This is not a joke. If my parents were gone, I’d probably dress like a vampire and only come out at night. Odelia hasn’t had it easy, that’s for sure. First her mom dies, then her dad. Could Odelia be using her princess ways to cope with the sadder than sad deal she got in life? Or . . . and I’ll have to give this some serious thought: Odelia really is a princess and, just like the rest of us, she’s trying desperately to fit in.
Odelia pulls herself out of the chair. “I need to change back into my gown. I’ll feel better. Serena has high expectations, and she’ll misunderstand if I’m not dressed as I usually am.”
I want to tell Odelia that everything will turn out okay. I want to remind her that I have expectations, too. With her help, I expect to be less awkward by the end of this summer. I want to tell Odelia all of this, but she’s scurrying out the door with barely a good-bye.
***
There Once Was a Caveman
I stay up the whole night worrying—about boys, about Odelia, about the skate-off. I have to be part of that competition. It will prove to Wyatt that I, Bernice Baransky, am cool, mature, and worthy of conversation. Wait. A. Minute. I’m starting to sound like Odelia!
As soon as I’m dressed, I hit the skate park. I go straight to the gate and reread the competition entry form.
I’ve practiced most of the tricks they expect to see, but I’m not one hundred percent sure I can pull them off without tripping. And I’ve got nothing for the half-pipe. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. Nothing.
I hear a roll and a screech near me, and move the paper enough to see it’s Wyatt. He steps off his board and leans against the gate. I can’t look at him because I’m thinking about my sweat—sweat that a second ago was nowhere, but that’s now dripping from my sports bra to my waist.
“You up for this, Dude?” Wyatt asks.
“Um, I, uh . . .” I do sound like a snoring octogenarian! I take a deep breath. In and out and try again. “Yes. I guess.” There. I made my best attempt.
I hear Odelia in the back of my brain. Ask a simple question. “Are you entering?”
Wyatt takes the form from me. It takes every smidgen of courage in my soul to look at him. He answers. “Yeah, Dude. It’ll be off the wall.”
And I’ve got zip. Nada. Nothing. My lips are stuck.
Wyatt steps back on his board and is about to take off. I catch sight of a tree swaying in the breeze, and it reminds me of what I should do. I pull myself up straighter, lock my eyes on his, and say, “Wait! I stink.” I mentally slap myself upside my head. I’m as poised and intelligent as dirt. I try again. “I mean; I stink at kick flips.”
“How’s your ollie?” Wyatt wants to know.
“Decent,” I answer. I hold my palms about a foot and a half off the ground to show him how high I can pop up my board. He didn’t see my fingers shaking, right?
“We can work with that. The higher you pop your ollie, the better.”
“They want a trick on the half,” I blurt out.
“With a competition like this, it might not be so much about the tricks. It’s probably about putting on a good show. You want me to help you?”
He wants to help me! I should shout for joy and thank him, but all I can do is nod. So I nod, twice.
“C’mon, Dude, time’s a wastin’. Let’s bounce.”
I bounce. I bounce after Wyatt like a bunny rabbit.
Wyatt spends an entire hour with me. First, he teaches me foot placement for kick flips, and he touches my foot to help me get in the right position on my board. I don’t faint, which is a big surprise, but I’ve gnawed off every fingernail except one. It’s not such a big surprise that I can’t keep the conversation going.
“Drag your front foot forward more!” he shouts as I ollie. “Kick toward the heel side of the nose. Like this.”
I do what he shows me. I succeed in getting the board to rotate, but I can’t land the trick. The board slides away, and I have nothing to step on but cement. My lack of talent is obvious. Wyatt suggests we move to the half-pipe to speed things up. Downhill, spine-tingling speed. Dang.
I’m relieved when Wyatt has me try a caveman on the half-pipe. This involves running only part of the way up and then jumping on the board and heading back down from there. I get up enough guts to do this a third of the way, then two-thirds. But I can’t start from the top. The last time I tried that, the person I most wanted to impress had to check to see if I was alive.
“Don’t worry, Dude. You’ll get braver,” Wyatt says as he leaves.
I’m extremely grateful he doesn’t turn around because my cheeks match the red graphic on his skateboard deck. I holler, “Later!” and ride away wondering if Wyatt has a clue about my real name. Or if it even matters.
I find myself thinking about my morning and about Odelia. Part of me wants to brag about how I actually got up the nerve to say a few words to Wyatt. Part of me knows it was a lame attempt at intelligent conversation. I wouldn’t mind Odelia’s company. There’s no one else who totally gets my Wyatt obsession.
After lunch, my cell rings. It’s Roxanne. “Winnie’s. Ten minutes. Be there.”
I don’t know how I’m going to
