by Manfred Koehler

Whoever thinks July is all fun and no school doesn’t know much. Today, I got schooled in more ways than one. I mean, we all have to learn math and history and stuff, but I found out some really important lessons. Let me take you back to how my day began.

Lesson One

I have the skate park to myself, and I’m lying like fried bacon at the bottom of the big pipe, rubbing an aching knee. I just missed another Miller flip. No biggie. I’m going to nail my first Miller no matter how many bruises it costs me. Today. Without a doubt.

All of a sudden, in glides this skater in a suit of armor. I mean, the grommet is wearing everything but a nose guard. I shake my head. Nothing but a helmet for me, thanks. When it comes to skates, I’m a total caveman.

I have a way of letting mean stuff slide out of my mouth before I can bite it back. "So what’s a rich bunny doing on this end of town?" I shout to Armor Man.

Yeah, I know, I’m bad. There’s nothing worse you can call a skater. A "bunny" is a newbie who’s forever clamping on to railings to keep from faceplanting. But this guy’s wearing brand new Razors, 2002 Eliot Twos, no less. A guy’s gotta live the soft life of a rabbit to afford a set of those. Makes me sick.

The bunny skates over, cool as ice.

He’s a pretty big guy. I decide it’s a smart time to get up. By the time I finish standing, I’m looking up his nose.

"Did I hear something about ‘bunnies’?" he says, this wide, sleepy smile on his face.

"Bunnies?" I ask, deciding a small change of tune would be good. "All I see around here are grunting cavemen." I give him my best hardcore frown.

"Speak for yourself," he says. Then he makes his way over to the elbow for a few grinds.

I shrug, turn around and pump my way up the half-pipe. I used to grind the elbow a lot, but not anymore. It’s all about the big pipe now.

I crouch on the pipe’s coping, ready to laugh at this knight in not-so-shining armor. I watch him pull a long string of stub soulers. The guy’s good, but I’m thinking he’s a one-trick wonder. Then come a few deadfish grinds. Now those are tougher, but for a hardcore, they should be ancient history. But when Mr. Exoskeleton hits five blindside half-cab souls in a row, I’m impressed.

A guy’s gotta have eyes in the back of his head to pull that off. He rounds out his routine with an impressive spin cycle on the long bar. Then he stops, watching to see what I have to offer.

I’m a little out of my league, it seems. I stall for time: "How much did the new Razors cost, dude?"

"No idea," he says.

"Your mother buy them ’cause you ate all your carrots?"

The guy just smiles. "Better than that," he finally says. "Sponsors."

Sponsors? He’s good enough to get free skates from sponsors!

"How old are you?" I demand.

"Thirteen."

Wow. Older than I am, but that’s pretty young to have sponsors.

I’ve learned my first lesson: First appearances can really fool you.

Lesson Two

"What’s your name?" I ask him, trying to read the T-shirt he’s wearing.

"Matt Teares," he says.

"That’s a weird name for a guy as tough-looking as you," I blurt.

Matt’s not sure what to do with that one. "What’s yours?" he finally asks.

"Dirk Sturmveld," I growl. I’m, like, daring Matt to say something bad about my name.

Matt bobs his head. "Cool name. Show me your stuff, Dirk."

"Not before you tell me what’s on your T-shirt."

Matt looks me in the eye. "It says, ‘I’m not perfect.’ "

"Sooo?" I say, totally sarcastic. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Matt slowly spins to show me his back.

I see a picture of this guy. His arms are stuck out and he’s got some ugly holes in his hands. Weird. At the bottom of his shirt, it says: "But I know Someone who is."

"Who’s that?"

Matt turns again. "His name is Jesus."

"You know him?"

Matt nods, sort of slow.

So now I’m learning something else: Cool skaters are into this Jesus guy—at least this one, anyway.

"How about it, Dirk?" Jesus Boy says. "Give me some hardcore."

Lesson Three

Before I know it, I’m off the coping, roaring down the pipe. I’m clueless what I’m about to pull, but it won’t be half-steamed.

I hit the far coping with a nice acid grind, then kick off. I catch major air on the far side, landing my best alley-oop. Down the pipe and up, I hold a stall for three seconds, half-cab around, then jump and pump for my next big move.

And, wow, is it ever big!

I’m on one hand, back-flipping, the pipe spinning under me. For half a second, I’m sure I’ll go totally air kedidi. But, I hit it! Now that was perfect.

My first Miller flip.

I mount the other side of the pipe, breathing a little heavy, but otherwise pretending like I do that every day.

Matt nods, smiling. "You’re about ready for a sponsor."

That’s when I make my next realization: I think I’m going to like this Jesus Boy.

Lesson Four

Suddenly, two snotty-nosed grommets appear. I’ve chased these kids off before. They’re always hanging around the park, asking me no-brainer questions—like advice on how to do curb grinds. Give me a break.

They look up at Matt like he’s some movie star. Matt starts answering all their questions. He even bends down to show them some skate positions.

"Why don’t you start a fan club?" I bark.

Matt gives me a look that just about knocks the bearings out of my skates.

"He’s mean," one kid mumbles, pointing a finger in my direction.

"Show us some tricks," the other kid says.

"Sure, I’ll show you some tricks," Matt finally replies. No sarcasm there.

I can’t believe it. I’m learning a lesson I don’t want to learn: Newbies deserve the same respect I’d like for myself.

But I’m too upset to pay attention. I watch long enough for Matt to nail three consecutive McTwists. I get madder and madder while those two rolling runts point and make comments. Finally, I lose it. I skate by and bump one of them to the ground. The kid wails like a baby bunny.

I know—I’m bad—but I won’t be doing that again for a long time.My most painful lesson is still coming.

Lessons Five, Six and Seven

I coast over to the long bar. I’ve never pulled off a spin cycle before—the most I’ve done is four variations in a row.

But I’ve never tried a spin cycle while feeling this mad.

I take a long, hard skate. I’m gonna catch some big air before locking into that bar. I’m sort of aware that Matt and the rugrats are watching.

Yeah, well, prepare to watch perfection, boys.

I mount with a backside, switch to an alley-oop soul, mix in a little Japan air, turn that into a hobo, and come to the end of the bar in a nice x-grind. Wow. We’re talking perfect.

But I want to end with an awesome dismount.

Bending low, I jump, reaching for a big genie grab. But I quickly learn that genie grab dismounts are nearly impossible to do off an x-grind. Lesson five.

I hit the ground with my legs still under my body.

Something cracks deep inside my knee. Pain flashes in my brain like lightning. I start screaming like a caveman gone crazy. Then I see Matt beside me, checking out if I’m all right.

Next thing I realize, a siren blares above my head. I look around. Matt is sitting beside me in an ambulance, still wearing his armor. I can’t believe it. Makes me want to learn about this Jesus friend of his.

That’s lesson six, and I think it will be a big one.

The ambulance hits a big bump in the road. A new shot of pain streaks through my leg. I’m gonna pass out.

But not before lesson seven: Next time I skate—like maybe in October—more armor would be good.

	Q: What kind of animal has the most fleas? A: A flea-line. Carly R.,12, Ohio Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe