The kids stop what they’re doing. They don’t get what I mean.
“You need to practice! Practice, practice, practice!” I say, waving my hands wildly, and then jamming them on my hips. I’m my mother on a day when she’s yelling at her supplies. Or at me. “You can’t give up now! Get your skateboards!” I don’t care if I’m a sporty dork. I have to get through to the campers.
About half of the group starts skating. The others ignore me, and Miss Robyn says to leave them be. I teach Claire how to roll and stop, and kick the board into her hand. But Claire’s glasses keep getting sweaty and sliding down her nose and everything’s off by a couple of inches. I attempt to show Joe how to turn, but his favorite thing to do today is hug me, so I’m getting nowhere. Sammy’s being cooperative, and he’s discovered how fun it is to skate up my old, homemade mini ramp that Dad dropped off earlier. I need to stay downwind of Sammy because Sammy needs to discover something else—how not to fart in public.
We never make it to the skate park. Odelia is quiet on the ride home. I get the feeling I’m in for a lesson, although I can’t imagine what it would be. When we get near my house, she pulls out the guide, and I read it out loud:
“ODELIA’S GUIDE TO THE SOCIAL GRACES
LESSON 12: BE A MIRROR TO THYSELF
OBJECTIVE: Bernice will practice . . .”
I slam the book shut. “I have been practicing! I’ve been practicing lessons one through eleven; I’ve been practicing with the Smile Academy kids; I’ve been practicing forever! My brain and body need a vacation.”
“Finish reading, Bernice.”
I open the notebook and say in a flat voice:
“LESSON 12: BE A MIRROR TO THYSELF
OBJECTIVE: Bernice will practice understanding others. (Note to self: Bernice has the empathy of a shepherd who can’t figure out why the sheep run when the farmer shows up with the clippers.)”
I roll my eyes. I’m lessoned out.
“Think about what causes people to act the way they do,” Odelia says in her teacher voice.
By now, I’m sitting on my front porch, and Odelia is pacing up and down the sidewalk. I feel like I’m watching a sad documentary on my life.
“For example,” Odelia continues, “Maybe Elizabeth didn’t forget what she learned; maybe she got scared. And Robbie and Angelo weren’t being stubborn; they were bored. Follow-the-Leader was more interesting. Also, you assumed that Timothy didn’t want to practice because he was doing jumping jacks. To him, skating is like jumping and he was practicing. As for Claire, she’s a dreamer. Remember what it’s like to sit and dream, Bernice?”
Tiny tears are forming in the corners of my eyes. I quickly pinch my tear ducts and make them disappear. Odelia didn’t see them, right?
“Walk in another person’s shoes, Bernice,” Odelia says. She clicks her heels together like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.
Those heels are getting blurry. I turn and do a couple of fake sneezes, so Odelia doesn’t catch me being all emotional. Skaters don’t get emotional. When I look up, she’s gone.
I stay on my front steps for a half-hour. For the first time, three things are crystal clear: One, Odelia is far smarter than any thirteen-year-old I’ve ever met. Two, Roxanne is right. Odelia’s nice. Tough, but nice. And three, there’s a chance that by the time I get to middle school, the rough edges Odelia saw in me at the beginning of the summer will be as smooth as a newly sanded ramp. I, Bernice Baransky, will go to middle school with a few social skills. Skills that will help me fit into a scary new school with scary people who aren’t like me. Skills that will help me understand them. I sniffle because, well, that last thought deserves a sniffle.
***
Roxanne, Roxanne, Let Down Their Hair
We’ve been practicing almost every day, and the days fly by. In the Smile Academy parking lot and at the park, the kids have really stepped up. They’ve been tackling their tricks and perfecting them. It’s like they’ve instantly discovered how cool it is to skate with each other. There’s never a harsh word or a bad remark from one kid to the next. They’re always smiling, even when they mess up. And I’m smiling a lot more, too. The Lawrence County Skate-Off is tomorrow, and I think we’re ready.
Today Robbie, Joe, and Tony, who’s officially Hawk, are watching Wyatt as he demonstrates how to ollie up small ledges. Their attention is glued on Wyatt’s every word. If we can get through the next couple of hours of board-flipping before anyone knocks out a front tooth, I’ll be happy. I’ll be happier than happy if I can land my rock and roll at the competition. Since I’ve been spending a lot of time with the campers, my practice time has been cut in half.
I see Roxanne’s mom’s car parked near the gate of the skate park. When I get a break, I skate over to see what’s going on. The tailgate is up and the back is stocked with a ton of hair and beauty supplies.
“How’d you get your mom to do this?” I ask. I pick up a hair tie and sweep my sweaty strands into a very short ponytail. It sticks out the back like an arrow. Roxanne makes a face. I’ve obviously committed a terrible hair crime.
“Easy,” she says. “I asked Miss Robyn to call her and explain how she needed me to make the kids look their best. My mom couldn’t say no, or she would look bad.”
Claire skates over and Roxanne begins to twist pieces of her hair. It ends up in a complicated braid that starts by her ears and goes into a bow-like arrangement at the base of Claire’s neck. “It’s
