Cover art and illustrations generated with AI.

Chapter 1: The Knot

When I woke up Sunday morning,

there was a silky-smooth breeze on my

face. It was nice. It was like Spring was

whispering Goodbye to me as Summer

settled in its place.

I left my bedroom window open for

the night—and yes, with permission. I’m

totally allowed. Sadly, the perfect breeze

was not what woke me up on this particular

Sunday. Muffled giggles in the hallway did.

I rubbed my eyes as my bedroom door

cracked open. A goat-like voice bleated,

“Pan? … Paaaan?”

My name is Jo. Not Pan. And the goat-

pretender knows it.

A second, different goat-voice

followed. “Cake! Caaaake!”

I muffled a burst of laughter with my

pillow. Rascals. My brothers Evan and

Glen, twins, pushed the door open. They

were crawling on hands and knees. With

Twin-Perfect timing, they goat-spoke

together. “Paaaan-caaaake!”

The boys are six minutes apart in age

and their goal in life is to annoy me.

Unfortunately, the very annoying things

they do to me also make me love them

even more. Yeah, I know. I also think it’s

unfair.

“Let me guess,” I joked, “Mom’s

making… waffles for breakfast?”

That was the end of the goat routine. I

had said the unsayable. Evan gave me an

angry dinosaur screech, wildly thrashing T-

Rex arms. Glen roared. Maybe like a lion?

The twins love a mid-scene change of

character.

“Kidding!” I yelled over their noise. I

held my hand over my heart and recited our

breakfast motto: “The Waffle is Awful.

Pancakes Forever.”

Evan and Glen magically changed one

more time. Two identical human boys

laughed and cheered at my answer, then

launched themselves back into the hall.

“Jo wants some, too!” they yelled

Twin-Perfectly to our mom in the kitchen.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I hollered,

still chuckling.

I sighed, stretched my arms to the

ceiling, and cleared my brain of sleep fuzz

and dream fluff. Then, I gasped. Under the

fluff was a cold, hard memory from the day

before.

Saturday. Skateboarding with Gopher.

How terrible I was to him.

Before I had time to put events in

order, I had an awful feeling in my chest. It

was like the fear you feel after you trip but

before you hit the ground. Or, like, if your

heart got sat on by a sumo wrestler. It was

like that.

And the memory was even worse for

my stomach.

Worry, Guilt, Blame and my other

worst feelings all traveled down into the

middle of me. They wrapped around my

stomach until it was all just a single, tight,

heavy knot in my belly.

I shut my eyes tight and tried not to

think about Gopher’s face. The way it had

flipped from “having fun” to “feeling hurt,”

all because of the words I said.

The knot in my belly gained another

pound. The weight wanted to sink under

my bed and drag me along with it. But, less

dramatically, I stayed where I was, feeling

miserable.

The thing was, most of the weekend

was awesome! Until the very end of

Saturday, everything was kind of perfect.

School on Friday was an easy-peezy

half-day. The bell rang at 1PM, and by

1:15, I was at the skate park halfway

between school and home. It’s not huge or

fancy, but it has ramps and rails and a

medium-sized halfpipe—a “U”-shaped

wooden ramp some of the best middle-

school skaters wipe out on all the time.

I didn’t bring my board to school—

100% not allowed inside halls or classes—

so I just watched the older kids on the

halfpipe. They did flips and spins and

jumps that I dream I can do, but in the real

world, my skating stays closer to the

ground. But that’s just for now. I’m getting

better all the time!

I bought my first skateboard six

months ago with my own money. And yes,

with permission. It’s secondhand, but from

a ninth grader. Skater Nate took a look at it

and said it was a great board for me. And

he would know. He runs the skate park and

owns the Skate Shop on the park’s edge.

Since I saved up and bought the board,

Mom was happy to buy a helmet and pads.

All. The. Pads. Don’t get me wrong: knees

and elbows? Totally reasonable. But the

Hip Halos, the foam Tailbone Guard, the

inflatable Neck Noodle? The first time I

wore it all, I might as well have been

bubble‑wrapped.

Now I just wear the normal stuff, but

Mom still mentions that “a Chin Defender

Dome would keep that smile safe.”

Anyway. I was sitting on a bench,

watching skaters get an afternoon workout.

And that’s when I saw my friend Gopher.

(Sidenote—stick with me here:

“Gopher” is short for “Chris-Gopher,”

which is almost like Gopher’s real name.

But I never call him by his real name out

loud. I want “Gopher” to catch on!)

I waved and patted the bench next to

me. Gopher ran over and plopped down,

dazed. He looked like he had found a secret

world.

