Odelia thinks about this as we walk the last block. Once we’re in my living room, I expect a lecture, but she answers with a simple, “Yes.”
“Then what?” I ask. “This is the part where I get stuck. It doesn’t matter whether I’m trying to put Moron Forge—I mean, Ron Forge—in his place or whether it’s someone like Wyatt who I want to impress. My brain turns to mush.”
Odelia rubs her temples. “Ask how the person’s doing or ask a simple question.”
“That’s your advice? That’s it?” I hate that I’m pleading for help.
“I expect you to remember what we’ve covered in our past lessons. Be prepared to run into Wyatt. Always make sure you’re squeaky clean and positively poised, be a pine tree, never a willow, and—”
“And what about the fact that I’m scared I’ll faint in front of him?”
“You’ve got to be strong, Bernice! You want him to see you as friendly, don’t you? You want to show him you’re interested in what he says, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“And there’s one more thing: maintain eye contact.”
“You’ve got to be kidding! It’s not that easy. It’s like looking at a president. You want to, and you’ll be sorry if you don’t, but you can’t. You just can’t. It’s too hard.”
“We’ll practice,” Odelia says. “Pretend you’re meeting me for the first time, and I am the most handsome prince in the land.” Odelia coughs. “I mean the cutest boy in town.”
“Can I pretend you’re somebody else?” I ask. “Can you be Wyatt?”
Odelia nods. “Excellent suggestion.” She struts over to the lime-green chair in the corner and sits, back straighter than straight, legs crossed, chin held high. “Hello, Bernice. I am Wyatt.”
I shake my head. “Lose the posture, princess. And news flash! Wyatt doesn’t know my name.”
“Oh, I remember what he calls you. Let’s try again.” Odelia pulls the bobby pins out of her bun. Her hair falls to her shoulders and the tips of her ears peek out. She sinks down into the chair, kicks off her slippers, tucks a foot under her jumper, then bolts upright. “Oh, fiddlesticks! My jumper will get wrinkled! Serena despises wrinkles. She’ll disapprove. I’ll get into trouble!”
I run upstairs and pull out a pair of jeans and a maroon shirt that has the Porchtown Piranhas logo on it. It’s my Field Day shirt from the spring, and there’s no way I’m wearing anything that screams sixth grade in middle school. Back downstairs, I throw them at Odelia. “Change into this.” Without a word, she goes into the bathroom and comes back as a regular kid. The tiara is still glued on, but I can ignore it.
Odelia sits in the chair again and lets her neck relax and her shoulders droop. She can slump? Odelia surprises me more and more every day.
“Hi, Wyatt,” I say, holding back the giggles. “How are you?”
In a very fake, very low voice, Odelia answers, “I’m fine. I haven’t seen you in a while. Where have you been, Dud?”
I laugh hard and long, but eventually spit out, “It’s Dude! Not Dud.”
“Oh. Dude,” Odelia says, testing the word on her lips. She tries it out a second time using her Wyatt voice. “Duuude.” This sends us both into hysterics. I swear I even hear Odelia snort.
We calm down enough to move on. “Where have you been, Dude?” Odelia asks. Before I can answer, she goes back into high-pitched princess mode, and asks, “Why in heaven’s name does the boy call you that?”
I shrug. I have no idea. I answer Odelia’s first question. “At home.”
Odelia clears her throat. “Answer with complete thoughts in complete sentences.”
“I. Have. Been. At. Home…”
Another dramatic throat-clearing from the princess.
“I am volunteering at a camp on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Otherwise, I would gladly have exported myself to the park to partake in physical activity and perhaps a conversation or two with you.” I add a snicker because . . . well, that sentence, complete with good vocabulary, deserves a snicker.
“You sound so grown up, Bernice!”
“I don’t want to sound like a grown-up. I don’t want to be a dork.”
Odelia tilts her head. “I don’t want you to be a duck either, Bernice.”
“Not duck! Dork! Someone more socially awkward than my awkward self.”
Odelia thinks about this for a minute, and then starts babbling about a new lesson. “During lesson five we’ll delve into the art of crafty conversation,” she says enthusiastically. “We’ll talk about keeping conversations moving along. It’ll be just ducky.”
I shake my head like I’m thoroughly disgusted, but I feel the corners of my mouth turning up. “Odelia, I can’t deal with any more conversation today. Maybe I’ll just become a mime.”
Odelia ignores my comment and makes some notes. I slide into a daydream where Wyatt and I are leaning against our lockers at Porchtown Middle, trading secrets like old friends. After a few minutes, I notice that Odelia has put down her pen and is gazing out our bay window. She hasn’t hurried back to Miss Princess Posture Perfect yet. She’s curled up in the chair; her tiara is dangling dangerously to the left, and she’s doing some daydreaming of her own.
“Hey, you all right?” I ask.
“Mmm hmm,” she answers.
“Answer with complete thoughts in complete sentences,” I remind her.
Odelia touches the tip of her nose. “I’m fine, Bernice . . . but . . . you know . . . I haven’t been completely honest with you. I haven’t always been the well-behaved girl you see before you.” She rubs her nostrils and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was tempted to pick what’s hiding in there.
I wonder if it’s full confession time—time that Odelia fesses up she’s not royalty, and that her princess obsession has been nothing but a sneaky attempt to get attention.
Odelia explains, “Serena says my mother called me her little princess every day. But I didn’t always act in a proper manner. I was horrid. I’d fight tooth and nail when it came time to put
