Chapter Text
It never rained in Southern California.
Or so people said.
To Rhett, it felt like it rained once a month and that Friday afternoon was no different.
He’d taken three buses and boarded the remainder of the way up from downtown Irvine. Now he was looking at the kind of weather that would likely drive someone with a ride to turn back, right away.
He kept at it, though, desperate for the exposure if some life-changing sponsor happened to be watching. A lone wolf, maybe, but so dedicated to his craft that he was clearly worth signing. Being one of the older guys on the scene, any extra help to continue to pursue the sport would be more than welcome. One of his day jobs was spinning a sign to direct people to a surf shop off of La Cienega. He was not ashamed to take a hand-out when offered.
Across from where he did his fourth or fifth rail slide that gloomy afternoon, a gray-haired fella ate a burger and sipped at his fountain drink. Rhett had seen him before, every so often, and wondered if he was someone’s dad.
In Rhett's new fantasy, to keep his edge, the guy was a talent scout ready to pluck him from obscurity. Rhett ground and kicked twice as hard, like his livelihood depended on it. For all he knew, it did.
A crack of thunder rang out above both their heads. Uncannily, Rhett looked up and caught the guy’s eyes in reaction to the noise. He pulled up on his board, out of the bowl, and began to consider his options. If it was about to storm, he was going to have to get across several blocks in rush hour to the Metrolink station he arrived at an hour ago. Then spend all that money just to go back the way he came. He started thinking about what local malls or shops might let him browse around while he waited out the downpour that the overcast sky now threatened.
He figured that no matter how you sliced it, he had to get going, and pulled his gaze from the stranger. His eyes roved to the nearest bus stop on the corner and tried to do the mental math on when the next would be arriving. He felt small droplets of water hit the exposed skin at his neck. The humidity around him begged for more, but he wiped the moisture away and took off.
Another thunderbolt rung out overhead and he pushed off the sidewalk to speed up his movements. He’d decided to skate right to the station rather than wait for the bus. He made it around a corner before he had to wait for traffic to slow so he could cross a busy intersection.
He got another quarter mile closer before he was forced to stop again and wait for a pedestrian crossing to get lit up to allow him forward.
Then again, he resumed his speed along the sidewalk, darting in and out of what little foot traffic was coming the opposite direction, rushing to escape the potential rain. The droplets had picked up speed and he worried that his normal maneuvering on his board might need adjusting since he didn’t usually skate in these conditions. It wouldn’t do to assume a rain-slicked cement path would give the same resistance when he took a sharp turn or else he might topple over and hurt himself and any shot he had at joining a team.
He cursed himself for not putting his hair up in a ponytail before he’d taken off. Having an audience always threw off his game which was part of the reason he was so determined to get used to it.
Only minutes from the station, he came to another stop along the cross street that cut through downtown Santa Monica where the road he needed to traverse was full of cars while the street beside him remained vacant. He panted, tired and damp from the rainfall so far.
His attention snapped over as the audible noise of an automatic window lowering into the car door cut through the relative quiet on the emptied street.
“You want a ride?” someone shouted from the driver’s seat. Rhett ducked down to see the person’s face and ensure that was meant for him. It was the guy from the skate park, but he’d finished his burger, it appeared.
Rhett couldn’t help but look around him and make sure he was the one the older man was calling out to. He was alone on the sidewalk, his board kicked up and held in his right hand.
“You sure?” he called back. There was another crack of thunder and he resigned himself to the generosity, hustling towards the expensive-looking sedan. “I’m only headin’ to the subway.”
“Which one?” the other man asked.
Rhett wondered, if the man was already going across town, maybe he could get a lift all the way to the Wilshire/Wilson or Union lines. It would cut his commute home in half.
He reluctantly crammed himself in the small passenger’s side, quickly going about his usual routine of groping around to adjust the seat back so that he wasn’t cramping the front half with his long legs. “It’s just around the corner, really. But I appreciate it. Hate standing out in the rain.”
“Yeah, it really looks like it’s gonna come down,” the man said, staring up out of his dashboard window. When the silence took over, Rhett let out a sigh, waiting for the light to change and this mysterious person to take a right up ahead.
“Thanks again,” Rhett reiterated. Then, when he couldn't think of anything else to say, he asked, “You skate?”
The man chuckled. “Oh, I wish,” he said, shaking his head. “Never been coordinated enough to try. Seemed kind of dangerous. Nowadays, I would probably just break a hip or something.”
“Ahh," Rhett replied. "Seen you around, but wasn’t sure."
“The In-n-Out I prefer is just one street over,” he explained. Then he looked around and cricked his neck. “I don’t like to eat in my car and the place is always a mob scene. So, I started stopping at the park after I drive-thru. Always cool to watch you all do your thing.”
“Yeah, definitely,” Rhett declared, touched by the support even in the simplest of forms. It was nice to be appreciated.
The rain began to more heavily pelt down on the windshield. “So, where you headed?”
“Home, probably,” Rhett said, looking up at the dark skies. He shook his head.
“Shame you got washed out. Can you come back later, once it passes?”
“Nah, you can take me to the closest metro. I’m at least an hour through the city and back. No point.”
“You don’t want to stay out here somewhere nearby? Head back later on?”
Rhett looked over, feeling suddenly very vulnerable and shy. “If there’s nobody else out to see me skate, not really.” He kept his head down for a long while. He was searching for the right words to explain why he wasn't simply in it for the attention. “I’m tryin’ to get sponsored. It kind of calls for a crowd or at least feedback from other skaters to get good enough.”
The man looked Rhett over, still soaked and sullen, and nodded. He understood.
“Name’s Link,” he offered along with his hand. “Link Neal.”
“Rhett,” Rhett said back, gladly accepting it, and mirroring the introduction. “Rhett McLaughlin.”