Under the Bridge

Overview

Tate's younger brother Indy is probably the best skateboarder in Spokane. He's also really smart though he couldn't care less about school. But when Indy clashes with his father one too many times and drops out of school, it's up to Tate to win his brother back from the seedier elements of Spokane. Can Tate convince Indy to come home, finish his high school degree, and return to skating Under the bridge with their crew?

Michael Harmon's fast-paced and highly charged novel ...

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Under the Bridge

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Overview

Tate's younger brother Indy is probably the best skateboarder in Spokane. He's also really smart though he couldn't care less about school. But when Indy clashes with his father one too many times and drops out of school, it's up to Tate to win his brother back from the seedier elements of Spokane. Can Tate convince Indy to come home, finish his high school degree, and return to skating Under the bridge with their crew?

Michael Harmon's fast-paced and highly charged novel captures the enduring bond between brothers and their struggle for survival on the gritty streets of Spokane.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
In his sixth novel, Harmon revisits the Spokane setting and themes of his debut, Skate, in a jittery and unpredictable story of skateboarding, drug abuse, broken families, and simmering teenage rage. It doesn’t take much to provoke 16-year-old Tate’s anger; he’s much like his father in that way. Tate and his younger brother, Indy, take refuge from high school and the “war zone” that is their home at Under the Bridge, a city-funded skate park where skateboarders of all ages and abilities coexist uneasily with helicopter parents, drug dealers, and the homeless. Although Indy is a talented student and skater, he’s turning his back on both, cutting class to hang out with a violent new drug dealer in town. Tate’s fury, frustration, and helplessness are visceral as he casts about for ways to help Indy, the very real possibility of death hanging over both brothers. Harmon offers a down-to-earth portrait of teenagers and adults alike working hard to exert control over their lives, a daily grind that is messy, complicated, and never easy. Ages 14–up. Agent: George Nicholson, Sterling Lord Literistic. (Nov.)
Kirkus Reviews
Tate's crew are all skateboarders, but it's his little brother Indy who has the talent--and also a taste for drugs and rebelling against their straight-laced dad. In their neighborhood, Tate has learned to use his fists and let his anger fly when he sees injustice. But he doesn't do drugs--not since the overdose death of fellow border Cutter, likely a suicide, one year ago. Devastated by the loss, Tate has aligned with his father, but he frantically worries about his brother when their father throws him out. The inflexible father, the call of drug-induced numbness and the evil of the dealer: They have all been done before, along with the antihero who fights for justice against all odds. What distinguishes this take is the skateboarding, the tricks and competition, as well as the camaraderie. Throw in a little romance, swearing, fistfights and some skanky sex scenes, plus a few adults whose dedication to the well-being of teens shines through, and you've got a book that pulls through despite its clichés. Action centers around the Monster, "the biggest, deepest, craziest skate bowl in Spokane, and the state of Washington for that matter." While the swearing, sex and drug use proclaim this an issues book for older teens, the heart is very much in the after-school-special camp, with a satisfying resolution never in doubt. (Fiction. 14-18)
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780375866463
  • Publisher: Random House Children's Books
  • Publication date: 11/13/2012
  • Pages: 272
  • Sales rank: 827,700
  • Age range: 14 - 17 Years
  • Product dimensions: 5.84 (w) x 8.42 (h) x 0.92 (d)

Meet the Author

MICHAEL HARMON is the author of several award-winning and critically acclaimed novels for young adults including Brutal, The Last Exit to Normal, Skate, and The Chamber of Five, which School Library Journal called, "gritty and powerful."
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Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

“This is not a drill. Please exit the school to your designated target areas immediately.”

I looked up at the intercom as the tired voice of Vice Principal Lackard echoed through the halls. If there was concern in that tinny voice, it was masked by complete indifference. Maybe a hidden wish that one of these times it would turn out to be real and that this school would end up being a shrapneled example of what went wrong with our youth. Of what went wrong with this world. “Such a terrible loss,” he’d say, splaying his hands and shaking his head to the news cameras while behind him the smoking ruins of our fine institution collapsed upon themselves.

