“Are you for real?” I poke her shoulder. “You feel real.”
“What an odd question.” Odelia presses her lips together. “Yes, Bernice. I am real. And please, don’t let me keep you from your household chores. Is there a mean stepmother in your life who makes you weed gardens?”
“No, I have a nice mom. What I’m doing here . . .” I pause and yank up a stubborn dandelion, “is not dreadful. It’s something I do to help out my neighbor, and she pays me. I bet you wouldn’t be caught dead doing any kind of job.” I pound the dirt with my garden shovel and don’t look up at Odelia. I can’t believe I’m having this awkward conversation.
“Don’t assume things about me!” Odelia says. She takes a big breath. “I do have a job—one that is better explained as a royal responsibility. If I do what’s expected of me, I’ll earn the respect of my godmother and be rightfully rewarded.”
I shade my eyes from the sun and gaze up at the princess. Her chin is tilted ever so slightly upward, like she’s so much better than me. “A royal responsibility?” I ask. “I’m not buying it. What exactly is ‘expected’ of you?”
“Haven’t you figured it out, Bernice?”
“Nope,” I say. “Not a clue.”
Odelia sighs. “I’m expected to befriend you.”
I’m pretty sure I’m the only kid who comes with a neighbor who has to be my friend because of a royal proclamation. “You’ve got to be kidding. How old are you, anyway?”
“I am thirteen,” Odelia answers. “And one-half.” She picks at her manicured nails, as if our conversation is a total waste of her time.
“You act much older.”
Odelia twirls a strand of hair that has escaped from her bun. “I don’t know how to act any other way.”
“If you’re a princess, there must be a prince around here somewhere. Is there?” I ask.
Odelia’s peachy cheeks turn apple red. She studies her reflection in her shiny slippers. “Yes, there is a prince nearby. He moved here shortly after we did. But I don’t want to talk about Prince Chancellor Pomegranate.”
“Chancellor Pomegranate?” I say, giggling. “You’re kidding! That’s a ridiculous name!”
Odelia scoffs. “Do you have a prince?”
“Of course not!” But Wyatt, a cute skater I’ve seen at the park, crosses my mind. He’s totally prince material.
Odelia raises her left eyebrow, keeping the right one glued in place. “Don’t be rude, Bernice. You would benefit from what I know of the social graces.”
“What?” I ask, copying her tricky eyebrow thing, hoping she’ll laugh off the princess act, tell me this has all been a joke, and suddenly be normal.
“Everyone should be aware of the basic social graces—appropriate hygiene, posture, manners, etc.” Odelia’s face is stone. She’s dead serious.
I need to get away from this weirdo. I back away, and go over to the shed to dump the garden tools. Inside it’s cool and damp. My head is swimming, probably from hanging out in the hot sun for the last two hours. Thinking about Odelia, I’ve decided she must’ve camped out in the hot sun her entire life.
As I lock up the shed, I say, “I’m going home now.”
But the garden is empty. Odelia’s gone.
***
The Pied Piper and the Pipe
The last couple of days I’ve gardened my butt off, and Mrs. Martin’s gardens are finally done. My wallet is twenty-five dollars heavier, and once I get cleaned up, I’m heading to my favorite hangout—the skate park, a few blocks away. Once upon a time, a group of high school kids successfully petitioned the Parks and Recreation Council to build the Porchtown Skate Park in two of the three unused tennis courts. Mom didn’t let me skate there by myself until this summer. After a couple of years practicing in my driveway on plywood junk, I couldn’t wait to try out the ramps, rails, bowls, and quarter-pipe. And they’ve added an eight-foot half-pipe in the third unused tennis court. So scary. You can bail on every other trick in the park, but once you drop in on that thing, you’re going nowhere but down. My goal is to get up enough nerve to try it before the summer’s over. Maybe even land a trick on it.
I change out of my muddy shirt and put on a fresh tee shirt. It’s not exactly fresh. I wore it twice this week. No need for a shower because in fifteen minutes the stink I have on now will be replaced with an even stinkier stink. I tuck my wayward curls inside my beanie, then rip off the stringy threads that dangle from the sweat pants I cut off last week. They’ll annoy me when I’m flying down the ramps. After tightening the laces on my favorite checkered skater shoes, I grab my gear, and go out the front door. I’m about to take off when I spot Odelia. She’s hustling and bustling in my direction. If my skateboard had rocket boosters, I’d be halfway to Mars.
“Bernice! Where are you going?”
I check up and down my street to make sure no one sees me with a prom queen in July. Odelia’s gown is midnight-blue today and although it’s extremely beautiful—she is extremely beautiful—I will lose whatever sketchy bit of coolness I have if I’m seen in public with this lunatic.
“You should answer when someone asks you a question,” Odelia says.
“I’m going away from you,” I mumble.
“Speak up, Bernice. Don’t mumble-jumble. Where are you going?”
“Skate park,” I tell her.
“A park?” Odelia asks. “Is this place for young ladies only? Or will young men be there? Shouldn’t you put something else on?”
I ignore most of her questions because . . . well, they’re stupid. “Hey, you’re
