“Is that what was in your backpack?” I ask.
“Yep,” says Charlie Parker Drysdale. “Too bad about your foot, but I’m glad it didn’t hit the ground.”
“POOP!” shouts Freddie, now plugging his nose, and making everyone laugh again.
“Settle down please,” says Ms. Anderson, clapping twice. “Let’s let Charles finish.”
“It’s not real dinosaur poop,” says Esther.
“Um, no kidding,” says Hannah. “The last known dinosaur was extinct more than sixty million years ago.”
“Yeah, it’s a replica,” adds Charlie Parker Drysdale.
“A fake, then,” says Hannah.
“No,” says Charlie Parker Drysdale. “Well, not exactly.”
“A replica is a copy,” says Esther. “Like my sister’s purses. They look just like the expensive ones but they’re not. They’re copies that look like the real thing.”
“Right,” says Hannah, “I know what replica means. Means it’s a fake.” Her voice sounds funny, like mine does when I have a cold.
“It’s a replica,” insists Charlie Parker Drysdale.
Weird, I think to myself, because he seems madder about Hannah calling out his replica than he did about Freddie pushing him around.
“Doesn’t matter. Jake touched poop,” says Freddie. He starts laughing all over again.
“That’s enough,” says Ms. Anderson. “Charles, it sounds like you had a nice visit. Thanks for showing us your souvenir. Let’s hear from someone else.”
Esther waves her hand but Ms. Anderson says, “Hannah. How was your summer?”
Hannah talks about not liking this year’s “potent pollen,” but then she says she went to something called Debate Camp.
“I was so excited when I got in,” she says. And she looks around the room. “It fills up quick.”
“Serious?” says Freddie. “Sounds boring.”
“Frederick,” says Ms. Anderson. “I think Debate Camp sounds very interesting. Learning how to express your ideas is very important. Good for you, Hannah. What else did you do?”
Then Hannah says she helped her older brothers build a sand castle. She says there was a competition at a place called Clam Harbour Beach.
“Did you win?” asks Freddie.
“No,” she shakes her head.
“Lame,” he whispers.
“What kind of castle did you make?” asks Esther.
“A clam,” says Hannah, and that makes everyone but Hannah laugh.
“Too bad it wasn’t a dinosaur poop castle. Jake would’ve helped,” says Freddie. Everyone starts laughing again.
“Quiet please,” says Ms. Anderson. “Thank you, Hannah. Esther, what about you?”
Esther talks mostly about spending time at her family’s cottage.
“And what did you do there?” asks Ms. Anderson.
“I read a lot,” says Esther. “Mostly fashion magazines. And I mixed colors for painting toenails,” she says.
That sounds like the most terrible way to spend the summer. It even makes me think maybe mine wasn’t totally awful. Then I change my mind and decide that it was. It was totally awful.
“Esther’s parents leave her at the cottage during the day with her sister, but her sister spends all her time on the phone with—”
“Charlie,” shouts Esther.
“What’d I do now?” he says and looks at me and then at Esther and back at me.
“Stop telling other people’s stuff,” I say quietly. “Come on.”
“But…” he says.
“And then Mom bought me a scooter so I could spend time at the new skatepark and meet more people,” says Esther.
“Scooters shouldn’t be allowed at a park like that,” says Freddie.
“Frederick!” says Ms. Anderson. “Please don’t make me ask you again to be more respectful.”
“Yeah. Can’t you read the poster?” I whisper and point to the wall.
“Poser,” Freddie says but he doesn’t whisper. “Oops,” he says when Ms. Anderson looks at him.
Her face looks mad and sad all at the same time. It’s like Freddie is really bugging her, but she feels sad about it. She takes a deep breath.
Take two breaths, is what I want to tell Ms. Anderson. One is not enough when it comes to total jerk-face cheese-head Freddie.
“Sybil,” says Ms. Anderson. “Would you like to tell us about your summer?”
I wouldn’t. I really, really, REALLY would not like to talk about my summer.
Everyone is looking at me.
A whole bunch of memories flash inside my head like pictures.
