The Wimpy Dragon Slayer
The wind is stronger than usual today. I hope it’s not a nor’easter brewing because three days of bad weather will totally mess up my practice schedule. With any luck, it’ll die down by the time I’m done at Smile Academy. If I’m found moping around the house, Mom will include me in her conversation with her supplies. Not that I couldn’t use the practice.
Odelia isn’t at the academy today. I have no idea why. I picture her walking aimlessly around her mansion trying to figure out how to impress Serena. What would it take to impress that godmother?
A camper named Timothy is busy not impressing Miss Robyn. He’s hopscotching across the playroom using the squares on the linoleum. With Miss Robyn’s permission, I do my best to hopscotch him back to his seat. He sits there until I turn around, then he’s at it again. Angelo thinks this is hysterical, and joins in Timothy’s game. Angelo laughs like a hyperactive hyena and it’s contagious. Soon every kid is hopscotching and giggling. Miss Robyn stops the chaos and puts on a movie about taking care of pets. In one scene, a dog pees on a newspaper and makes a funny design. The highlight of my day comes when shy Sammy asks if he can try that.
By one o’clock, the wind’s turned into a bearable breeze, and I’m at the park. Wyatt is nowhere, and this day has a friendless vibe about it. With the exception of an old fart who’s reliving his youth, and two shortie shredders, I have every obstacle to myself, including the half-pipe. I warm up by practicing the tricks I have to do for the skate-off: ollies, pop shove-its, and grinds. I have to be able to nail the easier 50-50 grind, which shouldn’t be a problem. If I want to score points, I should pull off a complete 5-0 grind. Not going to happen.
When I take a water break, I see Odelia perched on the bleachers. I check her out twice because she’s minus one princess gown and one princess tiara. She has on a baggy tunic-type thing in an obnoxiously bright coral color fit for a Florida grandmom. It’s better than the jumper she wore to Winnie’s. Not as lacy. No less geeky. She’s resting her chin on a palm and has bored written all over her milky complexion.
“Hey,” I call. “Why didn’t you come to camp this morning?”
Odelia answers, “I had an appointment with a nosy doctor who wanted nothing more than for me to relate my life’s story. And now I’m in a foul mood.”
I wonder if Odelia’s doctor is a therapist who is helping her get her head on straight. I can tell she doesn’t want to fill me in, so I change the subject by asking, “You want to skate?”
Odelia pounces off the bleacher seat, and shouts, “Yes, Bernice! I would! Can you teach me?”
In half a minute, she’s by my side. I can’t resist this—what was that word she used? Serendipitous. I can’t resist this serendipitous turn of events. In my most stuffy voice, I tell Odelia, “I will now proceed to teach you how to skateboard.” I take out an invisible notebook, and read:
“BERNICE’S GUIDE TO SOCIAL SKATEBOARDING
LESSON 1: STANCE
OBJECTIVE: Odelia will learn where to place her slippered feet so that after she pushes off, she will balance deliberately on the skateboard and will not land on her strong gluteus maximus. (Odelia has the feet of a giant. Like size ten, at least. And the butt of an Olympic gymnast.)”
Odelia checks out her feet, tilting them left and right. She tries to check out her butt, but ends up wiggling like a dog chasing her tail.
“I’m enormous?” she asks.
I put my hand on her shoulder. “No. No way. I was only messing with you. I meant—”
She takes my hand and holds it. “You speak the truth.”
“Just say okay,” I tell her.
Odelia nods. “Oh . . . Kay. Serena insists I look like a brick house, meaning that I’m stiff and strong. I’ve never figured out if being compared to a house is good or bad. Can you teach a brick house how to skate?”
“If you’re a brick house, then I’m the skinny mortar. We’ll stick together.” I pick up each one of Odelia’s feet and put them on a specific spot on my skateboard. Then I peel away the fingernails that are digging into my shoulders, and give her a teeny shove. “Go!” I yell. “Bend your knees!”
Odelia’s body tips and her arms flail about like they’re not attached, but she stays on. Her balance is incredible! After fifteen minutes, she’s pushing off on her own and yelling, “Wah hoo!” like every other newbie who scores a ride.
I rest against the chain link fence and think about my day. I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. Roxanne and I don’t have this much fun anymore. With Roxanne, it’s all about her. When’s her next audition? What’s her mom forcing her to do now? What’s the latest hairstyle? Who is the cutest boy she knows? Roxanne could benefit from lesson five on conversation. She’s not interested in what I do, and she never asks about my life, except if something’s in it for her. Like the fact that she wants me to call her before I hit the park, so she can show up and I can introduce her to Wyatt. I just remembered I forgot to do this.
Soon Odelia catches up to me. “I’m finished with this unforgiving slab,” she says, shoving my skateboard into my arms.
Her cheeks are flushed and her eyebrows are wet with sweat, yet she’s smiling.