“Hi,” he said. “My dad told me to wait

here until he’s done with work. I didn’t

think I’d see anyone I know.”

“I’m here nearly every day,” I said,

which is pretty-close-ish to the truth. It’s

more like three days a week, but I think

about the park on the off days.

Gopher watched Skater Nate teach a

group of high schoolers how to land a

fancy trick. “I didn’t know you people

could do this kind of stuff,” he said.

I sat up straighter, like I was proving a

scientific link between pride and posture.

He said “you people.” Like Skater

Nate and the high schoolers and I all

belonged to the same club. And we did…

as much as the skate park was a club at all.

But I was a beginner. I daydreamed about

becoming them—I didn’t skate with them.

But in that moment, Gopher saw me

as cool. To him, I was already the skater I

hope to be instead of the one I am now. It

felt so good to be admired… and so I

decided not to correct him. I didn’t lie. Not

exactly.

“That one’s not so hard,” I said about

the trick. “You know, for good skaters.”

He looked back to Skater Nate, who

was helping a tenth grader back to his feet

after a fall. “Looks pretty hard,” Gopher

said, then turned back to me. “Are you a

good skater?”

That was a more direct question.

“I mean…” I started, then paused.

There were lots of ways I could have ended

that sentence. I could have said, I’m not

that good yet. Or even: I will be—with more

practice. But I didn’t go with those.

“I mean, I don’t want to brag…” I

said, pretending to be humble, “but yeah,

people say I’m pretty good.”

People like my mom… and Glen and

Evan. That’s three. Three persons equals

“people” by any definition. I think. I was

still technically not lying.

“Well, could you teach me?” Gopher

asked.

I stopped thinking about myself for a

second. I looked at Gopher with new eyes.

This boy who lived four minutes from my

house was as excited as I’d ever seen him.

He was falling in love with the skate park

just like I had.

The freedom of its speed gleamed in

his eyes. He saw the perfection of a jump at

its tippy-top—the way the board hovered

longer than should be possible, then

plunged back to the halfpipe with a

thundering rumble.

Gopher was my friend. I wanted to

welcome him to the world I loved.

“I’ll teach you everything I know!” I

said. My insides did cartwheels. “We can

meet in the parking lot tomorrow after

lunch. It’s mostly empty on Saturdays and

other skaters won’t see you mess up or

fall—but believe me, you will 100% fall. In

fact, plan to fall more than skate. As Skater

Nate says: ‘Falling’s the best teacher!’”

Gopher wasn’t worried. “Dad has pads

in the garage from a weird rollerblading

craze, but he hasn’t used them in over a

year. I’ll borrow those.”

“Awesome. We can share my board.

You’ll get a feel for how to balance, and I’ll

show you how to push off and stop.”

He grinned so big I thought his face

might crack. “Okay! Tomorrow!”

And that was that.

For the next hour, Gopher and I joked

around and hung out in the Skate Shop.

Skater Nate allows people to post

“Events” on the store bulletin board, and

Gopher could not believe the names of the

local bands with upcoming shows.

“Metallic Zap… Gus’s Gas Giant…

Late Night Noodle Project?”

“Skater Nate is the drummer of at

least two of these bands,” I said. “The

flyers have the same hand-drawn bubble

letters as his ‘Skate, Don’t Hate’ sign.

Look!”

Gopher looked where I pointed,

looked back to the flyer, then exploded

with laughter. And his laugh made me

laugh, and I felt like there was no better

place in the world than where I was right

then.

My memory of Friday faded out. I was

back to my room. Back to Sunday. Back to

the stomach-in-a-knot. I sighed and pulled

my blanket over my head.

After who-knows-how-long, Mom

was suddenly next to me. “Jo, you’re still

in bed?”

I froze. I was so caught up in my

thoughts I didn’t hear her come upstairs. I

didn’t even notice her walk into my room.

I tugged my covers down to my nose

and peered out. Mom gave me an extra-

strength Mom-Is-Worried look. It’s a

superpower stare that makes you tell the

truth even if you don’t want to, so I looked

away.

“Your brothers have hungry eyes on

the last two pancakes,” Mom said. “I can’t

promise your breakfast will be down there

much longer.”

My stomach knot tightened. I couldn’t

eat—I was too tense to even talk.

“That’s okay!” I blurted. “They can

have them.”

“Hmm…” Mom said. And then, after

a too-long second: “Okay.”

A Mom-translator device would have

turned that into: “You can keep your

secret… for now.”

I squirmed in the awkward silence.

