QK Agent Round: (MG SciFi) Skateboarding Sherlock

Entry Nickname: Skateboarding Sherlock
Title: Skidsters
Word Count: 62,000
Genre: MG Science Fiction

Query:

Adrenaline junkie Jedediah Tank lives for the thrill of perfectly landed tricks on his frictionless skid-board. That is, until he crashes into the most dangerous ride of his twelve-year-old life.

After plummeting into an alley during a race, Jed witnesses two men beat up an old guy in a lab coat. Jed takes off—no sense getting caught up in that. Three hours later, a familiar-looking Skid Tech physicist turns up dead. Jed feels guilty, but what can a scrawny kid do? His guilt multiplies when Jed finds out the physicist also happened to be his best friend’s grandfather. Well, Jed’s not about to sit on the sidelines anymore.

Problem is, he can’t go to the police. And since he’s a skidster—a nickname given to kids who treat the city as if it were their personal playground—the coppers would love nothing better than to lock him in juvie and toss the key. No, the only way anyone will take him seriously is if he uncovers some hard evidence.

A question here, a favor called in there, and soon Jed realizes this runs deep into the world of corporate criminals. After some dangerous meddling, he and his friends unravel clues leading to a project that could bring Skid City to its knees. To save his city, Jed must bend the laws of physics to their breaking point or it’s… time’s up, you’re dead, Jed.

First 250 words:

In about 2.07 seconds, I was going to crash. The math didn’t lie—the acceleration of an object by the pull of gravity is 32 feet per second squared, and falling at a velocity of… nevermind. I was going to crash, plain and simple.

I glanced down at my skoard as I fell, jamming my back foot against it so the magnets would catch. Please catch, c’mon. Please.

They caught. Now I had milliseconds to save my neck. As I fell into the alley, the glint of an awning caught my eye. I kicked my heel back, forcing the sleek bottom of the board to glance off the metal canopy. My skoard and I hit a railing a story below, then a dumpster, and finally the alley floor. I grabbed the edge of the second dumpster and skidded to a halt.

I blew out the breath I’d been holding and shook my head. Lucky those dumpsters were there. That’s the trouble with skoards. With their flat, frictionless bottom they just keep going—nearly impossible to stop. But that’s also what’s great about them.

It’s a love-hate relationship.

I double-clicked my heel and the hidden magnets from the bottom of my shoes and the chrome-covered top of my skoard separated. After that near-crash, I wanted to stay still for a second or two. Resting my hands on my knees, I took deep breaths. Adrenaline shot through my veins like electrical currents through a cell tower.

Calm down, Jed, you ain’t dead yet.