Free Skateboard Renegade by Matt Christopher Page B

it.”
    “They're all getting the same one?”
    “Uh-huh.” Brian shrugged. “Unless you've got a better idea.”
    “No, that one sounds good,” Zach said, nodding.Inside, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Tattoos hurt a lot, he knew. All those needles puncturing you. And
     they sometimes got infected. … And they were part of you
forever.
    Zach had already been burned once, bleaching his hair. This time, he decided, he would wait to see if the others went ahead
     with getting tattoos. After all, this was the first time one of his old friends had spoken to him for a long time. How was
     he to know for sure if they were really going to go through with it? He still wanted to be a part of their crew—after all,
     they were the skateboard renegades of Moorehead City—but it wouldn't hurt to be the last one to get tattooed.
    “Wanna come with us and get it done, all of us together?” Brian asked.
    Then Zach remembered, with a huge rush of relief, that he had a perfect excuse. “I can't,” he said. “I'm going out to California
     for the holiday, to visit my uncle.”
    “My condolences,” Brian told him, assuming Zach didn't want to be going. “Well, we'll all meet you Tuesday after school, then.
     Four o'clock—your driveway?”
    “I'll be there,” Zach told him.
    “Great,” Brian said, paying for his ice cream and heading for the door. “We'll check out your skateboard course, and then
     we can all board down here to Foley Square, and get you tattooed like the rest of us!”
    Zach thought about that tattoo all the way to Los Angeles International Airport. Only the sight of his uncle Skeeter in the
     terminal took his mind off the prospect of getting hundreds of needle pricks in his arm.
    Skeeter had straight blond hair, done in braids that reached all the way down his back. His dancing eyes were light green—so
     light that they looked almost yellow, like a cat's eyes. He wore a floppy black hat with a rainbow-colored feather in it,
     a woven Mexican vest with fringes, and big shorts that went way down below his knees. Old, torn sneakers topped off the look.
    Skeeter looked like a bum—or an old hippie or a retro fashion statement—depending on how you looked at it. Zach glanced around
     the airport, a little embarrassed when Skeeter gave him a big hug in greeting.
    “How're you doin', big guy! Whoa, look at you, dude. You are seriously big.”
    Zach smiled shyly. “I grew four inches this year already,” he told his uncle.
    “Is that all the stuff you brought?” Skeeter asked, pointing at Zach's duffel.
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Where's the board?”
    “In the bag.”
    Skeeter nodded, grinning. “Cool. Let's be off then, amigo.” He led Zach outside to a bus stop.
    “We're taking the bus?” Zach asked in amazement.
    “I don't drive,” Skeeter said.
    “Why not?” Zach asked. “Was it the accident?”
    “Well, obviously I stopped after that, yeah,” Skeeter replied. “But that isn't mainly why. I just got tired of contributing
     to air pollution and the destruction of the rain forests.”
    “Yeah, but one more car isn't going to mean that much,” Zach pointed out, unhappy at having to take public transportation
     in a city where having a cool car is as much a part of the scene as breathing.
    “Ah, that's not the point, though,” Skeeter said asthe bus arrived and they got on. “Either I'm a part of the solution or a part of the problem. I figure if I want to feel at
     home in my own skin, I've got to be part of the solution as much as I can. Over the year in the hospital and rehab, while
     all my bones were mending, I found out I could live without the four-wheeled vehicles. I skateboard all around Venice. It's
     cool. Everybody skates there or runs or bikes. You don't need a car—trust me.”
    They had to transfer buses to get to Venice Beach, north of the airport, where Skeeter had his bungalow.
    “These were beach bungalows for the movie people back in the day,” Skeeter