“It’s just… my stomach feels—”

I stopped myself. Don’t talk about the

knot.

“Um, my stomach feels… not

hungry,” I explained. “Not even for

pancakes. And I’m still in bed because…

I’m comfy! And the breeze from my

window is so nice…”

The open window was not the

smartest thing to point out to my mother.

Mom’s eyebrows lifted. “You didn’t

leave your window open all night again,

did you?”

“Uh…” Busted. That thing I said

about “having permission” earlier…

“You have to ask permission first,

remember? We don’t run the air conditioner

to cool the trees outside. Say, ‘Yes, Mom.’”

“Yes, Mom.”

She looked me over. There I was, in

pajamas, still in bed at 10AM on a day that

screamed for skateboarding. Oh, and I

skipped my all-time favorite breakfast. She

knew this wasn’t me, it wasn’t normal. But

her worry melted into a warm smile and

soft, kind eyes. She poked me.

“And you’re going to get up and get

dressed, right? Say: ‘Yes’…” She smiled

and let me finish.

“Yes, Mom.” I smiled too.

Gosh, I love my mom. The knot was

still in my gut, but it was lighter and looser,

at least for that moment. Moms are maybe

the best thing in the world.

Chapter 2: Saturday

“Okay,” I told my body. “You heard

Mom. Up and at it.”

I watched the bumps under the covers

where my feet were. The covers didn’t even

twitch. It wasn’t that my legs and feet

couldn’t hear me. They just had a capital

case of Don’t Want To.

I tried other inspiring phrases: “Day’s

a-wasting!” and “Hop to it!” and “Early

skater gets the… worm?”

My stomach groaned. I think by this

time, I really was hungry. Not for worms

(gross), but my belly was gurgling and

making music. Little squeaks followed by

drawn-out moans and grumbles. I lay there

listening and continued not-getting-up for

another ten minutes.

Finally, I thought: This is silly. I was

being too emotional. Was I really going to

let feelings rule my body? No.

Sure, I felt bad. Sure, I felt guilty. But

it was done. I made a mistake, said a few

careless words, but really, we’re talking

about four minutes of BAD after nearly

four hours of AWESOME. Hours of

laughing and sharing, hours when Gopher

learned to skate.

I puffed myself up. Bad feelings don’t

get to tell this body what to do! Four bad

minutes of Saturday weren’t going to ruin a

Sunday, too.

I threw off my covers and sheets. I

shot out of bed like an arrow. My target: the

dresser. I pulled on my jeans, a T-shirt, and

two mismatched socks. (Blue on the left,

yellow on the right.)

Then I sat on the edge of my bed with

my shoes. They stirred up feelings.

Gopher and I had talked about my

shoes the day before. I admitted to him they

weren’t real skater shoes, like the brands in

Skater Nate’s shop. My cheap canvas

sneakers were scuffed nearly to holes in

places, and I had doodled on the toe in

black marker, since there was no cool

company logo on them. I thought they

looked kind of dumb.

“No! They’re amazing,” Gopher said.

“They’re scuffed up because you actually

skate in them. They don’t have a logo

because they don’t belong to some

company. They belong to you! They’re

yours and only yours and no one else has

them.”

The way he said it… Gopher got it. He

understood. Skating was bigger than

striking a pose and trying to be cool. It was

about being your own kind of person.

I lay back on my bed, shoes still off. I

felt a little better when I thought about the

good parts of Saturday.

Saturday had been bright and warm.

Gopher and I had agreed to meet in the

skate park parking lot. It wasn’t very

interesting, but that was the point. Parking

lots are flat and open. Beginners can push

along and practice their balance. They

won’t smash into the side of a ramp or

achieve warp speed on a hill.

When I arrived, Gopher was already

there. He was wearing a helmet that kept

sliding down over his eyebrows. His knee

pads were so big they made him walk bow-

legged, like a cartoon cowboy.

“I’m ready,” he said, striking a pose.

“You look very… safe,” I told him.

“That’s what I’m going for. Mom said

if I come home broken from skateboarding,

I’m grounded forever.”

I thought of the Hip Halos and Neck

Noodle back in our garage.

“That’s fair.”

I started with the Skater Nate basics—

the same speech I was given. I held my

board between us and knocked on the

wood.

“This is the skateboard’s deck. It’s the

part you stand on, obviously. New decks

are shiny and polished, but mine has rough

grip tape all over the top. That’s to keep my

feet in place. The deck’s also covered in

dings and chips and scraped-off bits. It’s

okay—in fact, it’s cool.”

