Skateboard Party Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Frontispiece

  A Note from Ms. Shelby-Ortiz

  Cinammon Crunch and Cream Puff Pastries

  A Burned-up Blob

  Memory Not Like an Elephant

  The Jig Is Up

  Life on the Beach

  And There Will Be Consequences

  Skateboard Party

  P’s and Q’s

  Last Day

  The Perfect Flat-Ground Ollie

  Sample Chapter from DOG DAYS

  Buy the Book

  Don’t Miss the Nikki & Deja Series

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Clarion Books

  215 Park Avenue South

  New York, New York 10003

  Text copyright © 2014 by Karen English

  Illustrations copyright © 2014 by Laura Freeman

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

  Clarion Books is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  www.hmhco.com

  The illustrations were executed digitally.

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  English, Karen.

  Skateboard party / by Karen English ; illustrated by Laura Freeman.

  pages cm—(The Carver chronicles ; book 2)

  Summary: “Richard can’t wait to show off his skills at a friend’s skateboard birthday party, but a note home from his teacher threatens to ruin his plans.” —Provided by publisher.

  ISBN 978-0-544-28306-0 (hardback)

  [1. Schools—Fiction. 2. Skateboarding—Fiction. 3. African Americans—Fiction.] I. Freeman-Hines, Laura, illustrator. II. Title.

  PZ7.E7232Sk 2014

  [Fic]—dc23

  2013048934

  eISBN 978-0-544-28423-4

  v1.1214

  One

  A Note from Ms. Shelby-Ortiz

  Richard is watching the clock above the whiteboard. Four minutes until his weekend officially begins. Well, not technically, but in his mind. When the bell rings, that’s the signal for freedom. He only has to endure waiting for everyone at his table to straighten up and look “ready to be dismissed.” Those are Ms. Shelby-Ortiz’s words. She’s the teacher and she’s really nice and he likes her a lot.

  When his table is called, he will have to hold himself back from jumping up and running out of there. First, he must get up and push his chair under the desk and stand behind it like a soldier. Mouth zipped. Then, he’ll have to walk in an “orderly fashion” to the line at the classroom door. He’ll have to make sure he keeps his lips together and doesn’t punch Ralph in the shoulder for fun. He’ll have to make sure he doesn’t make a fart sound with his hand in his armpit. He must try really hard not to pull one of Nikki’s fat braids. It’s truly difficult to be perfect.

  He looks over at Gavin, his new best friend. Gavin can do all that being good stuff so easily. He doesn’t even look tempted to jump around or pull a braid or give a punch. He makes it look easy to be good.

  The bell rings. It sounds like music to Richard’s ears. Ms. Shelby-Ortiz starts to look around. All the students are hurrying to put away their textbooks, load up their backpacks, check the floor around their desks, and then stand ramrod-straight behind their chairs. Richard is the best straight-as-a-ramrod stander at his table. He knows Ms. Shelby-Ortiz is going to compliment him. He can just hear the words: I really love the way Richard is standing. He looks ready to be dismissed. He waits for them. His table is the best, without a doubt. Ralph, at Table Four, is still picking up paper off the floor. Hah, hah.

  Ms. Shelby-Ortiz begins her stroll. Walking slowly, checking desks, looking at the floor . . . “I like Table Three,” she says.

  Hooray—that’s his table!

  “Yes. They look all ready to line up.”

  Come on, Ms. Shelby-Ortiz . . . More praise, please. Richard looks over at Gavin and smiles, but Gavin is busy looking straight ahead.

  “Okay, Table Three. You may line up.”

  Richard tries hard not to shoot out from behind his desk and fast-walk to the door.

  “Except Richard—I want you to be seated for now.”

  At first, he thinks he didn’t hear correctly. Did Ms. Shelby-Ortiz tell him to be seated? Did he hear her right? The other three students at his table quietly walk to the door. Richard sits back down and looks around as Ms. Shelby-Ortiz dismisses the rest of the class, table by table.

  When the last student walks out, she goes to her desk and puts her grade book—the dreaded grade book—in the middle of it. She looks over at Richard, smiles, and says, “Come on over here, Richard, and have a seat.”

  He doesn’t like the way the chair looks, facing Ms. Shelby-Ortiz’s desk. It looks like the chair of a person guilty of something. He hopes this doesn’t have anything to do with his accidentally not giving his part of the presentation about the habitat of the howler monkey last week. He was hoping she had just kind of forgotten about it.

  Richard sits down and looks at his hands. Ms. Shelby-Ortiz settles into her chair. “We have a problem,” she says.

  Richard keeps looking down at his hands.

  Ms. Shelby-Ortiz opens her grade book.

  Uh-oh. Richard swallows. He doesn’t like that grade book. He feels as if it contains a bunch of evidence against him. Bad spelling grades and test grades and things like that. He looks out the window and wishes he were one of the kids running for the bus or laughing and talking with friends.

  “What happened to your part of the rainforest report? Weren’t you supposed to turn that in last Friday?” Ms. Shelby asks.

  Richard stares at his hands some more and thinks. The class had broken up into groups. Each group had chosen a rainforest animal. He was in Group Howler Monkey, which included Erik Castillo, Yolanda, and Nikki. Richard was supposed to do the habitat; Erik was supposed to do what the howler monkey preys on and what its predators are; and Nikki and Yolanda were doing the visual aids: charts and pictures, some drawn and some copied from books and stuff.

  The day of the presentation, Richard had been home sick. Kind of. Well, truthfully, he’d only had the sniffles and he supposed he could have gone to school. Except that he’d kind of spent too much time playing video games and just generally goofing off in the days leading up to the presentation. By the time he got down to work, it was Sunday night and the report was due on Monday. And he really was a little bit sniffly.

  Ms. Shelby-Ortiz let Group Howler Monkey delay their report until that Friday, and it did seem as though he had plenty of time to get it together, but Friday came really fast and Richard still wasn’t ready. The group had to present their report without the part about the habitat of the howler monkey.

  Ms. Shelby-Ortiz said she’d give him until Monday. Monday came really fast, too.

  Now it’s Friday and she clearly hasn’t forgotten about the presentation. “I’m sorry, Richard,” she says. “You’ve not been doing your best work in other areas as well.” She runs her finger down her grade-book page and stops at his name. “Oh my,” she says under her breath as she moves her finger across the page, stopping every few moments to tsk-tsk to herself. She turns a few more pages, finds his name again, then runs her finger across that one. Every once in a while she shakes her head slowly. And sadly. “These spelling grades are not good. And your math quizzes . . . I know you can do better.”

  Richard looks down again but hears Ms. Shelby-Ortiz open her drawer. He glances up to see her with tha
t scary pad in front of her, the one for requesting that a parent or guardian come in for a conference. She begins to write on it.

  Quickly, Richard starts making some calculations. If he brings the note home that day and gives it to his parents, there goes his weekend. There goes Gregory Johnson’s skateboard party next Saturday. There goes lounging around, watching TV and playing video games, and practicing his flat-ground Ollie, his favorite skateboard trick. And here comes a miserable weekend, with extra chores designed to make him learn responsibility and provide him with the opportunity to think about his bad choices. He doesn’t want a weekend of chores and thinking about how he can do better. What kid would? No—it would be better to hold off on giving that note to his parents as loooong as possible. Yeah, he thinks. That’s just what he’s going to do.

  “So that’s what I’m going to do,” he tells Gavin on the way home from school.

  “But, Richard, why didn’t you just do the report? Wouldn’t that have been easier?”

  “Yeah. And I meant to do it. I really did. But then I got busy, and before I knew it, it was Sunday night.”

  “But didn’t Ms. S. give your group extra time? Why didn’t you get it done then?”

  “I know, I know. I meant to.”

  Gavin looks at him and shakes his head. “I hope that works for you.”

  Richard changes the subject. “Gregory Johnson’s skateboard party is a week from Saturday, and wait till you see what I’m going to do! It’s going to be awesome.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “It’s a surprise. You’ll see.” He doesn’t know why he’s sounding so confident. He’s planning on doing a flat-ground Ollie over a crate, which is really hard. He’s never done one before. But he’s got it down pat without a crate, so he should be able to do it over a crate, right? At least that’s what he tells himself.

  They part when they reach Fulton, Richard’s street. Gavin goes on to his own street, Willow Avenue.

  As soon as Richard walks through the front door, Darnell appears out of nowhere and gives him a punch on the arm. Darnell, who’s in fifth grade, is always doing things like that. But Richard doesn’t really care. It’s Friday and it’s going to be an awesome weekend. He tries to punch Darnell back, but his brother dances out of the way, laughs, and then runs upstairs. That’s okay. He’ll get Darnell—when he least expects it. They share the same room, so there will be plenty of opportunity.

  Richard has two other brothers: Jamal, who’s in seventh grade, and Roland, who’s a ninth-grader. They drive their mom nuts with all the noise and wrestling and play fighting and arguments over chores and video games. Sometimes she goes into her room to escape with a book just to “restore my sanity,” as she puts it. Then it’s great because it’s just the guys—his dad included.

  On Fridays during basketball season, Richard’s mom retreats to her room with a book and Richard’s dad orders an extra-large pizza. All the guys sit around and watch the game together and then shoot hoops in the driveway at halftime. Fridays are great. Who needs to think about that dumb note from Ms. Shelby-Ortiz when you’re in the middle of having a great time on a Friday night? wonders Richard. He thinks of the note, tucked away in his backpack, for a few seconds, but then he puts it right out of his mind. It’s Friday night.

  Two

  Cinammon Crunch and Cream Puff Pastries

  The sun on his eyelids wakes Richard on Saturday morning. He opens one eye and stares at Darnell’s sleeping face across the room in his own bed under the window. Darnell’s mouth is hanging open and Richard can see a thin line of slobber going down the side of his cheek. Richard eases out of bed and stands, looking at his brother. There’s a can of soda on the floor beside Darnell’s bed. Their mother doesn’t allow food or drinks in the bedroom, and Richard is torn between telling on Darnell and doing something funny as revenge for that punch in the arm—which still hurts, by the way.

