Skateboard Sibby

by Clare O'Connor

  Freddie tucks his blond curly hair behind his ears and asks me, “What’s your deal?”

  I fold my arms across my chest and am about to say, “What’s yours?” but before I get the words out, Charlie Parker Drysdale starts blabbing.

  He says, “Sibby’s from PEI. Hey,” he points to their boards, “she skateboards too. She was even in a competition. Now she lives with her grandparents because her dad lost his job building houses and they had to sell their—”

  And then I remember why I only ever talked to Charlie Parker Drysdale about pepperoni pizza and skateboarding.

  He has a very big mouth.

  “Hey,” my arms fall loose, and I sputter, “stop talking. And how do you even know all that?”

  “Your nan told one of my moms,” he says. “She said to be extra nice to you because—”

  “Extra nice?” I shout and I put my hand straight up, palm out. “STOP!” I mean who wants to hear someone say all the things you want to forget. And then say that they’re being extra nice to you because their mom said so.

  Charlie Parker Drysdale is definitely not my new best friend. Just decided.

  I can’t wait to tell Vera how her rules do not work at this school.

  “Why?” says Charlie Parker Drysdale. “What’s so wrong with—?”

  “Just zip it.” I turn my stop sign hand into one with a finger pointing straight at him.

  And then he gets that look on his face.

  It’s sort of like the look Dad had when he sold our tent at our third garage sale.

  “Sib,” Dad had said when he was gathering the tent to give to the man who bought it, “you sure you’re okay with this? Lots of good memories with this tent.”

  “Barely,” I had said.

  And then he had that look. Like when you’ve been practicing a trick over and over but you just keep bailing, and you feel like you’re never going to get it right. But what was I supposed to say? “No, Dad. Stop selling everything. I want to keep the tent and our house, but we can’t. And it’s your fault.”

  I don’t like being mad at him, but I can’t help it. It’s good that he and Mom stayed in Charlottetown to get our things organized, at least what’s left of our things.

  “But what’d I say wrong?” says Charlie Parker Drysdale.

  “Just quit…” I start to say, but then I remember what Vera said about being chill. I take a deep breath and sound as chill as I can when I say, “…talking. Just quit talking. Please.”

  “Weirdos,” says Freddie.

  “Hey,” says Jake to me. “Why do you care about a stupid sweater-whatever?”

  “Vest,” I say. “It’s a sweater-vest and why does he?” I point my nose toward Freddie.

  Freddie, Jake, and Charlie Parker Drysdale are all staring at me.

  I really wish I still had my skateboard. Standing on it gives me what Mom says Dad lost: confidence. My insides are feeling gross again.

  “What competition were you in?” asks Freddie.

  The thing about insides is that Freddie can’t see them. So, I make my outsides show confidence.

  “Charlottetown Invitational,” I say.

  “Never heard of it,” Freddie smirks. And then he looks over at the skateboard park again.

  Evan Rothsay had a look exactly like that when he thought he could beat me. Boy skaters are always thinking they can beat me.

  Freddie’s look tells me he’s thinking about daring me to skate against him, but I don’t want to. I can’t. I don’t even have a board.

  “Sibby came second,” blurts Charlie Parker Drysdale.

  I stare at him and just before I can give him a signal to zip it, he says, “And she won those shoes. Cool, right?”

  “Second,” laughs Freddie. “Big deal. Probably only her and some other loser competing anyway, which means she was last.”

  “What’s going on over there?” says the woman standing at the front entrance of the school.

  Everyone but me says, “Nothing.” I’m too busy trying to keep my insides calm to answer. This Freddie kid is really making me mad.

  When the woman looks away, he lowers his voice and says, “Let’s see if you can out skate me with the whole school watching.” He points to the skateboard park. “After school?”

  I want to yell “It’s on!” but I can’t. I don’t have a board. And it’s not like I can borrow one from Charlie Parker Drysdale. And I sure can’t beat Freddie with Esther’s scooter.

  When I don’t answer Freddie says, “See. Nothing but a poser.”

