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“Wait!” he shouts, and I freeze on the porch steps, my shoulders heaving with each breath.
His door shuts and then his footsteps near and I swear the air’s thicker and harsher than it was a few seconds ago.
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m sorry,” I cut in. “I shouldn’t be using your stuff without—”
“Becca.”
I inhale deeply, my fists balled so tight my nails dig into my palms.
“Did you want me to teach you to skate?” he asks, and I can hear the plea in his voice.
I turn to him, completely surprised by his words. “What?”
“I can teach you,” he rushes out. “If you want to learn, I mean. I uh…” He pauses a beat. “I can try to do it without touching you… if that’ll help.”
My chest tightens at his words—at the fact that he’d even think of it. “I don’t think I’d be very good.”
He smiles. Holy shit, does he smile.
He motions for me to come back down and I do because he’s still smiling and I’m still panicking, though not as much as I was before.
I follow behind him, watching his broad shoulders move with each step. “Where’s Tommy? You’re home early,” I mumble.
He faces me, the smile still in place. “He’s staying at my uncle’s, and were you skating because you thought no one would see?”
I shrug even though we both know he’d caught me. I’d seen him and Tommy out here so much and it looked like fun and, yeah, I was curious. But, clearly, it’s not as easy as it looks because I suck. I tell Josh all that and his head throws back with his laugh before he eyes the skateboard, still in the middle of the driveway. “Well, yeah, it would be hard. You’re using the wrong board. That’s Tommy’s. It’s made for toddlers.”
“Oh.”
“Hey,” he soothes, “it’s no problem.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys, then opens the huge metal toolbox in the bed of his truck. He grabs an armful of skateboards and drops them to the ground. There has to be at least seven of them. He picks a black one and pushes it toward my feet. “You can use that one.”
I put my left foot on the board, and the other on the ground, and then I look at him, waiting for his reaction. He bites down on his full bottom lip as he takes me in. “You gotta—” he breaks off on a sigh, picks up one of the boards and sets it next to mine. “You gotta move your left foot up a bit and straighten it a little. It’s better for balance.” He gets on his own board and shows me how to place my feet.
I follow his instructions and his smile gets wider. “That’s it. Now all you have to do is kick and then push.”
I kick back and push off the ground, but I don’t get far because my balance is off and like I said, I suck. “This is dumb,” I tell him, getting off the board. “And I’m sure you have better things to do—”
“I was just gonna skate,” he cuts in. “So this is kind of perfect.”
“Yeah but—”
“See the problem is…” he starts, jumping off his board and walking over to me, “…you’re just doing a whole lot of kicking and no actual pushing.”
“Okay?”
He rubs the back of his neck, his bottom lip between his teeth again. His gaze moves from my feet, up my entire body until his eyes lock on mine and all I want to do is yell Fire! Because that’s what I feel like—like my entire body is on fire—my cheeks especially.
“Um… shit,” he mumbles, looking away. Then he does the worst possible thing my flaming body can handle; he steps up on my board and stands behind me. “Maybe you just need to get a feel for it—let the wheels take you,” he says, his voice low and completely intimidating. “Maybe… I mean, I know you don’t like being touched but what if you touch me? Is that the same?”
I stare straight ahead, my breaths coming out in tiny, shaky spurts as my stomach fills with knots.
“If I put my arms out like this,” he asks, lifting his arms straight out on either side of me. “You can hold on to me and I’ll push us along. If you want.”
“Okay,” I whisper, my fingers trembling as they settle on his wrists.
“Are you good?”
“Yes,” I whisper again.
And then the most amazing thing happens. Warm air hits my face and blows through my hair and my hands grip tighter and I breathe. I hear the wheels spinning—feel them beneath me—and I close my eyes, blocking the tears from forming because in this single moment—with my heart racing and the world whooshing by around me—there’s a sense of freedom I’d never felt before.
And freedom, I’ve come to learn, is a feeling that often gets taken for granted.
He comes to a stop and when I open my eyes I’m face to face with the garage door. “Again?” he asks, his breath warm against my ear.
“Yes,” I whisper, and then clear my throat so I can actually speak. “Please.”
He doesn’t drop his arms as he pushes us backwards and does his best to turn us around while I’m still on the board. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
He repeats this a few times, going back and forth up and down the driveway, and I know this isn’t what he had in mind when he said he planned on skating but I don’t want to ask him to stop. I want to keep feeling this—this free—for as long as he’ll let me.