  He opts for the latter. But first he has to make his morning trip to the bathroom. When he comes back, he creeps across the room and picks up the can. There’s a little bit of soda still inside. He looks at Darnell. Now Darnell’s mouth is closed and he has a frown on his face, as if he might be dreaming he’s being chased by a big, growling dog. Richard chuckles to himself and positions the can just over Darnell’s head. Slowly, he begins to tilt the can until the liquid is poised at the opening.

  Darnell makes a smacking sound, as though he’s dreaming of eating pancakes or fried chicken or something. Richard tilts the can a bit more until a tiny drop of soda falls onto Darnell’s face. Darnell frowns again and bats at his face as if there’s a fly giving him an annoying tickle. Richard nearly doubles over with silent laughter. He calms himself and then tilts the can little by little until another drop falls onto Darnell’s chin.

  Darnell grunts and scratches his chin. Richard has to dash out into the hall so he can laugh without being heard. Then he creeps back in with the can of soda. With a big grin, he pours the remaining liquid in the can onto Darnell’s forehead.

  Darnell sits straight up, blinking and looking around. His eyes settle on Richard and then the can. He throws the covers back and leaps out of the bed, yelling, “You’re in for it!” But Richard is already out the door and hurrying down the stairs, with Darnell close on his heels. He feels his pajama top being jerked back and suddenly Richard is on his backside, trapped in a chokehold from behind. He begins to protest loudly while Darnell screams, “What’s wrong? You started it—now I’m going to end it!”

  Richard tries to pull Darnell’s arms away. “Let go!” he shouts, hoping his mother will come get him out of this predicament as soon as possible.

  Darnell is now digging his knuckle into Richard’s shoulder. It’s one of his specialty moves.

  “Quit it!” Richard yells. Where is Mom? he thinks. “Get off of me!”

  “Ah, you can’t take it, can you?”

  “It was only a little soda! I was only playing!”

  Richard feels Darnell digging in more as he struggles to escape. He feels tears gathering. He wills them away. If Darnell sees that he’s brought Richard to tears, Richard will be in for all-day teasing. “Let me go!” he screams even louder. Finally he hears the approach of his mother’s slippers as they slap against the floor. She appears at the bottom of the stairs, looking up with squinted eyes.

  Darnell drops his hands, releasing Richard. Their mother crosses her arms. “I know you’re not causing this ruckus first thing Saturday morning when you both know I’ve been volunteering all week at the food bank and I look forward to sitting at the table quietly with my coffee and the newspaper before all you knuckleheads get up and start with your commotion. I know I must be hearing things.”

  Now Richard sees his mother’s nostrils flare and her eyes get even more squinty. That’s her look just before she comes up with some awful punishment. He can sense Darnell’s dread. This might even warrant cleaning out the garage with all those spider webs and bugs.

  “If I hear this kind of commotion one more time, I’m going to find a way for you to rid yourselves of all that extra energy. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes,” they both say in small voices.

  “What?” she says. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Yes!” they say, louder and in unison.

  With that, their mother nods, turns on her heels, and goes back to the kitchen.

  Darnell gives Richard a sneaky final punch.

  Richard starts to say “I’m telling . . .” but he stops himself and sighs heavily. He pulls himself to his feet and stomps up the stairs. Time to get his Saturday going. He needs to practice his flat-ground Ollie over a crate if he’s going to show it off at Gregory Johnson’s party. As he goes into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, he wonders what kind of birthday cake Gregory’s going to have.

  Of course, that’s when Darnell gets out his own toothbrush to start brushing his teeth alongside Richard, spitting into the sink without turning on the
water to rinse away the mess. Darnell knows Richard is squeamish, for some strange reason, about spit mixed with toothpaste. It almost makes him gag. Richard pushes at Darnell with the side of his body to get him out of the way. Darnell pushes back. It all has to be done silently lest they both wind up cleaning out the garage.

  Finally, disgusted, Richard goes to his parents’ bathroom. He has to be extra quiet because his father is still sleeping. It’s only when he’s tiptoeing past his snoring father that he remembers the note tucked away in his backpack. And again he pushes the thought of it out of his mind.

  Everybody gets his own breakfast on Saturday mornings. Jamal and Roland are still asleep. They always sleep late on Saturdays. Good, Richard thinks. That means there should still be plenty of Cinnamon Crunch left for him and Darnell. Richard had just opened a new box the day before. There it is, sitting on top of the refrigerator. Tomorrow it will be almost gone, and it’s not as though his mother will dash to the market to buy more just because they run out. She’ll wait until it’s time to go grocery shopping again, next week. Until then, the family will be down to those little packets of hot cereal—oatmeal or Cream of Wheat. Richard looks over his shoulder at the kitchen door. Looks like Darnell has gotten sidetracked by something.

  Quickly, Richard opens the cabinet where his mother keeps all those plastic containers for storing food. He glances at the kitchen door again, gets the box of cereal off the refrigerator, and pours half of it into a plastic container. He puts the top back onto the container and then looks for a hiding place.