AN: Hello new readers! This first chapter is really sketchy, especially the dialogue, so bare with me. The story does get better as time goes on. I've gotten the most hits on chapter 3, with chapter 7 closely tied, so at least keep reading until you get to either of those, and then decide to dump it.
To the old readers, this chapter has the same content in it, I just rewrote some the wording to see if it gets a better reaction from new readers. You don't have to read it to know what's going on.
Eden is NOT a Mary Sue, she's actually got a sort of uptight personality, which should be an interesting contrast to the Z-boys. Also, I hate most of the chapter titles I make up, so don't even pay attention to those!
Disclaimer: I've used characters, settings and dialogue from LoDT, as well as other mentions of 70's music and pop culture. The title is borrowed from one of my favorite songs, 'Pictures of Success' by Rilo Kiley. The only thing that's really mine is Eden.
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±Dogtown: Recipe for a Blackhole±
Chapter 1. The Slum by the Sea
Once upon a time there was a girl who couldn't stand the town she lived in. The girl happened to live in the seedy side of Venice, California. To some, Venice was known as "the slum by the sea" but to others it was just known as "Dogtown."
The reason why the girl hated it so much was because there was also a group of skater boys there, who lived only to bug and harass me. I mean her. Okay, so I may over-exaggerate a little, because they don't necessarily live for it. But I am the butt of their jokes, so I think I'm justified here.
Around here, they're called the Z-boys. The Z stands for Zephyr, because they treat the Zephyr Surfboard shop, run by Skip Engblom, like a clubhouse. And I, having the wonderfully abundant luck that I do, happen to be the step-sister of Stacy Peralta, who is a prominent member of the Z-boys. Isn't that peachy?
Now that I've gotten the preliminaries over with, I think I can move onto my story, which starts the morning Stacy takes me to Pacific Ocean Park.
"EDEN!" A hand bangs on my bedroom door. "Are you awake? Come on!"
My head hazily lifts from my drool-ridden pillow. A feeling of dread crosses me when I realize today is the first day of school. I haven't even made any friends yet, having moved here approximately two weeks ago. Not that I wanted to make friends with the locals, they're the last people on earth who'd I'd like.
"I'm up!" I grumble, ceasing the heavy knocks on my door. In my state of somnolence, I manage to crawl out of bed and blindly reach for a dresser drawer.
Ten minutes later, I'm angrily stomping down the stairs. I storm into the kitchen, and demand to know, "Who woke me up?!"
"That would be me," says my step-brother, Stacy, who was chomping on a piece of toast.
"Oh," I say in a mock calm voice. "Okay. But now we be an excellent time for you to explain why. School doesn't start for another two hours!"
"Calm down, Eden," says my mom as she peels two pieces of bacon apart. She glances at Stacy. "Sorry, she's always like this in the morning. Hun, your step-father had to go to work early, so he won't be able to drive you to school. Since Stacy's the only one who knows the way, he's going to walk you."
"So?" I say, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table. "That still doesn't explain why we have to leave two hours early."
"Because Stacy's going surfing before classes start."
"What?" I look at Stacy in confusion. It's then that I notice the orange, graffiti-decorated surfboard that's on the table in front of him.
Stacy shrugs innocently. It was one of the many changes I had to adjust to when I moved to Venice. I wasn't used to having a brother around, let alone someone as mellow and carefree as Stacy Peralta was. Thankfully, he wasn't like rough-and-tumble as his friends were. It's a wonder how Stacy even came to be friends with the Z-boys.
"Can't believe this," I mumble, trying to control my annoyed tone of voice. "It's bad enough that you go surfing this early in the morning, but now you do it before school?"
After swallowing down a particularly large piece of bread, Stacy blushes and says, "Well, yeah. It's just what I do."
Grabbing a bagel, I walk out of the kitchen and gather my school supplies into my red backpack. Soon, Stacy trails in to tell me, "Sorry it's cutting off your sleeping hours."
"It's alright. I'm not so much worried about that, but more with your jackass friends."
"I'll tell them to leave you alone. Ready?" He raises his surfboard as indication of readiness to go. I nod and we head out the door. "You can ride my bike."
