all in all [ryleigh]

it’s not so bad 

Though he hadn’t spoken to her -- and didn’t really want to -- Adam felt a sense of kinship with the little girl who’d brought a skateboard to camp, on account of she was Asian (at least, she looked it -- hapa at the very least) and skated. He thought she might be Hawaiian or something. She looked like she was tanned as a result of spending time outdoors. Adam, in contrast, was tanned as a result of generations of rice farmers, or so his mom said when she was bemoaning her skin.

It seemed that this kid had also discovered this stretch of Stowe, Vermont, probably not made for skateboarding but certainly better suited for it than anywhere else. As Adam rolled up, he spotted her at the far end of the lot heading down a banister. It wasn’t a super small lot, but it was small enough that he didn’t want to crowd her, even though (by rights) this was sort of his place. Seniority and all.

He was a hard-ass but he wasn’t a bully, though, so he could let her have the lot -- instead, courteously, he pulled up short at the curb, stepped off his board and had a seat.

Probably it’d be creepy to just watch her skate -- even though he was impressed, despite himself -- so Adam busied himself fishing through his backpack for something to pay attention to that wasn’t a little kid. He had the disposable camera his mom had bought him -- pervy -- a blunt -- inappropriate -- and, most promisingly, a gallon-sized Ziploc baggie of homemade Chex Mix -- he pulled it open and put a handful in his mouth at once.

The girl, on her own skateboard, came closer -- with a wave, through a mouthful of more wasabi peas than he’d expected, he said, “Naw, don’t stop, you were here first. Fair and square.”

@Ryleigh Katō

Vermont was a weird state, she’d decided… pretty, but weird. It was the middle of August – and the temperature barely made it above 65-70 degrees most days! That was, like, the dead of winter back home. And it felt even colder in the woods, with the canopy of trees (huge and awesome as they were) blocking out most of the direct sunlight before it hit the ground. Ryleigh shivered involuntarily, drawing her zip-up sweatshirt closer around her.

A few days ago she’d managed to find a picnic area in something of a clearing – at least, clear enough that she could actually see her shadow on the ground – and had been coming back to it to skate every day since then around midday, when the sun was highest in the sky. It had a few picnic tables and even a railing that led down to a leveled-off spot below. In any case, it was a much concrete as she’d been able to find without going all the way into town, and so she planned to take full advantage.

She hadn’t been there long; she’d just finished her stretches and a few simple warm-up simple kick-flips, when she looked up and noticed another person with a skateboard sitting on the curb at the end of the stretch. Ryleigh paused, tempted to just ignore them and continue doing her thing – but curiosity got the better of her, and so she wheeled around and pushed off towards them, letting her foot ‘hang’ slightly off to the side in midair so she was balancing on only one leg (she couldn’t help showing off just a little; she’d learned quickly back home that being small and young meant she needed to be a little more flashy to get people to take her claim at a spot in the park seriously).

As she rolled closer, the other person waved and called out to her; she shielded her eyes with her hand (her baseball cap was on backwards so the brim was utterly useless at the moment) to get a better look. She was honestly surprised by what he’d said: don’t stop, she was there first? It was true, of course – but normally the older kids tried to make her leave so they could take over. Ryleigh’s eyebrows went up.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
But a heartbeat later she realized that sounded pretty bratty, given how nice this guy had been (at least so far), and so she cracked a grin to temporize it.
“Um. Thanks. Are you… from here? America, I mean.”

Show-off.

She was coming over here now, though, and he had to admit she was like, okay at skating. He hadn’t been that good when he was eleven or twelve or however old she was. (It still baffled him that wizards determined school year based on age; he’d been so much younger than most of his first kindergarten class that his parents had made him do it twice. What did wizards do when their kids were stupid?)

It just wasn’t fair -- he got to repeat kindergarten, and this random kid got to be a skateboard prodigy at the young age of however old she was. Had she not had a paranoid mother, or something? Adam was sure he’d have been that good by the time he was her age -- well, maybe thirteen or so -- if only his mother hadn’t insisted on saddling him with elbow and knee pads every time he went out. The girl rolled up closer, eyes shaded with her hand, looking sort of surprised that Adam had talked to her; he pulled the brim of his own hat (which he was wearing the way hat manufacturers had intended) a little lower over his eyes.