“Got it,” said Gopher. He was focused

and attentive, like maybe I’d be giving a

test later.

I explained the deck’s nose (the front)

and tail (the back). I flipped the board over

to show him the trucks and wheels.

“Trucks are these chunky metal parts,”

I told him. “They can be loose or tight, and

they change how wobbly your board is. I

keep mine tight—not much wobble.

Otherwise it feels like the board might

dump me off the side.”

Gopher wiggled the trucks and nodded

that he understood. I continued.

“Wheels can be small, medium, or

large. They can be hard or soft. It depends

on the skating you do. Mine are medium in

size, not too soft, but not too fast, either.”

Speech over. I set the board on the

ground and told him to step on it. I lent him

my shoulder to help keep him steady. He

put one foot on the deck, then, with a heavy

lean on me, got his other foot up.

The deck tilted side to side and the

wheels rolled a few inches. His arms shot

out to the sides like he was a tightrope

walker.

“Whoa,” he breathed. “It moves.”

“That’s kind of the point!” I said

brightly. “Try leaning back a little. Just

enough to lift the front wheels.”

He did, and the board rocked onto its

tail with a soft clack.

“Yep. Now lean forward again.”

The board clacked flat. Gopher’s legs

wobbled, then he settled and grinned.

I grinned back, then held up my pinky.

Gopher looked at it, confused, then looked

back to me. I placed the pinky gently on his

chest.

“Pro tip,” I said. This was an echo

from my own first lesson with Skater Nate.

“Balance is hard. Be on your guard.”

With that, my pinky gave him the

tiniest “oomph” of a push.

His eyes grew twice their size as he

windmilled both arms and hopped clumsily

back to the ground.

“Hey!” he hooted, then laughed as he

realized the point. He held up a pinky.

“Little things cause big falls?”

Gopher was smart.

We practiced for a while—leaning,

balancing, shifting weight. We worked on

Gopher’s stance. We found out whether he

was left-footed or right-footed. He asked

questions faster than I could answer them

and we both laughed a lot.

I was teaching a friend something I

loved, and Gopher was a fast learner. It was

a dream. In no time, he mastered pushing—

one foot on the board and one foot skipping

along the ground to keep moving—and

before long he had both feet on the board,

rolling along and cruising. He was getting

the hang of leaning his weight to the right

or left to steer.

By the second hour or so, he was

ready to learn something new.

I hadn’t been expecting this. I figured

rolling on the board was all we’d have time

for in the first lesson. On the plus side, this

meant I must be a great teacher. On the

minus side, I really only knew how to do

one other thing.

But I could see it in Gopher’s eyes. He

was hungry. I had to teach him to ollie.

The ollie is how you get a board in the

air. It’s a jump of body and board together.

It is the most basic trick in skating,

and you must learn it. But it’s complicated.

You have to pop the tail of your board

against the ground and jump at the same

time. The board jumps with you and stays

under your feet, so you land together.

I practice the ollie every day. Like, a

lot. Even so, my jumps don’t even reach the

height of a sidewalk curb. So, yeah, it’s

hard. No one at the skate park is impressed

by what I can do. But Gopher…

I took my board from him, placed my

feet in the right stance, and talked him

through the moves. Then I held my breath,

crossed my fingers, and did one for real.

Amazingly, it was my best ollie ever.

“Jeez!” exclaimed Gopher. “You really

can do it! Show me again!”

I did it twice more, neither as good as

my first, but I landed without falling. I

didn’t tell him it was the only trick I could

do. I just showed him the motion—jump,

slide your front foot up, let the board rise

with you.

Gopher’s first attempt was dramatic.

He stomped the tail way too hard. The

board shot across the lot, and he landed on

his butt with a thump. I laughed as soon as

I saw he was okay. He blinked up at me,

dazed.

“Did that look cool?” he asked.

“Hm, cool… no. Funny—yes.”

His second attempt made us both

laugh. He jumped, but forgot to pop the

tail. The board didn’t budge a bit and he

tripped over it while trying to land.

But he got better. Really, he learned

way faster than I had. After an hour, he

even got the board off the ground a little. It

was a tiny, actual ollie. I felt proud of him.

I also felt a little… uncomfortable. I

wouldn’t have much to “teach” after this.

I ignored it. I tried to focus on how

happy Gopher seemed.

And that worked for a while. Until he

had a new suggestion.

“Let’s check out the ramps in the park.

You can show me tricks on those!”

My stomach tightened. My brain

panicked. I don’t do the ramps yet. But I

thought back to my bragging the day

before. I maybe, kind of implied that I did.

