Chapter Three

The batteries in the clock by my bedside have died. I can tell it's light outside before I've raised the blinds. Whatever the clock might say, it's definitely not 2.30am and I get the sneaking suspicion that I might've overslept.

I know for sure I have when I find the kitchen empty and there's no Daniel up on the breakfast stool, noisily eating cereal or acting up about not having a third bowl. No Marienne tending to the mini succulents dotted across the window ledge with the radio on. No 70's surf rock escaping from it. There's no one here to take my reluctant hand and make me dance along either.

On the fridge Dad's left a note tacked under a Bloom logo magnet. He says he's out for the day, driving up the coast to try and rack up new interest in his pool cleaning supply business. Which has been dead in the water these past few years. Walnut creek isn't exactly known for it's big, fancy houses and backyard pools.

But it's why we're all here again, staying with the Bloom's. Dad wouldn't have to drag Daniel and I with him and we'll get a proper summer at last, away from home and with familiar and friendly faces close to all our hearts.

Ditching the note I drift through the cottage in search of life. I find empty rooms and then others full with plastic penny boards in bright colours, still wrapped in plastic. Same as the ones on sale at Buddy's and at the skate shop on Main Street.

I check the porch. Both cars are gone from the driveway. Upstairs, I find Boyd's room locked. I press my ear against it but don't hear a sound. I decide to head to the pool and make the most of the quiet.

And once I've changed into my bathing suit I slide in straight at the deep end. Sun filters through the water as I catch it with the tips of my toes. I loose track of time as I dive in and up, and float on my back, the blue skies above cloudless, endless. Just like the day ahead.

Still, I make a vague plan: Swim. Shower. Skate along the boardwalk and to the bowl. Then, late lunch at Buddy's and finally, back to the Bloom's for a nap in the string hammock under the porch awning. Perfect.

Feeling the heat of the sun on my shoulders, I dive deep again and touch the bottom of the pool. For a moment I'm weightless but a heavy grip around my ankle soon shatters it. I try to wriggle free but water stings my nose.

Boyd's face only becomes clear as I push myself up and grip the ledge of the pool. Sat on a skateboard, he's got one free bare foot in the water, the other resting on another board beside him.

"Whatchadothatforyoudouchebag," I say in a jumble, coughing out water.

Reaching low, he wordlessly hooks a strand of my hair away behind my ear with a grin.

I'm still breathless. Unhappy about the chlorine stinging all my senses. "I thought you were out."

"What, with this?" Boyd says, laughing as he slowly rolls round the edge of the pool towards the shallows on his improvised method of transit.

I tread water, my head close to going under. "But you weren't in your room."

Boyd scoots further away. "Can't do stairs. I'm in the pool house now." He nods towards it, the blinds still drawn.

"Daniel?" I ask, though I don't care much for the answer.

"With my mom."

"Cool."

When he travels as far as his board and cast will allow, Boyd reaches behind his ear and pulls out a small joint. From the pool I watch him strike a match and light it, blowing perfect smoke rings my way as I duck and cover.

"So, Syd, what we gonna do today?"

"We?" I kick my feet and come to a stop opposite. I roll my eyes as he flashes a wonderful encouraging smile. Still, I resist. I shake my wet head and fold my arms. My mom's words from long ago swim round in my head. That boy's gonna be big trouble one day, she'd sigh each time we'd leave Sunset Cove to go home.

"Got my own plans for today," I announce, hoping it'll leave him curious.

"Is that right?

"Sure is."

Boyd leans back to blow out smoke, his blue eyes narrowing on me. "Spill."

I take my time to speak. I lean back too and tilt my head towards the sky. "Swim. Skate. Sleep..."

"That's not a plan. That's called summer."

I shrug my shoulders beneath the water, feeling self-conscious because if he looks too closely he'll see the dark hair on my legs and arms and under them.

"You wanna get summer started then?" Boyd asks.

"Sure." I make for the pool steps. "You wanna get me a towel?"

He salutes with the joint tight between his lips and rolls ahead on the double boards to the sun lounger. I wait until he's close enough to hand it over and I can quickly wrap it round from shoulders and down to my shins.

Boyd looks away as I dry down and struggle to tug on my tee. He stubs the joint out between his wet fingertips when I announce I'm ready. I let him lead the way but he's slow to budge. "Come on dude."

"You gotta help me with something first Syd."

I wring my hair out, the towel tight now round my waist. "Like what?"

"Second to top drawer," Boyd later instructs once inside the cottage, his voice travelling up as I cautiously step over dirty socks and ball bearings up in his room. Which he can't make it up to on account of a broken leg. "Should be a clean shirt in there...somewhere."

In spite of the black out curtains still drawn and the junk, I find the drawer and a fresh smelling shirt and try to make an escape.

"Here you go." I drop the shirt down to him. "Anything else?"

Boyd's magnetic smile spreads into a grin. "Boxers... gracias."

My feet thud against the stairs as I groan all the way back up. I search the second drawer and come up empty. I call down for better instructions. He calls up and tells me to dig about, see what I can find.

