“They’re pink sneakers,” I say. “Stop obsessing and get over here so I can teach you how to ride that clunker of a board you’re holding. The kids will be out here soon. If you want to help, you’ve got to be able to skate, at least.”
Roxanne jogs over. She’s decked out in a white-and-turquoise helmet, knee, elbow, and wrist guards. She’s wearing gloves, too, probably because they go with everything else.
After five minutes, I realize two things: One, Roxanne is not a fast learner, and two, she’s about as coordinated as an elephant on a snowboard.
“The last time you had your left foot forward; now, it’s your right!” I yell. “C’mon, Roxanne, get with it. Decide!”
Roxanne is a wreck. “They both feel the same. I have no balance. It doesn’t matter which foot is in front.”
“Just pick one. Which is more comfortable?”
“Neither!” Roxanne shouts. “Don’t let go of me, Bernie. BERNIE! Hold my hand!”
“I am. Stop being a wuss. Try it on your own, will you? Please?”
In a moment of bravery, Roxanne yanks herself away from me and shoves off, riding straight to the edge of the parking lot. When she hits the dirt, the board stops, and she does a faceplant onto the ground.
“That was lame, Roxanne. Seriously.”
“I hate skateboarding,” she says. She throws her board to the side, and storms inside.
I jump on my board and catch up to Odelia, who’s riding my old longboard, looking quite comfy on it. She’s weaving in and out of the cones as effortlessly as a surfer on a wave. “Roxanne is hopeless,” I tell her. “She can’t go three feet. It’s pitiful.”
“I heard,” Odelia answers. Then she swerves in front of me and cuts me off. I have to stomp my foot down to keep from slamming into her! “When you teach, an ugly part of your personality rears its ugly head.”
“What’s on your mind, Odelia?”
“Why, another lesson, of course.” From her backpack, she pulls out her trusty guide. I grab it, and read it in a hurry:
“ODELIA’S GUIDE TO THE SOCIAL GRACES
LESSON 11: DON’T BE A SPORTY DORK
OBJECTIVE: Bernice will discover how being a good teacher begins with being a good sport. (Note: Bernice’s sportsmanship reminds me of the huntsman who lost his patience with the sport because the deer did not shoot itself.)”
I toss the notebook back to Odelia. “What do you expect me to do?”
“Remember when you showed Robbie and Claire how to build a tower? You had to be really sweet and patient.”
“I lost all my patience today. I’m such a loser,” I say. Some days I feel like the whole world is out to get me.
“You’re not a loser,” Odelia says. “Look at how far you’ve come with Wyatt. Treat everyone like you treat him. Be nice. You’ll reap the rewards of your efforts. Just as I have reaped the rewards of being your social graces teacher.”
“What reward did you get?” I ask.
“Haven’t you figured it out, Bernice? I have fulfilled my responsibility to Serena. She asked that we become friends, and we have!” Odelia looks at me with questioning eyes, and I give her a quick shoulder nudge to reassure her.
“Good friends,” I say. No doubt about it. Odelia is my good friend. I truly like her. And look how she’s changed! No more princess gowns! She’s wearing a purple-and-maroon skirt that is slightly above her knees, a gauzy peasant shirt, and a crocheted vest with a sun and a moon on the front. The Bohemian vibe suits her. I wonder if her personal seamstress made these or if Serena bought them. Which reminds me, “Hey, Odelia, did you push Serena for info on your parents’ deaths. Did you find out anything?”
Odelia stops. “How considerate of you to ask!” She pops up her skateboard to her hand and I do the same. We walk to the door where the kids are lining up, ready to join us. “Serena doesn’t give out information easily.” Odelia picks at her nail polish and a bit chips off. “I prodded and pried and discovered that my father lived only one week following the death of my mother. Many years ago, I was told he died of a broken heart. I’ve assumed he was so saddened by my mother’s death that he couldn’t go on. But I was wrong. My father died of a heart that was broken. Serena tells me that he had severe pains in his chest and his heart simply stopped.”
“A heart attack?”
“Yes.” Odelia continues. “And there’s more. I know that my mother died; however, and this has been a family secret that Serena has kept, she died in childbirth.”
“That is so sad,” I say. “And the baby?”
“There is no baby.” Odelia sniffs. “I don’t have a sibling.”
I wrap my arms around Odelia. Both our families are super secret-keepers.
“We need to have some fun,” I tell Odelia. “There are campers here who have to learn to skate.”
Odelia raises her left eyebrow.
“I promise not to be a sporty dork,” I tell her.
The Three Little Bigs
When the kids come out after lunch, I recognize Robbie, Elizabeth, Claire, Timothy, Angelo, Joe, and Sammy, but others I know aren’t here. And Nellie is missing, which makes me very sad. Some of the parents have showed up to watch, which I appreciate because at least two campers outweigh me by ten pounds.
Miss Robyn joins us. She has on her safety gear and a sweet-looking skateboard sits at her feet. She touches a toe to the nose, pushes it forward and rocks it back. I get the feeling she’s not about to stand on it anytime soon.
“I love your board!” I tell her. “The graphics are awesome.”
This may have been a mistake. The kids break out in a “Made of awesome! Made of awesome!” cheer. It takes Miss Robyn a few minutes to calm them down and get them back on track.
Odelia takes