  “Hey,” I step toward Freddie. “I’m not a poser,” I tell him.

  Then we hear the woman at the front entrance of the school say, “Welcome back, everyone.”

  Freddie’s smirking at me like he’s already out skated me.

  “You in or out?” he says.

  “Are you ready to come inside?” shouts the woman.

  The kids in line shout, “YEAH!” Some are even jumping up and down.

  “Well?” says Freddie.

  I don’t answer.

  “Didn’t think so,” he says and he starts to walk away. I feel like I’ve been bullied. And bullies have caused me enough trouble.

  “IN!” I shout before Freddie gets out of earshot.

  Chapter 4

  It’s Not About a Sweater-vest

  Freddie and Jake go to the middle of the line and do exactly what they told me and Charlie Parker Drysdale we couldn’t. They cut. And no one stands up to them. Bullies always win.

  “Let me guess,” I say to Charlie Parker Drysdale. “Freddie and Jake are in our class?”

  “Uh-huh,” he says. “Freddie MacPhee and Jake Kwan. I’ve been in the same class with Freddie since first grade. Jake just moved here last year. He’s okay, but Esther said Freddie was acting kinda mean at the park before we got there.”

  “What’s his deal?” I ask.

  “Don’t know,” he answers. “Freddie’s been a jerk before, but that’s the worst I’ve ever seen him.”

  Charlie Parker Drysdale wipes his forehead.

  “Look.” He shows me his hand as the line starts to slowly move forward. “That whole thing made me sweat.”

  My eyes go from Charlie Parker Drysdale’s sweaty hand to his shiny black hair. It’s held in place with some kinda gel. I never use gel. When my bangs fall into my eyes, I just blow air at them. Fffffffpp.

  “Sibby, I know you’re a good skateboarder and everything, but so is Freddie.” He takes a cloth from his backpack and wipes the sweat off his hand. “He’s like, the best in our school.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say. “I won’t be living here or going to this stupid school for long. When Dad finds a new job, we’re going back home.”

  “That’s not what your nan told my moms,” says Charlie Parker Drysdale. “She said your dad might have to go away for work.” He puts the sweat-stained cloth back inside his backpack and keeps talking. “She said if that happens, you and your mom will be living with your grandparents for a long time.”

  “Dad will get a new job,” I snap. “Didn’t like his old one anyway,” I say, even though I know that’s not true.

  “Maybe I should just wear something that’s not a sweater-vest tomorrow,” he says. “Then nobody has to show up at the skateboard park and compete.”

  “No way,” I tell him and I stop walking. “Charlie Parker Drysdale,” I say quietly, “I know a few things about bullies. You can’t give in and let them tell you what you can do or what you can wear. If you do, all sorts of really bad things happen. Trust me. Really bad.”

  “It’s just once,” he says. “And why do you care so much about my sweater-vests?”

  “Ugh. It’s not about a sweater-vest,” I say. “It’s about not getting pushed around by a stupid, idiotic, jerk-face, cheese-head bully.” />
  “Okay, okay,” he says, and the way he says it tells me I’m not being chill. “Were you bullied at your old school or something? I don’t remember you being so…so…intense.”

  “No,” I say, and we start walking up the steps of the front entrance. “I wasn’t. But someone I know was.”

  “Was it your friend…um…what’s her name?” he asks. “Vera? Was it her?”

  I shake my head. “No,” I say.

  “Then who?” he asks.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say.

  If Charlie Parker Drysdale weren’t such a blabbermouth, I’d tell him.

  I’d tell him it was Dad.

  I’d tell him how I overheard Dad telling Mom he felt like he was being bullied into doing things he didn’t agree with in order to build houses faster. But I thought he’d just tell the bully to stop bullying. I mean why’s that so hard?

  Instead, he quit. He totally quit his job and we ended up selling things in yard sales. Next thing I know, a big ugly For Sale sign is sticking out of our front lawn and then Pops and I are driving over Confederation Bridge. For good. All because Dad didn’t stand up to a bully.

