That black shape in the middle of your vision seems to be growing larger, until you distinguish it to be a beaten-up skateboard traveling at a leisurely Mach 5 with the end destination probably being your soon to be broken face. You thankfully catch the board with a second to spare, and congratulate yourself right before something small & hard barrels into your stomach and makes you fall like a pine tree. Fortunately, the force from both catching the skateboard and taking the Fastball Special to the gut propels you off of the painful sidewalk, and onto the nice soft(er) grass and ground in front of the school. Some stoners cheer, quickly scrawling and holding up scoreboards of "SICK", "PRETTY SICK", "GNARLY", and "SORTA BODACIOUS". You give them a thumbs up, and find arms wrapping around you from the unknown cannonball that tackled you. "...thanks, dude. If you hadn't been there, I would have hit pavement face-first again today." a quiet and high voice mumbles into your chest. You feel yourself blushing, as a couple of stoner girls "awwww" at the weird display of affection. You politely pat the girl repeatedly on the back to release you as you start to stand, which she doesn't do until you're all the way up.
The girl gets off you en pointe, her legs wavering like a doe as she balances. You notice that she's got dark red hair in a choppy pageboy cut with shockingly white bangs tickling her big Sailor Moon girl eyes, which seem to be surrounded by eye-black or the female equivalent, a turned up button nose, and a petite mouth coated in black lipstick, giving her face the look of an abstractly human red panda. Her clothing seems to have belonged to an older sister, as you swear you've seen the stock "emo" kids wear these exact clothes in old reruns of Degrassi. Ripped up/duct taped purple cargo pants, an old shirt for some forgotten nu-metal band's '01 tour, black lace gloves, classic checkered Vans, and the piece de goddamn resistance, the all holy stained black zip-up hoodie, which seems to have a spiderweb pattern and little black widow hourglasses within the web hexagrams. She's also really, really short. Like, you're five feet, nine inches, and she's like a foot at least below that. She's currently at your mid-torso standing up. Whatta woman. You nod at her, and ask if she is alright. She stands there, slouching and looking...oddly at you. Really intently. This creeps you out, so you start to move away. She finally expels sound as you turn to leave, making you jump.
"heywouldyouliketogohangoutwithmeattheskateparkonBerlinDriveohI'msosorry,didItotallyfreakyououtandyouneverwanttotalktomeeveragainorevennoticeme-HICCUP." She blushes, pounds her chest, and looks up at you with tears in her eyes. Not wanting to have her start an overly long crying session on the grass in front of the school, you lean down and pat her on the back. She burps like a baby, which causes her to blush even harder. You then ask her if she wants a ride to the skate park on Berlin Drive, and that you'll be happy to hang out with her there. She nods. You walk over to your bargin-bin Tercel, as she keeps up a stream of chatter more confidently. "Could you call me Panda? Everyone else that I hang with does. I'll call you Brain for now, because everybody knows you've got the best of them in our grade. Oh yeah, I'm a junior too. I've been a classmate of yours since 6th grade. I looked dorkier back then, because I thought I could hang out with the popular skanks, and then puberty passed me over in the vertical department. I mean, I've got a nice body, but keeping your flesh outside of a protective layer of cloth usually ends in pain. Wish the skanks would get that through their hairspray-clouded heads, dumb bitches..." Wirrr wirrr, bruuuuuuhhhhh...you shift into reverse and head towards the skate park, a place you've never actually set foot on.
Well, it looks to be a decent skate park. You've got your large wooden ramps, your concrete clamshells, your metal railings, all with a nice coat of colorful graffiti. Nice place to loiter. There seems to be no one "Panda" knows here, just some middle schoolers at the moment. She decides to try to text a friend, as you sit on an old park bench under a tree near the park. She quickly sits next to you after she notices you're not 2 feet from her. "So, uh, um, Brain...do you do anything interesting?" She says this with such an air of honest awkwardness that you actually try to think about what you do like doing...oh yeah, you enjoy skating from time to time. Along with a prodigious mind, the powers that be have gifted you with a near perfect sense of balance on wheeled/bladed shoes, and you've done it since you were young. "Oh, that's awesome! I can barely keep up on my board half the time, but that's mostly a speed issue..." She stops when her swinging legs hit something formerly obscured under the bench. She bends over in one fluid motion (OK, that's hot, go skater busted-joint flexibility) and pulls out a forgotten equipment bag. Said bag seems to have been forgotten by time as well, as its old-fashioned leather material is covered in dirt and dust. The only clue to a former owner is a big name stitched in rainbow string across the middle. "Storm Saxon...wonder who she was." She looks at you with a devilish glint. "Wanna check inside?" You nod, curious over what could be in the bag. A quick unzip, and it turns out that Miss Saxon was a skater!