I rolled to a stop beneath the blinking yellow light. I looked up and down the road and couldn't see any cars or houses. The wind whistled through the trees, and rain from the leaves splattered across the ground. I looked to the left and didn't recognize anything. But something about the opposite direction seemed familiar, and there were more streetlights that way.
I dropped my board and pushed. Everything in my body protested as I pushed again and a ain until the board glided into the next intersection. There was a pizza place, a dry cleaner and a convenience store, but they were all closed. Still no houses anywhere. And not a pay phone in sight.
“Help!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the buildings. I rolled through the intersection. Then I looked back at the mountain and noticed a sign on the side of the road.
Beacon Hill Road, Authorized Personnel
Only.
I turned around and skated with a new burst of energy along the quiet, empty street. I knew exactly where I was. I turned a corner and there it was, right where we'd left it: Jack's Lexus.
And beside it, the photographer's gray Toyota.
I rolled over to the Toyota and banged on the window. The photographer jumped and hit the wheel. The horn blared. “What the hell?” he said. He opened the door and got out, rubbing his eyes. “Where did you come from?”
“The woods.” I pointed up the road. “Goat's hurt. Jack's with him.”
“What? Who?”
“Goat. Fraser Gauthier.” It seemed strange to use Goat's real name. I couldn't remember the last time I'd called him Fraser.
“Where?”
“Back up the road. Call the police or an ambulance or something.” The photographer looked confused, but he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. He spoke to someone and then stayed on the line. “Get in,” he said, pointing to the passenger door.
I hopped over on one foot, opened the back door and slid my long board in along the floor. I got in the passenger's side and leaned back heavily in the seat.
The photographer jumped in and started the car. “You don't look so good,” he said.
“I don't feel so good.”
“What happened?”
I didn't feel like telling him everything. I didn't feel like talking at all. I couldn't remember ever being so tired. “We were racing down Beacon Hill, and Goat went off a cliff.”
“Is he all right?”
I looked over at the guy. “No.” I sucked back some tears and felt a hot burn at the back of my throat. “We have to hurry, please. The two of them are stuck in the bush. I think there's something really wrong with Goat. I mean, Fraser.”
“Which way?” he said.
I pointed back the way I had come. He put in his Bluetooth and took off. I stared at the road, hoping I would recognize where I had come out of the forest and onto the road.
“Were you here waiting for Jack?” I asked the photographer. It was dark inside his car. In any other situation, I would have been freaked-out about being in a car with some guy I didn't know. But at the moment it didn't matter. To be able to sit was enough. Hot air poured from the vents. I held my hands up to them. It felt as if I would never be warm again.
“Yeah, I thought it was strange that his car was parked there,” the photographer said.
“You were waiting for Jack to come back, so you could get some photos?” I asked.
“Exactly,” he replied. Jack was nothing to him. A job.
“Where are they?” he asked.
“In a field in the middle of the woods.”
“How are we going to find them?”
“There's a trail,” I said.
“One of them is Jack Coagen,” the photographer said to the 9-1-1 operator. “Yeah, the kid actor.”
The Toyota's headlights illuminated the guardrail, and I spotted a cut in the tree line. “Right there,” I said, pointing toward the path into the trees. The photographer pulled the car over.
“We're there now. Can you trace my phone?” The photographer listened for a moment and then said, “Okay, sure, I'll stay on the line.” He looked over at me.
“You'll likely get some shots of him tonight,” I said.
“Really?” he said.
I nodded, closed my eyes and tried to stretch out.
“The kid says they're back in the bush somewhere,” the photographer said to the 9-1-1 operator. “So, I guess, bring whatever you need to get people out of the bush.” He looked over at me. “How far in are they?”
“I don't know,” I said. It felt as if it had taken months to get out of the forest. “A long way.”
The photographer relayed this information as the flashing lights of a cruiser approached and lit up the interior of the car. When the cruiser stopped behind us, the photographer opened his door. “I'll be right back, kid. You wait here.”
I heard his feet on the gravel and doors slamming. And then I went somewhere else. I stared at the road and thought about everything that had happened. It seemed enough to fill a month of my life, but it had only been one night.
The door opened, and an officer stuck his head inside. “Where are they?” he asked. He had a two-way radio in his hand. The voices coming from it sounded like a whole army unit was involved.
“Straight along that trail,” I said. “Eventually you come to a fenced-in field, if that makes sense.”
“That's McConnell's field.” He yelled some instructions to the other officer and then brought the two-way radio to his face. “Send a chopper in. They're in McConnell's field. That'll be the only way to get them out.” He stuck his head back in the car. “That field is a stop point for horseback riders. That's a long way in, kid. You sure you're all right?”
“I'm getting there,” I said.
“What were you kids doing up there anyway?” he asked.
I didn't know what to say. I shrugged, knowing the truth of what we had been doing would all come out eventually.
“Skating Beacon Hill Road,” I said.
The officer looked at me sternly. “You know that road is closed to any traffic.” I nodded. “And you know a kid died skateboarding down there not long ago.” I nodded again. “So why would you do it?”
I looked at the ground. “I guess I didn't think I had a choice.”
“Of course you had a choice,” the officer said. “Did someone hold a gun to your head and say, âThrow yourself down this hill'?”
“No.”
The officer banged the roof of the car with his palm. “Someday you'll learn you always have a choice, kid. It's part of being an adult to make the right one.”
I nodded. It was likely true. The problem was, I didn't always feel like I had a choice.
“An ambulance is on the way. Someone will check you out. I'll be back to talk to you after that.” He shut the door, and I closed my eyes.
