Parkour is about movement, it's about making anything and everything in my path a part of my run. It's about overcoming obstacles by moving over or through them. Parkour is an attitude. Above all it's about being free.
At least, that's what Derek used to say.
Chapter 1
It all started with Mickey Tanaka. If it hadn't been for Mickey, I would have spent the whole season as an afternoon rink rat: a guy who hangs around the park, shovels the ice, and gets to play hockey when there aren't enough "real players" to make up teams. With Mickey, it was all different. It was fast and furious. It was my first year as a Metro Cat.
It was the year I learned a lot about my parents, and they learned a lot about me. In the spring they had separated, just after my twelfth birthday, and by Christmas things were looking a lot different. It was also the year I learned to control my mouth. If it hadn't been for Mickey, I'd still be sounding off at people and paying the price. That winter, when the price for smart remarks went through the ceiling, I had to learn that it just wasn't worth it. Because of Mickey and the Metro Cats, I learned to control my temper.
It began on a cold Sunday morning. My mother picked me up at my dad's place on Saturday night. I was getting pretty tired of being shuffled back and forth between Dad's apartment downtown and the new house we were renting in the east end of Toronto. I don't know why they had to move so far away from each other. When I stayed at my dad's place, he'd bring me to school at eight o'clock. In the spring it wouldn't be bad, but in the winter it gets pretty cold hanging around the school yard waiting for the bell. Anyway, I only had to do that on Thursdays and Fridays. On Saturday night, my mom came to get me and I'd get to sleep in my own bed.
That first week of December, the city started flooding the rink in the park. They were flooding it on Saturday night when my mom and I drove past, but when I got there in the morning, it was covered by ten centimetres of fresh snow. I had my skates on and a light plastic snow shovel under my arm. Whizzing end to end with the snow shovel was fun, but it was still a lot of work to get all the white stuff off the ice.
I was about halfway done when a girl from my class came by. She didn't say anything, she just stood watching me zipping from end to end, pushing the snow along to the edge of the rink and packing it up against the edge of the ice. I figured that when they flooded the rink next time, there would be a hard crust around the edge and it would act as an end board.
I didn't really know Michelle Tanaka. I knew her name and I knew that she was smart in class, but that was all. I didn't really know many of the kids well. I'd only been at Sir Henry Pellatt Public School since we moved here in late October, and I hadn't made many friends. I had half the rink cleared when Michelle came over and spoke to me.
"Hey, you're doing a pretty good job. Can you use a stick as well as you move that shovel?" She had a sort of husky voice, like a boy's.
"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly Sidney Crosby," I said. I wondered if she knew who Sidney Crosby was. "You're Michelle, right?" I asked.
"Well, I'm not exactly Michelle Pfeiffer
" she said. I wondered who Michelle Pfeiffer was. "My friends call me Mickey. What about you? Do you like being called Lester or Les?"
"Les. I hate Lester!" I was used to being teased about my name. Who would name a kid Lester Lewchuck?
"It'd be worse if you were called Michelle!" She was laughing. She had big teeth, like they were too big for the rest of her. She had short black hair, a small, sort of flat nose, and in her parka and big boots, she looked like an arctic explorer.
"I'm a goalie," she said, walking through the snow and stepping over the bank. "I'll help you clear if you want, and I'll bring my gear." She checked out the surface of the ice with her boot.
"Sure," I said, "but forget the shovel. I'll be done before you get back." I figured it was all right. She was a girl, but she seemed OK. Besides, a goalie is a goalie.
Mickey went home for her equipment, and I picked up the pace on the shoveling. I was nearly done when I heard them come up behind me.
"Hey," said a familiar voice. "Some sucker has done the hard work for us." It was Lenny Smith.
If you look up Neanderthal Man in the encyclopedia, you can see a picture of Lenny Smith. The Neanderthal Man has a large forehead and a very big mouth, but he has a very small brain. That's Lenny. Big and stupid. Everybody was afraid of him.
Roddy is Lenny's kid brother. He's more like Peking Man. He's not so ugly, and he's a little smarter. With his glasses, he almost looks intelligent. He's not exactly rocket scientist materialthis is his second year in grade sevenbut he's closer to human than ape.
I blew into my hands, traded the shovel for my hockey stick, and threw a puck out onto the ice. I could see them coming across the park, laughing and throwing snowballs at each other. Their dog was snuffling around by the swings, doing his business. I circled the rink, pushing the puck along in front of me, trying not to lose it under my skates and look like an idiot. The Smiths thought everyone was an i
