him.
“You almost bit it!” a guy yells, shaking his head. “Good thing you’re wearing jeans.”
“I’m like a cat.” Ryan shouts, grinning.
“A cat?” I drop my bike and ride down the pipe to Ryan’s side. I jump off my bike and pull him in for a hug.
“I always land on my feet,” he says, grinning. His jeans are ripped at the knees. “Or you know, somewhere cool.”
“Oh, I thought you were gonna say that you’ve got nine lives.”
Ryan’s grin grows even wider. “That too.”
I let go of Ryan when I hear the flap of approaching flip-flops and look up to see my sister nervously making her way over and around the obstacles. She teeters on a ledge, looking down at me in the bowl. At the same time, she is almost taken out by a skateboarder.
“Mags!” Bella screeches. A white and royal blue leather bag is slung over her left shoulder. “There you are.” She places her hands against her hips where her white sweater grazes the top of her skinny jeans.
“Hey, Bella,” Ryan calls, nodding at her before he hops on his bike and begins to ride up the vert again, no hesitation.
“Hi Ryan.” She responds in the same dismissive tone my mother uses with me. He’s gone before he can hear her. Bella’s eyes move from side to side as she nervously surveys the site. Another skateboarder rolls by, causing her to jump. She slowly climbs down a ramp to the mini and ledges.
“What’s up, Bella? Come to have some fun tonight?” I ask. “That’s so unlike you.”
“Fat chance.” She rolls her blue eyes. “Grace and I were on our way to pick up Sadie, so I figured I’d stop by the park.”
“That was awfully kind of you,” I say. “But don’t you usually spend Friday nights hitting balls?”
“Ha ha.” She steps aside to let a skateboarder roll by. The dude mumbles something about poseurs as he passes us. “Whatever. I’m doing you a favor.”
“Lucky me.” I stop in front of a low rail.
Bella daintily steps over it.
“You missed tonight’s meeting.” Bella’s pink lip gloss glistens. “Coach was not happy.”
“Oops.” I look up to see Ryan on the table. “I guess I lost track of time. Coach K must have really missed me.”
Bella drops the bag she’s carrying on the ground, then looks at the stained concrete and thinks twice. She picks the bag up, dusting it off with the edge of her sweater. “Can you be serious for one second?”
“All right. All right,” I say, laughing. “What did I miss?”
She hops a bit and claps like a cheerleader. “I made the team!”
“Of course you did,” I say, looking up at my friends again. They’re on the ledge.
“And so did you,” she says, less excitement in her voice this time. She hands over the leather bag. “We’re the number two doubles team, behind Minka and Lauren. And they’re the team co-captains, of course.”
“What about singles?” I try not to sound nervous.
“Yes, I am number seven out of eight, barely varsity for now.” Bella lets out a sigh.
I give her a go-on look.
“Oh, you didn’t make the singles team,” she says, almost sounding relieved.
I nearly breathe my own sigh—whether also of relief or of disappointment, I’m not totally sure. But I stop myself. I don’t want the BMX crew to witness that kind of display of emotion. I’m in control here.
“Anyway, your uniform is in the bag along with a black skort, socks, a visor, and a Beachwood tennis tank. Check it out; it’s pretty.” She looks over at Ryan, who’s stopped biking and is headed our way.
“I’m not wearing—”
“Look, Maggie, you made it this far. All I ask is that whatever you’re doing, don’t screw this up for me.”
“I’m not—”
“At this point, I really don’t care. Just, like I said, if you’re going to go through with this, please don’t mess up what I’ve worked so hard to achieve.”
Before I can open my mouth, Bella waves hastily at me and turns around. “See you at home,” she says. She scurries daintily up the wall and walks quickly across the skate park. Two of our friends stop and whistle at her, probably to tease me more than anything.
I stare at the stiff leather bag, my nose crinkled in disdain.
Ryan is at my side now and drapes his arm across my shoulders.
“What have we here?” Ryan’s friend with the buzz cut asks, rolling up and snatching the bag from my grasp. “Ooh, nice skirt!” He snickers, holding it up and wiggling it around.
It’s a skort, though I’d never tell him that. “Just give it here,” I say, holding out my hand.
“Almost as good as a cheerleader outfit!” He holds it against himself as if trying it on, looking utterly ridiculous the whole time.
I grab it back from him and stuff it into the leather bag, though I don’t know who I’m fooling. I’m sure it’ll look just as silly on me.