Birthday Boy. David Baddiel
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Название: Birthday Boy
Автор: David Baddiel
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Книги для детей: прочее
isbn: 9780008200497
isbn:
After the party was over, Sam realised he hadn’t properly had time, what with all the second-birthday-in-two-days activity, to play with his skateboard. So, while it was still light, he took the lift down to ground level, holding his board.
The lift at Noam Chomsky House was a massive silver (not real silver, obviously: painted silver) box. It smelt not unlike a big toilet, particularly in one corner, and when they all took the lift together Sam and Ruby would always try to push each other into that bit. And it creaked a lot. But Sam didn’t mind that. It got him to the bottom all right, and on the ground outside the tower block there were loads of concreted-over areas, some of which had humps and tunnels and ramps that made it almost like a little skate park.
The lift doors opened, and Sam got on to his board and skated out to the concrete. He sailed easily over the paved path, and then down one of the ramps into a small bowl-like section, which cut underneath the main tower. It was a touch grim in there – sometimes Sam felt that it looked like a place where one of those crime dramas that his parents watched on TV would have their final big shootout scene – but it was the best part for skateboarding. Then he stopped. Because someone was already there.
It was a kid about his own age, but a little smaller. He had cropped short hair, and dark skin, and wore a grey hoody. But these things were not important. What was important was that he was an amazing skater. Alpha flips, Ollie norths, Ollie souths, 720s, spins, tail grabs, pull-ups – he could do them all. He made the grim bowl-like area under Noam Chomsky House feel like a skate park in one of those places Sam had seen on YouTube, in America or wherever, where the sky always seemed to be blue and the wheels and helmets of the skaters dazzled in the sun.
Sam watched for a while, awestruck. Then the boy must’ve noticed him, because he flipped the board round, and skated effortlessly towards him. At which point, Sam noticed that, despite being a brilliant skater, this kid was not riding a brilliant board. It was scratched and battered, and although that did make it look kind of cool, the wheels were pitted, the grip-tape was worn out, the trucks were bent and none of the parts were from any top-level brands.
And then, looking up from the board, Sam noticed something else. The skater wasn’t a boy. He was a girl.
“Hello!” she said.
“Hi,” said Sam. “Do you live round here?”
“Yes,” said the girl. She had a strong accent, which Sam couldn’t place, but sounded similar to the way frightened people spoke on the news in reports from countries that always seemed to be at war. Except she didn’t sound frightened. “Fifteenth floor. My family were just placed here. By the government. I don’t know how long we will be staying.”
“Oh right,” said Sam. “You’re a great skater.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Where I come from, we had to stop going to school. And we lived near a car park, but no cars ever came there any more. So just to keep me busy my father” – and here she held the board up, a little apologetically, as if knowing it wasn’t quite as flash as it should be – “he built me this board and I went to the car park every day and learnt a lot of tricks.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you stop going to school?”
“Because the school was bombed.”
“Oh …” said Sam, feeling a bit stupid, because up to that point he’d quite liked the sound of not having to go to school.
“That’s OK,” the girl said. “Hey! Who wants to go to school?”
Which made Sam laugh. But she was too busy looking down at his new present to notice. “Nice board …”
“Thanks. Do you want to have a go?” he said, holding out his shiny and sparkling new board. “Sorry … I don’t know your name …?”
“My name is Zada. And you should try out your board first. It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”
Sam stared at her. “How do you know that?”
Zada frowned. “I’m not sure. Good guess, I suppose.”
Sam considered saying, “Well, now that my birthday might be happening every day, you were on fairly safe ground with that guess,” but thought that might be a bit complicated for a girl he’d just met.
“OK,” he said instead, and kicked off. He felt a little nervous, actually, skating in front of someone who was so good. He tried a few of his more limited tricks, but as he went round the bowl, he went too fast, and ended up falling off.
Zada was really nice about it, though.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Get back on! Keep going! Just move your weight more gently … yes! That is right …!”
She kept shouting encouragement, helping Sam through the turn of the bowl, and down again. And, as night started to fall, and the streetlights started to come on around the estate, Sam relaxed into his skateboarding stride, and learnt from this new expert he’d just met.
It was one of the best parts of this, his second birthday of the year.
As Sam tucked into his third birthday breakfast in three mornings, and saw his mum and dad smiling at him (although the smiles were rather tired – it had been a long party the day before, and his parents must have been up late wrapping all his new presents, because there was a whole new batch sitting in front of Sam on the bedclothes, all tied up with coloured ribbon), he wondered how far, basically, he could push this.
“So …” he said, washing down a delicious bit of doughnut and bacon with a gulp of lemonade, “I don’t think I fancy going to school today.”
“Oh!” said Sam’s mum. “Really?”
“Yes,” he said. “After all, it is my birthday.”
His parents glanced at each other.
“Um …” said Charlie. “Of course it is.”
“Every day is your birthday,” said Vicky. Sam looked up at her as she said this, to see if there was a hint of any undertone in her expression – sarcasm, or jokiness, or just uncertainty – but there wasn’t.
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