Mikey Skateboard Novels & Stories

At three or four o'clock in the afternoon, the streets of Maple Wood were very quiet. In a dark gray casual clothes, Mia has a big hoodie covering her head and face. She steps on a skateboard and slides lightly into the community street. She disguises herself as a leisurely pedestrian, skateboarding and looking at the scenery, as if she just came out of the neighborhood next door to play for a while and accidentally wandered here. But in fact, she had a clear goal - turning right from the second fork in the main street, and the penultimate house was Clint Wood's home.

They bought the story so far. I played intense, purposely showing off. Skated faster, took risks. Stole the puck in our zone, broke out quick. Passed to Marcus but got it right back. I faked a shot, pulled it back, and sniped one top shelf. Goal! The arena exploded. I pumped my fist, looking straight up at Jeffery. He smiled quickly but tried hiding it behind his hand. My heart soared. Yeah, that one was for you.

“Okee dokee. Off we go, then.” As Mick leaves the parking lot, I pull out a Slim Jim and dangle it in front of his face. It stays stiffly out in front of his nose for a few seconds but then starts to bow down, going limp in my hand. I bounce it a few times for effect and it taps his nose. “Want one?” He takes it from me, smiling just before he rips off a big chunk with his teeth. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Mike felt ridiculous scratching a leafy vine as thick as his wrist, but the plant seemed to like it. Mike grabbed a pair of orange sodas from the fridge and some plated sandwiches he had made earlier. Walking out front, he approached the goblin from behind. She was bent over, trying to get a stubborn board to lay where she wanted it. He gave her butt a playful slap, which caused her to drop the board on the deck with a clatter.

The skates were Bauer Vapor Hyperlites. Second pair. Because apparently the first pair Caleb bought weren't the right fit for Miles's "evolving stride" – his words, delivered to my mother over the phone with the casual authority of someone who'd appointed himself my brother's personal development coach.

I could resemble a lobster. Dammit, Mikey.

As they started pulling gear on, Riley whispered — half to himself — “Best fucking optional skate of my life.”