“I don’t know. I didn’t really check or anything.” I pick up a junior board for Tommy and show it to him. He says it’s poop.

Dad laughs from behind me.

I put the board back.

“Listen…” Chris leans his shoulder against the wall. “I actually wanted to call you after the comp but I didn’t really have things worked out yet…”

I stand taller. “Call me about what?”

“Just hear me out, okay?”

“You’re kind of freaking me out a little, dude.”

He laughs once, pushes off the wall and bends down to Tommy’s level. “What’s your favorite color, Tommy?” he asks.

“How do you know his name?”

“Research.”

“You mean stalking?”

Chris laughs again. “Just a little.” He focuses back on Tommy. “So, little man. Favorite color?”

“Poop,” Tommy tells him, and my dad chuckles.

“So brown?”

Tommy nods.

Chris searches the board stock on the floor and when he finds the one he’s after, he opens it and shows it to Tommy. A shit-brown Torpedo board. “You like it?” Chris asks him.

Tommy pulls out the board and inspects it, then drops it to the floor and settles one foot on the deck, rocking it back and forth. Then he looks up at Chris. “Yup.”

“Good,” Chris says, patting Tommy’s shoulder. “It’s yours.”

“Whoa. You can’t give—”

He ignores me and speaks to Tommy again. “Whatever you want in the store, Tommy, it’s yours. Take it.”

I step in front of him. “What the fire truck are you doing?”

“You too, Warden, anything you want in the store, it’s yours.”

I throw my hands in the air. “Okay, seriously, what the hell is going on?”

He sighs dramatically and crosses his arms. “This store—it’s just a stepping stone for me. It’s small and that’s cool for now but I want to open another one, and another one. Then the biggest one in the state. And then the country.”

“Why not just use your dad’s money and open another one? Also, if you want to make money then you have a lot to learn. Giving shit away is probably the first thing you’re doing wrong. They probably teach that in Business 101 in college. Maybe it’s not too late for you.”

“Joshua,” Dad chides. “Language.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, even though he said the same thing in front of Tommy no less than fifteen minutes ago. Apparently being schooled by my dad still has the same effect, even at twenty.

Chris rolls his eyes. “I don’t want my dad’s money. I want to earn it. I want to be able to look back and say that I did it. That I became successful and it was because I worked hard for it. And that’s not even the point. The point is the store is just something to keep me busy while I work on the major stuff.”

“What major stuff?”

“You, Warden.”

“Me?”

He nods. “Like I said, you can have anything in the store… you and your son. All you have to do is wear the Deck and Check gear at skate comps. You promote me and my brand and I promote you.”

Amusement sets in. And then confusion. “Who says I’m doing more comps?”

“Who says you aren’t?” Dad chimes in.

Chris and I face him. “What?” I ask.

“So?” Chris says, raising his hand between us. “Deal?”

“What? No.”

“You’ll also be my client.”

“What client?”

“I’ll be your agent, your PR rep, your assistant. Your everything, basically. And you know I’ll be good at it because I know the skate scene better than anyone. Not just the amateur or the underground, but the pro circuit too. And that’s where I plan on taking you.”

Dad speaks again. “Josh, is he the kid from the skate comp you told me about?”

I nod, my gaze switching between them.

“Sounds like a good deal,” Dad says. “Your mother should be your manager.”

“Okay,” Chris agrees.

“What?” I ask everyone.

Dad says, “Who else would look after your best interest better than your mother? Plus, she needs something to do when I kick the bucket.”

“Dad!”

He just shrugs.

“Mom doesn’t know anything about skating,” I tell him.

“I’ll teach her about the skate side. That’s not a problem,” Dad says.

“So?” Chris asks.

And I don’t really know what happens next or what the hell makes me say: “I’ll pay you.”

Chris smiles. “I take a cut of anything you earn from the competitions and any sponsorship deals I might make from it. So will your momager.”

“Momager?”

“Mom/Manager…”

Tommy laughs from the corner of the store—a dozen hats on his head. “I’m a fat-hat-man!”

I turn back to Chris. “I don’t think any sponsors would be interested—”

“They already are, Warden.”

My mouth opens but nothing came out. Maybe it’s the shock… or maybe it was something else completely. “I don’t want anything that’s going to take me away from my son.”

Chris shrugs and looks at Dad. “That’s cool. We can put it in the clause, right? You’ll speak to your wife about it? Actually, I’ll get her number and we can set up a meeting.”

“What clause? What meeting?”

“We’ll work on it. I’ll have my lawyer draft up the contract.” He jerks his head to his hand still raised between us. “Deal?”

I swallow loudly. “I um…”

“Just shake his hand, Son,” Dad says.

So I do, because he’s my dad and I always do what he says.

“Good.” Chris grins from ear to ear and pats my arm twice. “This is going to be good, Warden. I can feel it.”

“Me too,” Dad says, shaking Chris’s hand.

“Me poop!” Tommy yells.

Chris makes his way behind the counter again. “And I wasn’t kidding when I said you could take whatever you wanted. Just tell me what it is so I can remove it from inventory.” He busies himself with paperwork behind the computer. “I’ll get some shirts printed for you and your son.” He points to my dad. “And you and your wife too?”

He nods.

“Just give me a list of sizes for whoever else will be in your camp at the comp next weekend.”

“Next weekend?” I shout.

“Yep. We got a lot of work to do,” he mumbles, still not looking up.

“I work full time, man. I can’t just drop it to train.”

“Did you train for SK8F8?”

“Well, no, but… I mean, I should train and I can’t get enough time in at the skate park while I’m watching Tommy and working and—”

“Robby?” Dad interrupts, his phone to his ear. “Can Josh take the next week off?”

38

-Joshua-