There was a lot of commotion. I listened to it like I listen to the television when I'm half-asleep. The voices were distant, then close up. I closed my eyes and let everything wash over me. People were taking care of things now. People who knew what to do. People who didn't get into stupid situations and not know how to get out of them.
When the door finally opened again, I almost fell out of the car.
“Whoa there,” someone said. I felt hands on my arm. “You okay? Can you speak to me?” I opened my eyes. The guy holding me up had tightly clipped blond hair and glasses. He smiled and tilted his head. “Anyone home?”
“Sure,” I said.
“What hurts?”
“Everything,” I said. He pulled my pant leg apart and looked at the cut on my knee.
“This is really swollen,” he said. He reached behind him and grabbed an ice pack. “Here, hold this there. Do you think you can walk to the ambulance?”
I looked over at the ambulance. It seemed very far away. I've already come this far, I thought. “Sure,” I said. “Why not.” I shifted in my seat, placed my feet on the ground and stood.
Jack, Goat and I had been in the forest together for almost six hours. It was close to two in the morning when I found the road, and nearly four by the time they managed to get Goat and Jack out. The photographer had hiked in to meet the helicopter crew and took dozens of photos. Photos of Jack holding Goat up. Jack waving from the ground, his arms a giant
Y
. Jack with Goat's arm over his shoulder. Jack being tended to by a paramedic. Within days, they were splashed across the Internet and on the covers of the kinds of magazines found in grocery-store checkouts. Jack Coagen was a hero. Or so it would seem in the papers anyway.
The photographer took a few shots of me that night, too, but I asked him not to print them. I knew what had happened out there. I knew what we had been through. I didn't need the world to congratulate me. And I didn't need the publicity.
Three days after the rescue, I went to visit Goat in the hospital. I didn't ask about his injuries. He looked as if he was in pain from one end of his body to the other. He was sitting up, watching a movie on a little television when I came in his room.
“Head Case.”
“Goat,” I said. I wasn't sure where to sit. There was a chair beside Goat's bed, but it seemed too close to him, and there was junk piled on it.
“What are you doing here?” he said.
I decided to move the junk and sat down. “Just wanted to make sure you were still breathing.”
“I am.”
“Cool,” I said. “All right, I guess I'll be going then.” I stood and started toward the door.
“Sit down, Casey,” Goat said. He coughed, grabbed at his side and lay his head on the pillow with a sigh.
“Okay,” I said, returning to the chair.
“I'm going to be in here a while, apparently.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I need a couple of surgeries.” I didn't know what to say. “Nothing really serious, but I guess my insides got kind of messed up,” he added.
“Well, flying off a twenty-foot drop tends to do that,” I said.
Goat smiled. “Listen.” He looked back at the television. “Listen, I'm sorry about all this.”
I glanced out the window. “Are you?”
“It was stupid. But, man, you've got everything. And it just seemed like you were getting one more thing, and, I don't knowâ¦What do I have?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. “What are you saying, Goat?”
“You're smart, you're likely going to college. And you're a better skater than I am. There, I said it. It's true. It's just comes naturally for you. I have to work at it all the time. And even though she bugs me, you've got a cool girlfriend.”
“Sara? She's not my girlfriend.”
Goat looked at me and smirked. “She's not?”
“No.”
“Can I have her phone number then?”
Something inside me riled up at the thought of Goat and Sara together. “No,” I said.
He smiled. “Maybe you should do something about that, man. Anyway, I said it. I'm sorry. It was stupid.”
“It was, and, in the end, you're the one that got hurt.”
“Go figure,” he said.
A nurse came into the room with a tray. At first I thought she was bringing food, but when she set the tray on the bedside table, I saw the needles and pills.
“And that's my cue to get out of here,” I said. I extended my hand toward him. “I would say no hard feelings, but we almost killed one another out there.”
Goat took my hand and shook it. “Good luck with the movie,” he said.
The nurse flicked her finger against the needle. I shivered and walked out of the room before she lifted Goat's sleeve up.
When I got home, there were two messages on my answering machine. One was from Jack, the other one was from Sara. I called Jack back.
“Casey,” he said. “I tried your cell, but it said it was no longer in service.”
“Yeah, I haven't paid my bill.”
“Oh.” There was a long pause in which I could hear a lot of people talking in the background and then an announcement over a loudspeaker.
“Where are you?”
“Oh, I'm on set. Actually, it's the preliminary shots for the skate movie.” There was another long pause. “So, are you still interested in helping me?”
I thought about it. After everything I had been through, was I still interested in being a stunt double?
“When do you start shooting?” I asked.
“It looks like next week. The director has another guy in mind for the stunt stuff, but I'll push him if you still want the job.” There was another pause. Then Jack said, “I would understand if you don't want anything to do with it.”
“When do I have to let you know?” I asked.
“Sometime this week. Take your time.”
“All right. I'll call you soon.”
“And, Casey?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm sorry aboutâ¦Well, you know, about everything.”
“That's all right, Jack.”
“Cool. We'll be talking,” he said and hung up.
I stared out my kitchen window and hit
Play
on the answering machine again. I listened to Sara's message and decided not to call her back. I knew where she would be anyway.
It was a warm September afternoon. The sun shone high and bright above the half-pipe.
I climbed the ramp and sat with my back to the railing. Three guys I knew were there. We talked for a few minutes, and then I started to worry Sara wouldn't show. I was about to ask one of the guys if I could borrow his cell phone when Sara walked out of the break in the trees and started across the parking lot. She tucked her board under her arm, stopped at the bottom of the ramp and looked up at me.
“You didn't call me back,” she said.
“I decided to just come here.”
“I was sitting by my phone, sinking deeply into depression.”
“I imagine you were.”
She ran up the ramp and sat beside me. The other guys split and started messing around on the street course. “So,” she said, pursing her lips.