He picks up his bike from the side of the house and pushes it toward me. I awkwardly position myself on the padded seat. I hadn't ridden a bike since I was twelve years old, and now I was fifteen. Stacy stands on his skateboard and takes off down the street, with me pedaling behind him.
After a seven-minute bumpy ride, we finally reach the grimy beach. I stare around in wonder, remembering what Stacy had told me about this pier. There used to be a twenty-eight acre amusement park residing here. But since it was torn down, all that was left were a bunch of town up pilings. It was like a playground for outlaws, and that's why it made me so uneasy being here.
Despite there being legal warnings that the area was forbidden to trespass, that did not stop the local Dogtowners from coming here every morning to surf. It had to be the most dangerous place to surf in California, but they didn't seem to care.
"Peralta!" hollers Skip Engblom's slurred voice. "What's the girl doing here?"
As Stacy scurries over to explain the situation to Skip, I move past all the surfers who crowded the beach, and head toward the parking lot. The last time I came here, there had been an abandoned yellow couch at the side of the lot. I figure it would be an ideal place for me to wait, assuming that I wouldn't be bothered by anyone.
When I reach the parking lot, the same couch was still there and empty, but some of the Z-boys are in the area. Some are skateboarding the rocky asphalt of the parking lot, others are messing around, and the remaining were cleaning up the area in order to earn their turns to surf the Cove.
Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, I slip past the boys and curl up onto the couch, which regrettably smells like cat pee. It was better than sitting on a boulder, at least.
My plan of staying invisible doesn't last long, because someone yells, "Dude, I see Red!" and heads are turning my way.
Jay Adams skates up to me and flips his board upward so that it lands on the couch. I scoot sideways to give him some room.
"What are you doing here, Peralta?" He jumps on the couch and off again, with the skateboard in tow. "Shouldn't you be off rearranging your sock drawer or something?" He does some minor spins and tricks in front of me. "Or did Stacy force you to come here? Huh?"
"The latter," I reply.
"What latter?" he says, confusion dazzling in his green eyes.
I'm spared to answer when someone in the distance yells, "What's the Virgin Mary doing at P.O.P.?"
I groan, then glance toward the voice's direction; a soaked Tony Alva trudges up the parking lot, towards us. He evidently just finished surfing. He leers at me, while Jay continues doing various twirls on his skateboard.
"Stacy brought me here," I impatiently explain, looking away at the scenery in hopes that they'd get the hint and go away.
"Why?" fleers Tony. "He didn't think you'd actually accomplish something out here, did he?"
I snap my head to glare at the Hispanic, moppy-haired teenager standing in front of me. "Why, you don't think I could make it out there?" I indicate the waves that are crashing against the sand bank.
Tony leans on his board to give me a derisive look, and Jay raptly listens to the argument that was unfolding.
"You wouldn't even be able to swim out there, Peralta. You're that pathetic."
I glare at him, contemplating the insults I can hurl at him. "Pathetic? You're the one who measures his masculinity though how many waves you can surf. When in the end, it won't matter because you'll be an out-of-shape high school drop out, digging ditches for less than minimum wage."
"Meanwhile you'll be what?" He tilts his head, as if to survey me. "A pencil-neck librarian who still hasn't been laid?" Jay laughs at this.
"The thing is, Alva, girls aren't testosterone-pumped freaks who think about sex every eight seconds. So stop thinking that they are."
"You think you can surf the Cove?" he snaps. "Go ahead, we're not stopping you."
"I don't know how, dip shit," I say without a beat, rolling my eyes at him.
"That's what I thought," he says with an air of extreme smugness. "You can't surf for shit. Go home and cry to your mommy about it, for all I care." He begins mimicking a baby's cries, much to Jay's amusement, who guffaws in delight.
"Is that supposed to be a challenge?" I snap angrily.
"No, sweetheart, it's a fact of life." Having felt like he'd gotten the last word in the quarrel, Tony throws down his skateboard and rolls out of the parking lot. I scowl in his direction and audibly growl in contempt, receiving a strange look from Jay.
Out of all the Z-boys, Tony Alva was definitely the one who taunted me the worst. From day one, our egos had clashed. Jay wasn't as bad, because he wasn't as concerned with verbal fights as he was with physically humiliating me.