“In the future, we’ll discuss your clothing,” Odelia says.
“In the future, we will not,” I snap.
Odelia ignores me. “Lesson two is now complete. Let’s move on to lesson three. Follow me to the lawn! We have lots to do!”
Odelia does not stop yakking the whole way. She’s going on and on about good posture and how it affects my everyday life. I find this really hard to believe, but I listen anyway. Out of the blue, she starts talking about trees. I don’t have a clue what she means until I hear the new entry in her notebook:
“ODELIA’S GUIDE TO THE SOCIAL GRACES
LESSON 3: BE A PINE TREE, NEVER A WILLOW
OBJECTIVE: Bernice will learn to position her body in perfect balance in all aspects of her physical life. Perfect balance begins with exceptional posture. (Note to self: Bernice’s current posture resembles that of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.)”
I point to the Hunchback part. “Did you really need to write that?” I ask.
Odelia chuckles. “I was trying to be funny, Bernice. Anyway, to my knowledge, this lesson always follows the previous one on poise. It involves maintaining balance while standing tall and—”
“Wait. A. Minute. I already have balance. You’ve seen me skate. I can’t handle the half-pipe yet, but only a couple of kids can.” I raise my voice. “I don’t need this stupid lesson. Let’s skip it. Let’s skip everything. I’m going to the park.”
Odelia pouts. “Fine. I’ll tell Serena that it is not possible for us to be friends because you are impossible.” She starts to walk away, but then turns around and practically shouts, “You are a big baby who doesn’t want to grow up or change in any way. And if you stay the way you are, Bernice, you’ll never be able to talk to boys. So, good luck. And good-riddance.” Odelia pitches her nose to the clouds and stomps home.
Now who’s the baby?
But Odelia’s rant hit a nerve. I can be impossible. It’s mostly because I’m not sure how to say what I want to say, what I need to say. Odelia has promised to help me, and I suppose I should let her. Plus, if she’s bent on fulfilling some responsibility to her godmother—the responsibility that involves being my friend—I probably shouldn’t mess with that.
“Odelia,” I call. “Come back.”
The princess turns. “Are you sure?” she asks.
For the next hour, Odelia keeps me busier than busy. She finds a bunch of Dad’s fishing books in the garage and puts two on my head. I’m supposed to parade up and down my driveway without letting them fall. This is a lot harder to do than it looks. I tip. Books tip. We start over. Persistent Princess Odelia doesn’t give me a break. “Straighten up. Pull your shoulders back,” she says, more demanding than the bossy woman from that reality show with the models. “Look in the distance, not down. Carry yourself with pride. Show the world that you are strong and noble. You are a pine tree reaching for the sun in a shady forest. Walk tall. Toes forward, not out. Chin up, Bernice. Chin UP!” A drill sergeant in the army could take lessons from Odelia.
“I’m trying!” I yell. “It doesn’t feel natural.”
Odelia scowls. “People will judge you based on how you present yourself. Good posture shows that you have confidence. With confidence you’ll achieve your goals. If you had confidence on that hill you call a pipe, you would not have failed.”
“It’s a half-pipe, and that’s not true,” I tell Odelia. “Posture doesn’t count. In skateboarding or anywhere. You should be yourself. Only stuck up girly girls walk with sticks up their butts. I am not, and never will be, a girly girl!”
Odelia ignores my outburst. “This is the last exercise for today. Take this hefty book and balance it on your head.” She shoves the Encyclopedia of Saltwater Tackle—all 743 pages of it—into my hands. I do what Odelia says, but not without a huge groan. In my mind, I say every single swear word I’m never allowed to say out loud.
After five tries, I finally get the book to settle on a flat spot—the new, smooth spot created by Odelia’s expert taming of my wild curls. With my arms stretched out to my sides, I feel her laying a rolled-up boating chart on each bend of an elbow. In each palm, she drops a tennis ball.
“Walk,” Odelia says.
And I walk.
I hate to admit it, but doing this reminds me of my happy princess days—those days when I was little and acting like a proper princess was everything to me. But I definitely don’t want to go down that road again. What I really hope for now is that I come away with some skills I can take to middle school. And, although I’ll never say this out loud, aside from skating, I’ve got nothing else to do this summer. Roxanne is my only friend, and she’s constantly skipping off to New York. I’m not good at making new friends. The Kylie fiasco ruined that for me. But if I figure out how to fit in and still be cool, I won’t have to work at finding friends. They’ll find me.
Maybe Odelia and I can be a team. Especially if no one else discovers what we’re up to. But Odelia’s got to lose the gown and the tiara and the royal attitude, or kids will talk. I don’t want to be known as Bernice Baransky, the kid who comes with a princess. I’ll get eaten alive.
I make it to the end of the driveway and hear an old Madonna song blasting from a stereo. I catch Big