They go like this:
Vera’s sad face when I told her I had to move.
Watching our tent be driven away in someone else’s car.
Dad’s face when SOLD was put over For Sale on the sign in our yard. It was like if he stared at it long enough, he could make everything different. You can’t make something be different by staring at it. I’ve tried.
“Sybil,” says Ms. Anderson again. “We would like to hear all about your summer. Could you please share a little about what you did?”
“Um…not much,” I say. “Mostly skateboarding.”
“You mean bailing,” whispers Freddie.
Jerk-face, I want to say back, but I can’t. Ms. Anderson is looking at me. She’s looking like Mom does when she asks about my day and I say, “Good.” She’s looking at me like she wants more.
“She came second in a competition,” says Charlie Parker Drysdale, and then he puts his hands to his mouth.
“Oops,” he says through his hands.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I say.
Just reminds me about not having my skateboard. And that makes my insides feel gross.
“I wouldn’t want to talk about losing, either,” whispers Freddie.
“What about moving to a new town and a whole new province?” asks Ms. Anderson. “That’s a big thing. Do you want to tell us about that?”
“Um. I went camping,” I lie, but I don’t want to talk about moving either. I sure wish Ms. Anderson would ask someone else. She doesn’t. She’s still looking at me, so I say, “How about Freddie?”
I am staring at the back of Freddie’s head. It tilts forward like he’s looking down at his desk.
Guess he doesn’t want to talk about his summer either, I say to myself.
Ms. Anderson looks at her watch and says that we’ve run out of time.
“Um, no,” says Hannah. “We still have a few minutes.”
Ms. Anderson ignores Hannah. “Dismissed until one o’clock,” she says.
Ms. Anderson has blond hair just like Freddie’s, except hers is really long and a little less curly. She sees me looking at her and smiles the same way Dad smiled when the guy who sold our house came to tell him and Mom the news. Dad smiled with his mouth, but his eyes were not smiling. Ms. Anderson’s eyes are not smiling.
Chapter 7
Lunchroom Drama
The lunchroom at my old school had windows on both sides of the room. You could eat your sandwich and look outside and see trees everywhere. Once Vera and I pretended we were in a tree house. Just like my new classroom, this lunchroom only has windows on one side; except you can’t see trees when you look outside, just sky and part of the skatepark.
My old lunchroom was better.
Definitely.
I look for Charlie Parker Drysdale, Hannah, and Esther. They’re at the back of the room talking to a man dressed in gray overalls.
I start walking toward them when I see Jake and the same boys who were standing around Freddie when we were in the line. They’re all at a table on my right.
Jake’s facing me, but doesn’t see me. He’s looking really focused on whatever they’re ta
lking about.
“No way,” I hear one of the boys say when I get closer. “Why?”
“Dunno,” says Jake. “Didn’t say. I don’t get it. I mean that video was sick. He didn’t bail once.”
“Getting reviewed by Jackson Jo?” says another boy. “Dope.”
I slow down.
What? Who’s getting reviewed by Jackson Jo?
I mean she doesn’t review just anybody. Before I found out we were moving, Vera and I were going to send her a video of our best tricks. Jackson Jo is so good I’d do whatever she said to get better. I want to be in the Olympics. Street competition.
I walk super slow so I can hear more.
“So send another one,” says another boy. “You make videos all the time.”
The boy sitting beside him hits him in the arm.
“Ouch,” he says. “What the…?”
“He can’t send in another one,” says the boy who did the hitting. “Duh. Not without knowing why she didn’t like the first one.”
Jake sees me. “Um, what’re you doing?” he says.
“Nothing,” I say. “Well…just…okay, I heard you talking about Jackson Jo.”
“What?” says the boy who just got hit in the arm. “Heeeyyyy, you’re the new girl. The one who thinks she can beat Freddie.” He’s laughing. “You’re in for some seriously sick embarrassment.”
“You can’t beat him at that park,” says the other boy. “Or anywhere. Not even the flat bottom behind the school.”
I ignore them.
