‘Erm, yeah, OK,’ I say, a little hesitantly, taking the piece of paper from her hand, my eyebrows drawn in; my nose scrunched up at the vagueness of my new task.
‘Thanks, I owe you one,’ she says cheerfully, giving me half a hug before returning to her seat. I appreciate her compliment and confidence in me to cover a journalist’s job and can’t hide the sudden excitement I feel getting to escape the office for a little while. I smile as the peppermint-chocolate coffee I’m holding in my hand wafts up to me, the contents swirling and sploshing inside the paper cup. I make my way down the stairs, a little extra pep in my step, and out into the cold once more. Opening the folded sticky note my feet automatically walk in the direction of “Daffodil Lane” the minute my eyes scan the message. It reads that I am to report the happenings that are occurring on the corner where Daffodil Lane meets Riverbend.
It’s been a while since I have ventured over to this side of town. Thinking about it now I’m actually surprised that we got a call reporting newsworthy activity. Apart from houses, a small community centre and the skatepark, there’s not much there. I backtrack my thoughts and return to skatepark as I reread the paper in my hand. On the corner of Daffodil Lane and Riverbend is the skatepark. What on earth was happening at the skatepark? Kids are still in school until – I check my watch – three-thirty, which is an hour and a half from now. I quicken my pace as my mind starts whizzing with possibilities. I can see the headlines now “Kick flips and Zimmer frames”, “Ollying old ladies”, “Heel-flipping hedgehogs”.
A good fifteen minutes have passed by the time I reach the iron-gate entrance of the park. I’m panting slightly from my brisk walk. Over my panting I strain to hear noise, but I can’t hear any commotion or wheels hitting the ramp and worry that I’ve messed up my one job and missed all the action, letting Hope down. I desperately don’t want to let her down, not with the current state the magazine is in. I push the gate and it creaks open. I toss my coffee cup into the recycling bin before pulling out my notebook and pen, ready to jot down any sudden movement. But there’s no one about. I take a few steps towards the bowl, my heart rate picking up when I hear the familiar sound of someone crashing and burning on their board. Adrenaline is coursing through me when I realise it’s been ten years since I stepped foot in this place.
The memory constricts my chest. My hand holding my pen rests over my heart as I try to rub away the tightness. Why do we have to grow up? Or why is it that when we grow up, we have to stop doing all the things we love in order to come across as sophisticated or professional? And where on earth had my mum hid my board?
As these thoughts play on my mind, the occupant of the skate bowl rolls closer to me and up the side of the bowl. He’s a few feet in the air above me, grabs his board, twists his body impressively before connecting with the bowl again and rolling away. I make a note that maybe our town will have their first ever participant in the X-Games one day; that would be an awesome headline and one I think our town should get behind. I find a low rail and sit on it, content that I’m not in the way considering no one else is here when the skater lands with another impressive manoeuvre in front of me and throws down a bag. My skin begins to tingle when I look over the scarf pulled up around their mouth, beanie hat pulled low, but eyes big and bright and reflecting the afternoon sun’s bold orange glow. How is it that my best friend and former best friend have only known each other for five days and they are already in cahoots, aiding each other in secret missions? I let out a chuckle.
‘Am I really here to report the latest news?’ I say with an eye-roll as I place my notebook and pen on the ground, give Devon one more mock annoyed look and open the backpack.
Inside is a brand-new Element skateboard. I gasp, yanking it out of the bag and rushing to my feet. ‘Seriously?’ is the only word I can manage as I take in the pristine board with its bright colours and smooth deck, turning it over in my hands and looking at it with great adoration.
‘Seriously,’ Devon replies, muffled through his scarf. ‘There’s something else in there too.’
I pry my eyes off my new board and dive into the bag, pulling out a pair of cargo pants and Converse. Only then do I register my black pencil skirt and boots. ‘When did you get so smart?’ I tease. Hastily, I step into the trousers, pulling my black boots off, Converse on and shuffling out of my pencil skirt and shoving it in the backpack. I can feel my toes tingling with anticipation as I drop the board in front of them, stepping onto it with my left foot.
‘Oh, I don’t know about this. I’m sure reporting the news would be more fun,’ I say sarcastically, shoving Devon to get past him so I can drop into the bowl, which is covered by a concrete structure, keeping it free of snow. The minute I drop into the bowl I feel exhilarated. My feet are thanking the shoe gods for Converse and I feel like I’m on top of the world.
It’s only when a trickle of young teens start chatting and taking over the ramps that I finally look up and jump off my board. I’d been following D around the course, tracing the curves of the bowl, catching a few rail slides and seeing if I could still do a trick or two on the half-pipe that I wasn’t aware of the time. I’m pleased to say that muscle memory has been on fine form this afternoon and I can’t wipe the windswept grin off my face.
Devon kicks up his board beside me while I catch my breath at the top of the pipe.
‘I can’t believe you got Hope to let me have the afternoon off work to skate, especially considering we’re currently in crunch time with saving the magazine,’ I say, stunned.
‘I have my uses. What seems to be the problem with the magazine? Anything I can help with?’ Devon says with a grin and flash of concern. I look him up and down, appreciating his offer, but he has plenty on his plate. I don’t want to add worrying about a Springhollow treasure to his busy schedule. I shrug.
‘The weeklies aren’t selling so we thought about taking it monthly, giving people something to look forward to, but that means packing it with more… well, I don’t quite know. Springhollow is a small village. I’m sceptical to how many stories we can possibly dig up in this place. You already ruined my “Skateboards and Zimmer frames” headline,’ I confess to Devon, unable to keep from spilling my truth. He lets out a hearty laugh at my last comment, which makes me scrunch up my nose and rub a hand over my chest.
‘I like that – maybe that’s what you need, to think outside the box. Think like Scarlett. Also, I don’t believe you haven’t skated in years; you didn’t miss a beat,’ Devon notes casually. His scarf is now around his neck so I can see his rosy lips as he speaks.
“Think like Scarlett,” echoes in my brain. What on earth does that mean and why did D make it sound so easy?
While I contemplate his words, I hold the tip of my board and line my back wheels up against the edge of the half-pipe. Not having figured it out yet, I glance at D and shrug, taking his skateboarding compliment, which makes me feel good. ‘I came back two days after you left, but I couldn’t do it. Mum went ballistic when she saw me carrying my board home, told me it was bad enough that I was a smart, pretty young girl but I should certainly not be skating with a broken arm and fractured hand. She gave me the whole speech about being an adult, getting a job and being respectful and professional around town. It was fun,’ I express, with a laugh, not unaware that that’s the most I’ve said about that ever. I really was turning into Devon, letting my emotions sneak out like that.