"Look like you trying to mow the grass with your chin, fool," said Raymo.

"Where were you?" asked Ceese.

"Lying behind the hill. You sailed right over me."

Raymo broke up laughing. "I can't believe you. Complete klutz, can't ride, can't even fall right, damn near broke your neck, but you still funny. That why I hang with you."

"Yeah, but why do I hang with you?" said Ceese.

"Cause I'm cool as you wish you was," said Raymo.

"Guess that's it," said Ceese.

"You hang on to any of that weed?" asked Raymo.

Sure enough, it wasn't in Ceese's pocket. He leapt to his feet, discovering just how sore his elbows and knees were—and fully grass-stained. He was already back at the slope heading up to see if the bag had fallen out of his pocket where his board hit the gravel, when he realized Raymo was laughing. He turned around, and there was Raymo, holding up the bag.

Ashamed, both of his panic and that he lost the bag in the first place, Ceese sauntered back toward the older boy. "Who needs weed when I can get high on inertia?"

Raymo cocked his head and made his eyes go buggy. "Inertia? In-er-she-ah! You already been to college or something?"

"You took that class," said Ceese. "You learned about inertia."

"I learned about it for the grade, I didn't work it into my conversation to show off how smart I am."

"Sometimes I get tired, you calling me dumb."

"I didn't call you dumb," said Raymo.

"You always call me dumb."

"I call you a dumb-ass. But not just plain dumb."