“Serious,” I look at Jake. “Who’s getting a Jackson Jo review?”
“No one,” he says. “She rejected the video I sent of Freddie. She keeps turning me down and I don’t get why. The dude’s good.”
I bet I know why.
“Did you send it slo-mo?” I ask.
“Yeah, he did,” says the boy holding his sore arm. “Why?”
“Yeah, why?” says Jake.
I don’t answer at first because I’m not sure if I should tell him. I mean Jake wasn’t as much of a jerk as Freddie, but helping a jerk be a jerk still makes you a jerk. But then I remember my one and only rule: skateboarders help each other.
“Jackson Jo says not to use slo-mo on every trick,” I say.
“She does?” he says. “I never saw that.”
“I watch everything she puts on her channel,” I tell him. “There’s an old video of hers where she talked about getting sponsored.”
“He would’ve seen it if it existed,” says one of the boys.
“Yeah, are you messing around?” says the other. “We heard what happened before school this morning.”
“It’s there,” I say. “If Jackson Jo posted it, I’ve seen it. And I never forget anything she says.”
Jake’s looking at me like he’s not sure if he believes me.
“Whatever,” I say. “Believe me or don’t.”
“Um. Thanks.” Jake nods. And he moves his hand like he’s going to ask if I want to sit down when we hear Freddie’s voice from behind me.
“Can’t find someone to sit with, Sippy new girl?” he says.
The boys at the table, except Jake, start to laugh.
“Sibby,” calls Charlie Parker Drysdale from the back of the room.
I look over and the man with the overalls is now gone. It’s just Hannah, Esther, and Charlie Parker Drysdale at the back.
Hannah is waving at me.
Stay chill. I remind myself. Avoid Freddie. Just walk away. Stay chill. You’re in the lunchroom. Don’t let total jerk-face get to you in front of everyone. Stay chill. Don’t call him fart-face. Or a cheese-head. Don’t.
“Yeah, that’s cool,” shouts Freddie. “Sit with Hannah-big-eyes-banana and the rest of the losers.” He’s holding a bottle of water and takes the cap off.
Stay chill. Don’t call him—
And then I feel something wet splash down on my red skateboard shoes. Freddie is putting the cap back on the water bottle and laughing at me. “Oops,” he says in a loud voice. He’s looking behind him at a man standing near the lunchroom entrance.
“You did that on purpose!” I yell.
“Total accident,” he says and then he looks back at me and whispers, “or not.”
“Fart-face, freak show!” I shout. And the boys at the table start to laugh and say “Ohhhh, no way” and “Burn.”
“Sippy cup, Poser,” he says, which makes them laugh even louder.
The man who was standing near the entrance is walking toward us.
Everything is bouncing around in my head and getting jumbled. Not having my skateboard makes it all worse. I think of Vera, but it doesn’t help. Freddie takes the cap off his water bottle again and tilts it toward my shoes. I grab for it, but he moves his arm away.
“Okay, you two,” says the man. Now that he’s closer I can’t tell if he’s a man or a teenager. He doesn’t look very old.
“Oh hey, Mr. MacDonald,” says Freddie. “I accidently dropped a splash.”
“Have a seat, Freddie,” says Mr. MacDonald and Freddie goes back to the table where Jake and the other boys are. Everyone but Jake is high fiving him. “Not cool,” says Mr. MacDonald to Freddie and his total jerk-face crew. “And not high-five worthy. Save those for something good.”
They all sit back down but I can’t see them because Mr. MacDonald steps in the way and then points to my shoes. “Cool skate shoes,” he says. “Billings 505?”
“Um, yeah,” I say. “How do you know that? Do you skate?”
“See this,” he points to a big ugly bruise on his right arm. “Missed the landing on my last ollie. And that water?” He points to my shoes. “It’ll dry in no time,” he says. “I have a pair. Dark blue, plus a coffee stain. Sybil, right?”
“Sibby,” I say.
And I start wondering if maybe the ghost board belongs to him. Maybe he put it there after he fell and forgot. But who could forget a board like that? I decide to ask him.