Smart-ass.

Adam appreciated that in a little kid, though. The girl cracked a grin at him and he swallowed his Chex Mix (sooner than he should have; it lumped unpleasantly down his throat) and shrugged rather than sound like some snob saying You’re welcome. “Yeah,” he said, “California. You too?”

At his normal skate park in SJ this pavement would have been too hot to stick his entire bare hand on, but here in Vermont it was fine; he sat back a little -- “How long you been skating?” he said. “You’re like, okay.”

“California. You, too?”

“Yeah!” she replied, excited to have a fellow Californian, her expression even more genuine now. “Irvine. You?”

“How long you been skating? You’re like, okay.”

Ryleigh laughed.
“Thanks. Um, I think I was like… five? Or maybe four, I dunno. I just remember going to Surf City for the Open and thinking it was super cool. My dad even built me some ramps and stuff, he’s an engineer. And my mom used to play a lot of different sports.” She shrugged, mimicking his earlier gesture.
“How old were you?”

Call her vain, but Ryleigh loved praise. She’d hung around older kids enough to know that she was, in fact, pretty good for her age – and she (sometimes not-so-secretly) delighted in the fact that she was at least as good as if not better than quite a few of them. It was especially satisfying when she was better than some of the jerks that hung around the park, though she had to admit that most people were pretty nice for the most part.
At the same time, she also loved watching people who were better than she was – it was a great way to pick up tips, tricks, and techniques.

“We can trade off, if you want?” she offered tentatively. “There’s plenty of space.”
The eleven-year-old was admittedly hesitant to share any part of her find, in case it backfired on her… but she also knew Mom and Dad would be really disappointed if they heard she was a greedy grouch at camp, and they might not let her back. And, anyways, this boy seemed nice enough.
“I'm done warming up, so I was gonna work on the rail for a bit.”

He had meant ‘you too’ as in, American, but this was even better – he perked up at once. “Yo! I have family out there in Westminster. I’m from San Jose.” He pointed up, even though – by their current location – both San Jose and Irvine were pretty distantly to the southwest. “Ey – how you liking New England weather so far?” Was she a magbob too, or had she been mentally prepared to move to a place that saw snow? He was learning more and more that it wasn’t always easy to tell based on how normally people were dressed – though he hadn’t given up trying to make those split-second judgments.

The girl had started skating a few years younger than he had, so he blew his breath out with relief (see, if he’d started before kindergarten he would probably have been better too) and nodded seriously, and a little enviously. His parents hadn’t been supportive of his skating at first – in fact, the first time he’d tried it, his mom had blown a gasket, then (rather than apologize) taken him to the store for a helmet that fit him properly.

“Like seven or eight,” he said. “My mom wouldn’t let me even try a jump until I was nine. Well – that she knew about, at least.” He scooped another handful of Chex Mix into his mouth, and said through it, “She totally thought I was going to like, smash my brains out or something. Lame, right?”

The girl looked rather reluctant to be offering to share the place (though, he thought, he still kind of held the rights to it, since he was older and he’d never seen her here before) but Adam appreciated the gesture more for how little she looked like she wanted to make it, and was inclined to be generous in turn. “‘Kay,” he said. “I’ll try to stay to the left if you want.” He zipped the Ziploc and stashed it, zipped his backpack and slung it over his shoulders, got on his board and claimed his half of the clearing.

To show off, or not to show off – she was pretty good, which made him want to one-up her, but she was also, like, a little girl. He resolved to ignore her for a bit, and just practice, until he was sweaty enough to want a water break; he kicked his board back into position at the curb where he’d started and sat down again, pulled his hat off and rubbed his hand through his hair, making it stick up. There was still plenty of Chex Mix; he dug that out too, and rolled the lip of the baggie over to make it more like a sack. He glanced over at the girl again and said, “Yo, you want Chex Mix?”