  What’s even worse than that? He didn’t tell me the truth. He said some made-up thing about how it was time to move on.

  But we didn’t move on. We just moved away.

  Charlie Parker Drysdale doesn’t know what happens when you let a bully push you around.

  “Do you like your sweater-vests?” I ask him when we’re walking inside.

  “Yeah. What’s not to like?” he says.

  “Then keep wearing ’em,” I say.

  “You sure sound like you know what you’re doing,” he tells me.

  I don’t.

  All I know is that I will never back down to a bully.

  Chapter 5

  Ghost Board

  Just inside the classroom, there are lots of hooks for coats and backpacks. There’s also a big yellow shelf that looks like a dresser without drawers. A few helmets, including the one Esther was wearing, are sitting on the very top. And there are exactly three skateboards on three separate shelves. Two of the skateboards have a black deck like my old one and look like the ones Freddie and Jake were holding. The third is sticking out of the shelf a little and has a wider deck with a design on it. And it has RageG3 wheels, which are really good for sliding.

  Heyyy, I say inside my head. Who owns that?

  Just thinking there is another skateboarder in the class makes me feel better. I mean maybe this one isn’t a total jerk. In my old classroom, we all had our very own shelves with our names on them so we’d all know who owned what. Not here. I hang my backpack on a hook. I miss having my very own shelf.

  The floor in the classroom looks shiny clean, but the smell of something stale fills my nose. It’s like I’m breathing in a stack of really old library books. Even though sunshine is streaming through the big windows along the wall on the other side of the room, the lights above are super bright. The back wall of the room is filled with posters that say things like Be a friend, and Listen, and Respect is best. The wall opposite the windows and closest to where I’m standing has a poster that says Every day is a good day to be kind. I’m betting the person who wrote those posters never had someone like Freddie in their class.

  Desks and chairs are all lined up one behind one another in four rows in front of me. There’s a big desk at the front with a whiteboard behind it. At my old school, the desks and chairs weren’t in rows. They were pulled together to make groups of six to a table. Vera was in my six. I think it’s better to have groups of six. Definitely.

  “Charlie, Sibby,” I hear Esther’s voice. She’s waving at us from her desk and pointing at a couple of empty desks behind hers.

  I follow Charlie Parker Drysdale but stop when the same woman from the schoolyard, the one who told Freddie, Jake, Charlie Parker Drysdale, and me to come inside, tells me her name is Ms. Anderson. She tells me she is my new teacher and asks me to follow her to the front of the class.

  Charlie Parker Drysdale is now sitting behind Esther. Hannah, the girl with the big glasses who was in line with Esther is now in the seat behind Charlie Parker Drysdale. They’re all smiling at me.

  “Everyone, I want to introduce you to a new student. She’s just moved here from…”

  Ms. Anderson waves her hands as she talks. She points toward me with her left hand. I notice her pinkie finger is crooked. I’ve never seen such a bent pinkie before. It’s so crooked it makes me look at my pinkie fingers.

  Nope. Not crooked.

  My eyes then look down at my red skate shoes.

  There are lots of scuffs on them but the one from Charlie Parker Drysdale’s backpack is the one I notice most. It makes me feel like I’m not a skateboarder anymore, just a regular kid with regular scuffs. My insides start feeling gross again.

  I look at Esther’s feet and then at Charlie Parker Drysdale’s. They’re both wearing what Charlie Parker Drysdale calls “loafers.” I call them “no-laces shoes.” I think shoes should have laces. I start to look around at everyone else’s shoes. A mix of laces and no-laces. And only two pairs of skateboard shoes. I look at the legs and then the faces those skateboard shoes belong to: Freddie and Jake.

  Who is the other skater? I wonder. I mean who would leave that board there if they weren’t in this class? A board without a skateboarder is spooky, it’s like…a ghost board.

  “…so please welcome Sybil Henry to our classroom,” says Ms. Anderson as she claps.

  Everyone—except Freddie—claps too. He whispers something to Jake who is sitting behind him and they both laugh.