Then he’d go home, sit on his back porch, his wife would hand him a gin and tonic, and he’d tell her we deserved every last piece of rubble. You could see it in his eyes when he walked down the hall. Guys today don’t shoot spitballs and gather after school for the occasional fistfight. They punch teachers, stomp heads, sell dope, pack heat, and make pipe bombs. I didn’t blame the guy. We’re pretty fucked up as generations go.

I walked from my locker, my pack over my shoulder and my board in my hands. No English today. I glanced at the clock above the exit as I shouldered my way through masses of students pressing for the doors; half of them bug-eyed, the other half accustomed to evacuations and looking forward to sixth period being cut from the schedule. I could hear the sirens already. This was becoming routine.

“Lemmings on the march.”

I turned, and Sid, long black hair in his eyes, deck slung through his pack, skintight straight-leg jeans outlining his bony knees, sauntered toward me. We walked closer to our designated herding area. “Bomb threat, right?” I said, wondering if this one might be different. Alien invasion. The president visiting. Something to look at besides three thousand students streaming from the campus like water from a shotgunned and rusted barrel.

He grinned, looking back at the red-and-gray brick Goliath called our school. “Yep.” Either Sid Valentino could hear the whispering voices through the walls or he was psychic, but he always knew what was going on in this place. And everywhere else.

“False alarm?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he chuckled. “If we gotta dodge flying bodies in the next few minutes, I’d say real.”

Sirens screeched closer from the downtown core of the city, racing toward the school. In the next moment, the Spokane City Bomb Squad rolled by in some kind of Star Wars armored vehicle, black-uniformed guys hanging from the sides, studying us like we might be the next Bin Laden. “This is lame,” I said.

“Wanna hit the Monster? Piper and your bro should be there on this occasion of terrorist-inspired freedom.”

Standard evacuation procedure said that once each group of the student body reached their “target” points, buses would transport three thousand students to the Veterans Arena, five miles away, for our parents to pick us up. Disciplinary procedures would be applied to any student leaving without a parental signature. Dad would be more pissed about having to leave work than about me getting busted for what he called idiocy. We could take care of ourselves, and Dad quit being our babysitter a long time ago. “Sure. I’m not wasting the next four hours sitting in a parking lot.”

Sid smiled. “They’re just grooming us to be good refugees. It doesn’t work if nobody knows how to be refugee-ish.”

I adjusted my pack higher on my shoulder. Sid wasn’t exactly the most optimistic of people. “I can think for myself, thanks.”

He loped along next to me. “Thinking is dangerous, dude. Just blindly follow. It goes along with the grand plan of devolution.”

I laughed. “Whatever, Sid.”

A good six hundred students milled around our staging-and-transportation area as we arrived. Sid gazed at the crowd. “See, I’m right. Evolution in reverse.”

I smirked. “How?”

He laughed. “When some dumb-ass calls in a bomb threat, our incredibly brilliant leaders evacuate a fifteen-acre school to avoid a large body count, pack us all into two areas that are a quarter the size, and call it a ‘safe’ zone.”

“Yeah, so?”

He looked around. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t see much that makes this place safe, and I do know that any wacko with half a damn brain would call the threat in, wait till we’re all packed together here, then blow us up. He’d need half the explosives to kill twice the people.” He paused. “Devolution, man. And I don’t know who’s worse--the jackhole that came up with this plan or the idiots who follow it.”

I chuckled. Sid might have been the most dark, depressing, moody person I knew, but his logic made sense. “I suppose so.”

“I know so. Look. They think they’re safe because some tardo told them they’re safe.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not a bomber.”

He shrugged. “People are so good at killing themselves they don’t need my help.”

“True.”

Sid nodded, looking around. “I don’t feel like being stupidized any more. Let’s split.”

I nodded. “Under the Bridge?”

He unstrapped his board. “Under the Bridge it is.”

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