Dear Mr. and Mrs. Baransky,
I am the person who deposited the baby girl on your doorstep twelve years ago. I’d like to know, is she happy? Have you told her how she came to live with you?
Allow me to explain. Due to unfortunate circumstances, I found myself in the unnatural position of having to mother this baby. I learned of your longing to have a baby through a family connection I have in the United States. Believing I was failing miserably at the task, I made the trip to the US with the infant and left her in your capable hands. I did what I felt was a noble act, knowing that you would be loving parents to a baby who was not your own.
You must be wondering why I am contacting you after all this time. I have lived with immense guilt for my actions, and I have discovered that my actions have consequences far greater than I ever realized. I must begin to make amends.
For now, all that I ask of you is to let the child know how she came into your lives.
The signature! I recognize that name! Why did she dump me on the Baransky doorstep? I don’t get it. I spring to my feet, but those feet are stuck to the ground. It’s hard to unstick them and drag myself home. But I do. When I finally get to our front step, Mom and Dad are there, peering out the screen door.
“Bern,” Dad says.
Mom pulls me inside. “We’re sorry we didn’t show you the letter sooner.” She wraps me in a bear hug.
Dad puts his arms around both of us. “Don’t worry, my cutie-patootie. You are a Baransky. Nothing else matters diddly. We’re a Baransky sandwich.”
They don’t get how big this is! They don’t understand that I know the person who wrote this letter. It’s a name that leaves me with a zillion questions, like: Why was I tricked? What’s been going on this summer? And who am I, really?
I am not in the mood to be a sandwich.
***
Hi Ho, Oh No, to the Skate-Off We Will Go
Come Saturday morning I get up and get ready for the Lawrence County Skate-Off. This is a special day for Smile Academy and the kids who go there. Despite what I’ve found in that letter, I have to finish what I started. Odelia is the only one who can help with the craziness I feel. I’ve tried to call her again and again, on her stupid house phone, of course. I’ve knocked on her door, and yelled her name in the middle of Station Street, but she doesn’t answer. And her house has been darker than dark. It looks deserted.
I throw on a striped gray tee and black shorts. My goal is to blend in with the boys today, not stick out. I have no idea if any other girls have entered. Anyway, Wyatt said that participating in this kind of event is mostly about putting on a good show. Good thing, because I haven’t actually mastered the rock and roll. I’ve been close. Today had better be the day it comes together.
At the park, council members are putting the finishing touches on a portable stage. A huge sign hangs over it:
PORCHTOWN WELCOMES
NO BOYS ALLOWED!
CONCERT WILL FOLLOW SKATE-OFF
PRIZE CEREMONY
No matter how I skate—if I land my tricks or do a faceplant in front of a hundred people—two things will happen: I’ll hear my favorite band. And most importantly, I’ll get some answers from Odelia. If she shows up! The last thought does nothing to calm my nerves.
The bleachers are packed, and I scan the seats. Mom stands and calls out, “Be radical, Bernice!”
Dad chimes in, “To the max, Bern!”
They both shoot me thumbs-up signs. I pretend I’m not related to them. Wait. A. Minute. I’m not related to them.
The panel of judges consists of a random bunch. There’s Elise Winters, the twenty-something surfer who is the secretary for Porchtown Parks and Rec; Jamie King, the old fart who shows up at the park to skate; Jeff Gregory, the publisher of Faceplant magazine; and Brandon Richards, a California semi-pro who recently got a sponsorship from Element, the skateboarding company.
I find the Mighty Munchkins Skate Team standing with Miss Robyn.
“Where’s Odelia?” I ask Miss Robyn. And to myself I say: She must be here. She’s got to be here. I’ve got to talk to her soon!
“She called and said she’ll be late, but she’s coming. Don’t the kids look amazing? Roxanne has outdone herself!”
I look from face to happy face. The girls are wearing blue eye shadow and a little mascara. Roxanne has used face paint to paint a huge red star on each of their left cheeks and a smiley face on their right. Their hair is pulled into low ponytails and a bright blue streak runs through each one. The boys have a royal blue lightning bolt that runs from cheek to chin, and spiky hair, which will get smashed by their helmets, but that’s okay. Miss Robyn made a special screened tee for each skater. A sequined girl or boy skateboarder is on the front along with the camper’s name. The Smile Academy logo, a daisy with a big smile in the center, is on the back. Fifteen ready-to-go skaters stand proudly holding a balloon in one hand and their skateboards and gear in the other. They’re an impressive bunch.
“Wyatt checked the equipment, and he checked the course,” Miss Robyn says. “I think we can begin. This is exciting! Did you see Nellie and her family sitting over there?”
Nellie’s dressed in a cheerleader outfit, holding her mom’s hand. Even with
