Free Death Wind by William Bell Page B

BMX racer in grade nine, but now he spent all his time on a skateboard.
    â€œBetter buckle up, Brainy,” Razz told her.
    Allie turned around and snapped the seat belt on. “New van?” she asked.” Just picked it up last week,” he answered. “Like it?”
    Allie checked the interior. The red carpet felt soft under her feet. The seats were covered with real sheepskin throws. There seemed to be a thousand dials and gauges on the dash. Music thumped from a tape deck that was covered with buttons.
    â€œWhat kind of music is
that
?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
    â€œSkunk music.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œSkunk—you know, skateboard punk. Like it? No? Well, there’s some other stuff in the rack.”
    She flipped open the box on the console between the seats and got a Killjoy tape. She put it into the deck.
    â€œHungry?” asked Razz. He pointed to a giant jar of peanut butter and a bag ofred twisters on the dashboard. “They taste great together.”
    â€œNo, thanks,” said Allie, trying not to screw up her face at the thought of the taste. She settled back in the soft bucket seat.
    They were turning onto Highway 400. The van picked up speed. Allie kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the dash. She watched the scenery flash past, wondering how long it would be before her parents noticed she was gone. Would they phone the cops?
    Hours later they were on the outskirts of Ottawa. They stopped at a restaurant to eat. Razz had a big plate of fries with hot dog relish and ketchup on them. The green and red mess on his plate looked like one of those dumb modern paintings Allie’s art teacher raved about. Allie ordered a hamburger but couldn’t eat it. When they were finished, Razz pulled a wad ofmoney from his pocket—all twenties. He peeled a bill from the wad and handed it to Allie.
    â€œHow about you pay and I’ll bring the van out front?”
    â€œO.K., but I can pay for my own,” she said.
    â€œYou can pay next time, Brainy, O.K.?”
    When they got to the fairground, it was packed with cars, vans and people. Razz showed a pass to the cop at the gate and they drove under a huge white banner that read “Ontario Skateboard Championships.” They parked on the grassy infield and got out.
    â€œI gotta spend the afternoon practicing,” said Razz. “You can do what you want. But do me a favor and keep an eye on the van, O.K.? Last year, Slammer—he’s my biggest opposition—sent a few of his goons to wreck my boards.”
    â€œO.K.,” said Allie. “I’ll just look around. I’ll watch the van.”
    Allie didn’t know much about skate-boarding, but she knew Razz was last year’s national champion. He made a lot of money from sponsors. That’s why you could buy boards all over North America with his name on them. This meet was the first one for the season. He was touring the whole country, and if he held onto his championship, the sponsors would keep paying. They paid enough to make Razz the richest seventeen-year-old she’d ever heard of.
    Razz unlocked the back doors of the van and hopped inside to change into his gear. Allie looked at the painting on the bright silver panels of the van. It showed Razz doing a hand plant and grabbing a lot of air. He had a big smile on his face. She knew the same picture was painted on the other side of the van.
    When Razz hopped out, he was wearing red tights, yellow jammers and pinkshoes. He had a white helmet on and pads protected his knees and elbows. On his sky-blue T-shirt it said
Skate Tough or Go Home
. In his hand was a green board with
RAZZ
written in blue stars.
    Three guys came up to them. They were all decked out in skateboarding gear. And they were all holding
RAZZ
boards.
    â€œHey, Razz. Just get here?” the tallest one said.
    â€œYup.”
    â€œSlammer’s lookin’ for ya,” said another of the guys,