Non-classifiable
Skateboarding always made me feel in groove, totally chilled and high-wired at the same time. At the skate park, though, I felt none of that. I slapped my board down, kicked for speed and dropped into the middle of the bowl. Way too many people were zigzagging crazy patterns back and forth. It was madness.
I was getting some nasty looks. But I couldn't leave, even though that was what those ugly staring faces said without one word. It was clear I was not liked. Was it the way I looked? Was it my hair? Or was it just me?
It was Mike and me on the fast break, two-on-one against a skins' defenseman. I was closing in on the top of the key, with the defenseman stuck to me like glue, when I saw Mike. He was wide open at the bottom of the key and calling for the ball. One sharp pass to Mike and we'd clinch the win. But then I heard Coach Donovan's voice in my head: Whatcha got, kid? Whatcha got? And I thought: I'll show you what I've got.
"Hi, Laura! Hi, kids!" he says, overfriendly and not waiting for an answer. I don't even want to say his name. I hate him. I totally, absolutely, completely, really, truly hate him.