What I find in my travels from third drawer to desk to the laundry basket by his bed is empty Kleenex boxes and scattered, balled up tissues and a stack of skate magazines cleverly hiding a wad of top shelf ones with the star stickers and naked ladies.

I quickly bury them again and hook a pair of boxers with one finger. When I meet Boyd at the bottom of the stairs my cheeks are still flushed.

He knows I know.

"Oh come on," he drawls, followed by laughter. I shake my head at him but really I'm close to laughing too even with the mental image stuck in my mind. "They're just magazines."

"Well worn magazines," I reply, as he rests his weight and shame on both crutches.

Boyd cocks his head aside with wry grin. "Can't swim. Can't Skate. Can barely sleep in this heat... what else you expect me to do to pass the time?"

***

On our way to the bowl Boyd points out everything that's changed since I was last here. It doesn't take long but it does include a mention of Burts, Sunset Cove's only other Diner and Bar. When we finally pass by it's almost unrecognisable save for the big, pink sign.

"What happened?" I ask, pushing Boyd by on a wheelchair on loan from the hospital. So far it's been tricky, the maze of wooden walkways and rocks and sand all potential foils in our plan to get to the bowl before lunch.

"Karma," Boyd says, staring straight ahead at the seating stalked up against the side of the entrance. It it weren't for the music escaping from inside I'd have thought it closed. I'm sure he wishes it were.

His hatred of Burt's is no secret. As a Bloom it's practically inbuilt. All part of some stupid, decades old feud about polythene wheels and the new style of boards coming out from Sunset Cove at the time. Buddy Bloom claimed to have come up with the design first. Burt Kerrhart, championship Skateboarder and founder of Kerrhart Skates debated such a big claim.

The Bloom estate won out in the end. My dad said it almost split the town in half. He once told me in hushed tones how many locals thought the Kerrhart family were treated unfairly. But we don't ever talk about that now though. And I don't dare mention a word to Boyd who looks like he'd rather leap out from his chair - broken leg and all - than get any closer to Burt's.

"You asleep back there?" Boyd tilts his head round at at me, his shades falling to the tip of his sun-kissed nose.

I sigh out into the warm breeze and continue to push on. We pass by the old Super 8 Motel photographed daily by tourists stopping for a break from driving or to dip a toe or two into the ocean. My mom and dad once had a photo taken out front the summer they graduated high school. They look so young and happy in it. They'd no idea just how fast that would change.

"Don't forget the breaks," Boyd says as we grind to a halt atop the west side of the Skate Bowl. I nod and apply them. He leans forwards to scope out those already in the belly of the bowl, if he knows anyone out today. Which is likely, at least they all know who he is.

It's not long before they flock towards us, as if I've just returned him to his kingdom. Though it could just be for the fact that he's got a stack of replica Bloom penny boards and stickers in his lap ready for the taking.

Still, he hands like them out like candy, exchanging boards for friendly high-fives and pats on the back, and words of encouragement about his eventual return to a world that misses him.

"Pretty generous of you," I comment when he's left empty-handed.

Boyd laughs. "You know me well Syd." For a brief moment I believe him. But he's quick to undo any such hope. As a small crowd forms he takes to ignoring me. Like my only purpose is to ferry him safely to his kingdom of skate punks and pretty, fair haired girls with tanned legs and tiny crop tops that perch round the edges of the bowl.

When a one such girl from across the bowl walks round and introduces herself as Tiffany and Boyd pulls out another joint from a pocket, I know that I'm not meant to stick around. As he shares it with her and a select few, I take my board from the wheelchair hold, wrap my headphones round my neck and tell him I'm gonna do what I came here to do: Skate.

Boyd stares at me like I'm crazy, the joint hanging out his mouth and Tiffany off every word that comes out of it. "Brakes still on?"

I set my board down, nod and quickly drop in. I skate fast, leaving the smell of weed and them behind. I skate over the graffiti tribute tagged on the smooth curve of the bowl that reads ALWAYS IN BLOOM.

With the heat of the sun on my back I skate hard. I skate and skate and don't stop until I stack it on the far side of the main bowl. Boyd doesn't even look up from whispering into the crook of Tiffany's neck. Her giggling too loud to hear the crack of my board against my shin.

When I take a break on the opposite side by the water fountain, I half watch as Boyd takes Tiffany onto his lap and she squeals and how it sounds echoing round the bowl.

I'm just not the only one to cover my ears.

At the side of the bowl a guy watches them both with one hand over an ear too. I bring mine back to shield my eyes from the sun but also so I can get a better look at him. I notice his board first - worn and chipped, stickerless and unbranded. He holds it to the front of his chest, trucks out, almost like a weapon.

When Tiffany's squeals subside, the guy squeezes the sleeves of his shirt tight round his waist and pushes back his dark hair.

And when Boyd is jubilantly wheeled down into the heart of the bowl, the guy turns his back and drops in hard down the other side, skating fast into the sunlight, one solidarity finger held up high and defiant.