  “You may take a seat, Sybil,” says Ms. Anderson. I look around. There is only one seat left. It’s across from Hannah, which is okay. But it’s behind Jake, which is not okay. But, at least I don’t have to sit behind, across from, or in front of Freddie.

  “Please stop snickering,” Ms. Anderson tells Freddie and Jake. Jake stops but Freddie doesn’t, which makes Ms. Anderson tell me to stop walking.

  “I have an idea,” she says. “Jake, please move back a seat.” And then Ms. Anderson lifts her crooked pinkie hand into the air, points her index finger in the worst direction possible, and tells me to take the seat right behind total jerk-face Freddie’s.

  “Well that figures,” I say without realizing that it came out louder than I meant.

  “What’s that, Sybil?” asks Ms. Anderson.

  “Nothing,” I say. “But, Ms. Anderson?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can you please call me Sibby? Everyone does.”

  “Please take your seat, Sybil,” she says. Ms. Anderson is not such a good listener.

  “Cool. Now you’re right across from me,” says a smiling Charlie Parker Drysdale.

  I nod and say, “Uh-huh.” And, for a second, I think maybe it won’t be totally horrible.

  But then, just as I am about to walk past Freddie, he sticks his foot out.

  Stupid bully.

  I lift my foot high enough to go over his.

  “Joke’s on you,” I whisper as I bring my foot down.

  “Ahhhh!” Freddie yells.

  Everyone turns toward Freddie, including Ms. Anderson. “What’s the matter, Frederick?” she asks.

  There’s lots of laughing and snickering. I think it’s because Ms. Anderson calls Freddie Frederick.

  “Sy…bil stepped on my foot,” he says.

  “Sorry, Ms. Anderson,” I say. “Stepping on Fred…erick’s foot was an accident.”

  Except it wasn’t.

  “Didn’t hurt,” says Freddie, holding his breath.

  “Did too,” I whisper.

  “Fine then,” says Ms. Anderson, and she goes back to moving papers around at the front of the room.

  “Man, you’re gonna lose big after school,
” whispers Freddie. “And everyone will be there to watch. Everyone!”

  “Do I look worried?” I whisper back. “Because I’m not.”

  Secretly, I am pretty worried. I mean I don’t even have a board. I look behind me at the shelf with the ghost board.

  Or do I?

  And then I hear Vera’s voice inside my head saying, Sibby. Don’t. Just. Don’t.

  Chapter 6

  My Summer? Don’t Ask

  The rest of the morning Freddie is on his best behavior. He says “Yes, Ms. Anderson” and “No, Ms. Anderson” a lot.

  Jake barely talks, except during English. He seems to know all the answers.

  Ms. Anderson asks for volunteers to tell the class what they did for summer vacation. I absolutely do not raise my hand, but Charlie Parker Drysdale does.

  “It’s important to think back on happy memories,” says Ms. Anderson. She looks at Freddie when she’s talking. “They’ll make you feel good, like on a cold winter’s day when you miss the warm sunshine. Recalling a happy memory of playing on the beach on a beautiful day helps. At least it does for me. Charles, let’s start with you.”

  “We went to visit my uncle in Toronto,” says Charlie Parker Drysdale. He doesn’t talk much about Toronto or his uncle. He mostly talks about the Ontario Science Centre.

  He holds his hands out in front of him and spreads his fingers apart when he talks.

  Pinkies look normal.

  “…and Uncle Mike even bought me this,” he says and gently lifts up a weird-looking brown rock. “It was in the gift shop.”

  “What is it?” asks Jake. He reaches across the row and touches the rock.

  “It kind of looks like,” starts Freddie, “…like—”

  “It’s dinosaur poop,” says Charlie Parker Drysdale.

  “WHAT?” yells Jake and he pulls his hand back. “Serious? I just touched poop?”

  Everyone bursts out laughing. Freddie laughs so hard he almost falls out of his seat.

  Esther is laughing too, but then puts her hands over her mouth to try to stop when she sees that Charlie Parker Drysdale isn’t laughing. He’s just staring at his dinosaur poop and smiling.