Strykowski - Roller Boy

Contents

Roller Boy

Marcia Strykowski

Fitzroy Books

Copyright 2018 Marcia Strykowski. All rights reserved.

Published by Fitzroy Books

an imprint of

Regal House Publishing, LLC

Raleigh, NC 27612

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN -13 (paperback): 978-1-947548-10-7

ISBN -13 (hardcover): 978-1-947548-43-5

ISBN -13 (epub): 978-1-947548-11-4

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018902986

Interior design by Lafayette & Greene

Cover design by Lafayette & Greene

lafayetteandgreene.com

Cover images by Slobodan Djajic/Shutterstock

Fitzroy Books

fitzroybooks.com
Regal House Publishing, LLC

https://regalhousepublishing.com

Dedicated to Derek and Marla,

who can both skate circles around me any day.

Chapter 1

I f hed been told eight months ago hed someday be called Roller Boy , Mateo Garca would have said: Definitely not. Inconceivable. As in No way, Jos . But, like they say, when a door slams in your face, a window sometimes cracks open.

It was a dark, dreary, miserable day. Or maybe it wasnt. Mateo was too busy to notice what the weather was like. Lets just say it was a lousy dayand it had nothing to do with gray clouds or drizzly rain. Right off the bat it went downhill, starting with his substitute teacher. Roll call.

May-toe? she said.

Tomato head, said the kid behind him with a snort. Sash, of course, always making his life miserable. Other classmates snickered.

Its Ma-tay-o, said Mateo, feeling as red as his new nickname.

The sub droned on all afternoonstuff theyd already learned last yearwhile Mateo daydreamed about making the baseball team. When the team list was posted at the end of the school day, hed finally be someone at Franklin Middle School. Someone besides that short kid with the crazy hair. Mateos frizz was wild, especially if it had been a while since his sister, Ava, had given it a trim. And in wet weather, forget it. He looked like a dark-haired Ronald McDonald, the fast-food clown. But after today hed be that baseball player part of the team.

Even though Mateo had sometimes struck out during tryouts, he was sure hed improve once he made the cut. He hadnt been able to practice much, mainly because he lived so far from the field. But Mateo was quick. He could run the bases faster than anyone. Surely Coach McGillicuddy had noticed.

The screeching dismissal bell made him jump. He leaped off his chair, grabbed his glove from under it, and raced out of the room, only to collide with his buddy, Jason, coming from across the hall.

Come on, Mateo, lets go! said Jason. Together they charged down the crowded hallway. Theyd been planning on being teammates for years and couldnt wait to see their names on the team list posted outside the gym.

Jason had older brothers. All three had played on their middle-school and high-school baseball teams. The oldest brother was kind of a hood hero and had been constantly in the newspaper since winning a full scholarship to BU. Sometimes Jason and Mateo took the bus over to watch him play.

The seventh grade team hadnt done too well the last few years, but now, with a new coach, the two friends hoped to put Franklin Middle School back in the game.

The boys flew around the corner and took the stairs two at a time. Mateo dropped his glove in his excitement. He stumbled to pick it up, looked both ways, but held onto his cool while Jason ran ahead and beat him to the bulletin board. A bunch of the guys were already there waiting. Coach McGillicuddy joined the mob, a sheet of paper curled up under his freckled arm. The crowd surged forward. The coach took his sweet time finding a thumbtack. Shoulders pressed in on either side of Mateos head.

Finally the coach posted his list. Move it back, boys. Let me out of here.

Mateo tried to find an opening between the boys in front, the ones cheering because theyd already found their names. Someone twice his size blocked his view. Mateo hopped up and down a few times, but couldnt get past him. Eventually the kid moved and Mateo nudged his way through.

He read the list. Then he read it again more slowly, from top to bottom. He couldnt believe it. His name wasnt there. Mateo hadnt made the team.

Jason had. He and the other guys who made it were all slapping each other on the back and sharing high-fives. As Mateo slunk farther from the group, he caught Jasons glance. Jason gave him a shrug of his shoulders, as if to say, Sorry, better luck next time . Mateo turned away, hoping he wouldnt start bawling. Now, typically, he wasnt one to cry, but this let-down was an exception. He had really, really wanted to be on that team. It was all hed been thinking about for weeks, monthsheck, maybe his whole sorry life.

Mateo made his way out of the school. The entire time he walked an ugly voice in his head said, You stink.

He wondered if he should have practiced more. Would it have made a difference? Mateo trudged home. The familiar blocks of Rabchester looked more miserable than ever that day. Little girls skipped rope in the old schoolyard. Sometimes their rhymes seemed pretty clever and he usually liked the slap-clap beat of their sneakers. But not today. Their voices sounded whiny, like they had clothespins on their noses. They may as well have been singing One, two, three, four, five, Mateos the stupidest kid alive . He almost hurled his glove at them, but held back, stuffing it into his backpack instead. Down at the other end of the block, a basketball thumped against the pavement, annoying him with each thud.

Before Mateo got halfway home, he saw a cluster of guys and knew the kids from Dudd Street would cross his path. He wasnt going to make the day worse by having to deal with them.

He took a sharp turn and ended up in a little mom-and-pop variety store.

May I help you? the elderly store clerk asked gruffly. He arched one eyebrow like Mateo didnt have any business there. The man had been working at the shop for years, but Mateo figured his memory was going, because he shouldve known Mateo by then, known that he was one of the good kids who wouldnt rip him off.

No, thanks, Mateo said, just looking. He stared at the candy shelf and stalled for as long as he could. He flipped over a few packs of gum to see if they had gluten in them and then returned them to the display rack. Mateo couldnt eat anything with gluten in it. Well, not without bothering his stomach, anyway, or as Mateo would call it, blowing up his guts. Ever since finding out he had celiac disease he was always checking what he could still eat. And at times like thisnot much.

Mateo poked his head out of the store entrance. The coast was clear. He made his move and headed for home.

Ten steps into his walk, a distant taunt caught his ear. Hey, muchacho! Hola! The Dudd Street boys cheerful calls didnt fool Mateo. One quick glance showed him Sash had caught up with them now. Even though he was younger than the other guys, Sash lived on Dudd Street and was enough of a jerk to fit right in. Yo, its Tomato Head! he yelled.

Mateo threw back his shoulders and attempted a casual strut, but at the same time, picked up his pace. Apparently the bullies had picked up speed, too, because before he knew it, they were closing in on him.

Muchacho , wait up!

That did it. Time to run. And as previously mentioned, Mateo could move fast when he wanted to. He zigzagged down an alley to throw the boys off his tail.

Ignoring the sweet smell of butter, Mateo sped past a popcorn cart and then bolted around the last corner. He glanced over his shoulder once more before stopping in front of the pale green triple-decker to pull out his key to his top floor apartment. Nobody in sight. He figured it was probably pretty wimpy to always run, but no way did he want those kids to know where he lived. Mateo stepped inside, slid his hands through his thick hair, and got his breathing down to normal. As he stomped up the many stairs to his place, he whistled loudly and tried to erase the gloom inside him.