Wyatt gives me a friendly push. “Do it, Dude.”
I walk up to the top of the half-pipe, adjust my elbow pad, and switch knee pads. I take off my helmet, untwist the buckle, and put it on again.
“GO!” Wyatt yells.
I scan the bleachers for Odelia or my mighty munchkins. No cheerleaders. I’m on my own. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I jump on my board and drop in. My practice has paid off. This part I can do. I roll up the other side, a little farther than the midway point, and pull off a clean kick turn.
“Faster!” Wyatt yells. “You’ve gotta go faster. Don’t turn. You’ve gotta bang those trucks over the coping.”
“Get ready to call 9-1-1,” I shout. On the next run, I pump my legs harder on the drop. I’m going fast. Too fast! I’m about to fly over the coping!
Luckily, the steep upside slows me down to the best possible speed, and I go for it. I pop up the front wheels, but when I rotate, my butt rotates to the ground. THUD! Wyatt asks if I need help. I signal to him that I don’t. I shake off the pain, and take off to try again. After another fall, I tell him to not waste any more time on me and to go practice his own moves for the skate-off. I’m proud of myself for speaking the “song of my heart,” as Odelia puts it. Wyatt leaves and once I’m alone, I can finally breathe normally again.
After ten tries, I’m really good at getting the nose over. After fifteen, I get my deck on the coping, but can’t get that 180 down for the re-entry. So frustrating! I have had enough. I am exhausted. I am sore. I am thirsty. I have a bloody nose. And the zit I felt earlier has decided it is show-time. “Fiddlesticks!” I rip off my helmet, stretch out the kinks in my legs and arms, and search for Wyatt. He’s not anywhere inside the park. Then I spot him. He’s sitting on bleachers. With Roxanne.
I slap the tail end of my board against the ground and kick it up into my hand. I walk home. Alone.
***
Queen for a Day
The next day, I find Odelia sitting on my sliding board, waving her pink notebook at me. “Hi, Bernice,” she calls.
“No more worthless lessons,” I say. “They don’t matter anymore. Wyatt doesn’t matter anymore. He’d rather be friends with Roxanne.”
“My lessons aren’t worthless and Wyatt does matter. As for Roxanne, she’s the girl I saw you with at Winnie’s?”
“That’s her. Be glad you don’t know her. We are . . . we were best friends, but she officially met Wyatt yesterday, and I found them on the bleachers having a crafty conversation of their own.”
“They could’ve been chatting about the weather for all you know, Bernice.”
“I know. I’m not mad at him. It’s actually Roxanne who’s been getting on my nerves lately. I’m tired of hearing about her life. Tired of having my world revolve around hers.”
“Maybe that’s why she values your friendship,” Odelia says. “She needs you. You are everything she’s not. I think she talks about herself because she seeks your approval.”
Dr. Odelia should have her own show. But what she’s saying makes sense. I have it good compared to Roxanne. My parents let me do what I like to do; they never make me feel bad about myself. Except for that time in the VW when Mom commented about Odelia’s politeness rubbing off on me, but that was nothing. My parents don’t nag. Roxanne’s mom is a pain in the butt.
Odelia is snapping her fingers at me. “Let’s move on. I’ve been making notes and have found a flaw we must work on.”
I put my head in my hands. “Another flaw? That’s. Just. Great.”
Odelia holds up the notebook. She taps on a page:
“ODELIA’S GUIDE TO THE SOCIAL GRACES
LESSON 7: MANNERS
OBJECTIVE: Bernice will understand the importance of manners and how the use of manners at home, school, and other social settings will diminish her awkwardness. (Note to self: Bernice’s manners, or lack thereof, leaves a taste of vinegar in one’s mouth.)”
Odelia runs up the sliding board and stands on the platform. “Attention! Attention! Queen Odelia reigns supreme. Ye must listen to the queen.”
“You’re not the Queen of Porchtown.”
“Ha! All princesses become queens.” Odelia stands, chin held high. “Are you practicing what you’ve learned?”
I shade my eyes from the sun and call up to the queen. “I think about you and those lessons a lot. I was a real charmer around Wyatt until Roxanne showed up.”
Odelia studies her notebook. “As I stated, our lesson today is on manners.”
“I’ve got enough manners,” I say defiantly. “I’m not a please-and-thank-you person. But I’m not rude.” In a flash, I replay what happened with Robbie yesterday, and think twice about what I spit out to Odelia.
“Manners don’t come naturally to you, Bernice. Let’s review the proper use of please and thank you. There have been times when you should have said these words.”
“I’m not a four-year-old. I don’t need a lesson fit for a preschooler.” I plop on a swing, pull back on the chains, lift my feet and stay there, staring at the sky. I am totally a four-year-old sometimes.
Odelia tosses a paper to me. She has written down every time I’ve forgotten to say please since we’ve met. There are ten entries. Another list shows the five times I’ve forgotten to thank somebody, and those bodies include my parents, Miss Robyn, the cashier lady at the mall, and a couple of other people I never thought to say thank you to. Odelia also points out that I