“Do you have a board?”
“Sure do,” he says. But then someone calls his name before he can say more. “Gotta go,” he says. “Enjoy your lunch.”
“Bye,” I say and walk to where Hannah, Charlie Parker Drysdale, and Esther are sitting.
“What’s wrong with Freddie anyway?” says Hannah when I get to the table.
“Who knows,” says Esther. “He sure turned into a total jerk though.”
“Who was that guy?” I ask. “Freddie called him Mr. MacDonald. Have you seen him skateboard?”
“He’s a new teacher,” says Hannah. “My dad told me. Don’t know if he skateboards.”
“Is your dad a teacher?” I ask.
“The janitor,” she says. “He was just here. He said he had to go back downstairs and he’d meet you another time.”
Esther, Hannah, and Charlie Parker Drysdale all have nice lunch bags. Mine is not so nice.
“Um, what’s with the bag?” asks Esther.
“Nan told Pops to put my lunch in a sandwich bag,” I explain, “but this compost bag is all he could find. Whatever. They’re not used to having a kid around.” And that reminds me of the sour milk I drank this morning before I knew it was sour. Pops said everything was happening so fast he forgot to get stuff, like fresh milk. Guess he forgot sandwich bags too.
Esther takes a fork, a real fork, from her bag.
“Nan and Pops?” says Hannah. “Where are your parents, Sybil?”
I look at Charlie Parker Drysdale. He looks like he is about to answer Hannah’s question until he sees me staring at him.
“They’re coming. In a few days,” I say. “And you can call me Sibby.”
“Are you really going to skateboard against Freddie?” asks Esther. “Charlie told us what happened in line.”
“You don’t have to,
you know,” says Charlie Parker Drysdale.
I don’t recognize the food in front of him. It’s brown and shaped like a horseshoe.
“Yes I do,” I say. “I don’t back down from bullies.”
I point to Charlie Parker Drysdale’s lunch.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Tofurkey,” he says taking a napkin out of his lunch bag. “My moms say we’re vegetarians now.”
“You are?” I ask.
“Uh-huh,” he says. “No more meat.”
“Not even pepperoni on pizza?” I ask.
“Um, nope ’cause that’s meat,” he says. “It’s okay though. My new favorite is pizza Margherita. I had it when I visited my uncle.”
“Oh my gosh,” says Esther. “I’m super in love with pizza Margherita. My sister’s boyfriend delivers pizza from Pizza Palace downtown. They make the best pizza Margherita.”
“What’s pizza Margherita?” I ask.
“Code for plain,” says Hannah. “Just mozzarella, tomato, and basil. The ingredients are the colors of the flag of Italy.”
“How do you know everything?” asks Esther. But she doesn’t wait for Hannah to answer. Instead, she says, “Hey, do you guys want to come over tonight? We could totally order pizza Margherita.”
“Can’t,” says Charlie Parker Drysdale. “Sibby’s Nan invited me over after school, maybe we could order pizza there?”
I don’t want plain pizza tonight, even if it looks like a flag. I’ve had enough newy-newness for one day and it’s only lunchtime.
“Can I come too?” asks Esther.
“Ummm,” I say because I don’t know how to answer. I was planning to go home and call Vera and tell her how much my new school totally sucks.
Esther’s smiling and looking at me like she really wants to come over.
“Okay,” I say because I think saying no would crush her. “Guess Nan won’t mind. Don’t know about pizza though.”
“Hannah?” asks Esther, which is weird, right? I mean why is Esther inviting Hannah to my grandparents’ house?
“Can’t come till later,” says Hannah. “After the competition between you and Freddie, I’m going to debate team practice.”
And now I’m thinking about skateboarding against Freddie again. If he’s good enough to get a review by Jackson Jo, it means he’s pretty good, and not just on half pipe. I don’t want the whole school to see me lose. I stare at Charlie Parker Drysdale’s food, but not because I’m thinking about what he’s eating. I’m thinking about how weird it is that I’m thinking about losing. I never think about losing.
Skateboard Sibby Page 3