I could’ve told the truth right then. I

should’ve told the truth. That the ramps

were for future-Jo, not right-now-Jo. But I

said something else instead.

“I don’t know about that,” I began.

But I didn’t have a good reason.

“How come?” His question was

curious. It wasn’t a challenge. But I

answered like it was.

“Because,” I said, brain grasping for

anything. “It’s your first day.”

“I learned to ollie on my first day,” he

countered.

“Barely, Gopher! You ollied, like, a

millimeter.” I saw him flinch, but the next

words were already tumbling off my lips.

“You don’t want to get hurt and grounded

forever, right?”

The words were so wrong. Making fun

of him on his first day skating? Ugh!

RUDE. Also, I wasn’t worried he’d hurt

himself. I was worried that I would look

like a fool and a fake. Worried that he’d

know I didn’t belong to the “club.”

Gopher’s face fell in a way that was

quiet and sad, like the light shining inside

him had dimmed a little.

“Oh,” he said. “I guess…” He looked

down at his shoes. “I’m going to get some

water.”

He walked to the water fountain in

front of the Skate Shop, and I stayed frozen

on the curb, wishing I could hit rewind.

I gave my head a shake. Did an evil

goblin just take control of my brain? What

an awful thing to say. Double Ugh!

I made up my mind: I would tell

Gopher the truth. This wasn’t a “who’s

coolest” contest. I was with my friend,

having a fun day. And in no time, we could

be skating and getting better together.

Gopher began walking back from the

fountain, still kinda bow-legged from his

giant knee pads. I smiled at him, relieved

because I already knew that I could make

this right. I was an apology away from

fixing it.

He was halfway back when we heard a

beep. His mom’s car was pulling into the

parking lot. She stopped between us, waved

at me, and asked out her window, “Did you

two have fun?”

My mouth hung open like a puppet

with no one working it. This was very bad

timing. I needed a minute with Gopher.

Alone. It would be weird to apologize to

him right in front of his mom, right?

Gopher looked across the hood of the

car to me. He gave a tiny shrug and waved,

but without really smiling. “Thanks for

everything,” was all he said, then got into

his mom’s car.

“Your mom is coming for you, right,

Jo?” asked Gopher’s mom. And before I

could answer, she said, “Oh, there! She’s

pulling in now.”

Sure enough, my mom was pulling

into the parking lot as she spoke. The

moms said a quick hello to each other, and

I realized the time to act was long gone.

The memory of Gopher came to an

end, and the big ol’ guilty knot in my

stomach was as heavy as ever. Even with

all my day clothes on, I didn’t want to get

up, but it was almost 11AM. If I didn’t get

moving, everyone would suspect something

was wrong. Then I would have to explain.

I sat up, scooted to the edge of the

bed, and leaned over for my “oh-so-

unique,” beat-up shoes. My bad mood

didn’t have to ruin the whole day, I thought.

I stood up, went out my door, and tried to

have the usual pep in my step as I went

down the stairs.

Chapter 3: Sunday Reunion

Once I got downstairs, I checked out

the situation. I was an undercover agent in

Operation: Keep My Feelings To Myself.

Breakfast was long since cleaned

away and everyone was in their Sunday

mode. For the twins, this meant ping-

ponging around the house while arguing

about something insane. The current debate

is whether dinosaurs or robots would win in

a battle “with no rules whatsoever.”

For Mom, Sunday was “a day to grow

your brain.” She read books and the

newspaper, and it turns out she knows, like,

80% of the crossword puzzle answers. It’s

kinda amazing.

Dad was packing a brown-bag lunch

for himself and getting ready for his

afternoon shift at the Garden Supply. It’s a

shop full of tools and dirt and seeds and

just about anything you could want for

turning your yard into an outright jungle if

you wanted. He says it’s a lot of work and

heavy lifting, but he loves talking to the

customers about their projects and having

“a connection with Mother Earth.”

“Hey, sleepyhead!” Dad said when I

came into view. He was taking a bite out of

a very large sandwich.

“Isn’t that supposed to be for your

break at work?” I asked.

He looked ashamed, finished chewing

his bite, and replied, “I made it too big. I’m

eating it back down to a sandwich-bag

size.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. The whole

family was like this. We were all such

weirdos.

“I’m off to work!” Dad called as he

walked out the door, sandwich suspiciously

still in hand.

The knot in my stomach was now a

heavy-but-familiar weight, like an inner

fanny pack. It wasn’t so hard to play things

cool while Dad was distracted by leaving.

Mom would be harder to hide my

feelings from. She was already on to me.

I heard her come into the kitchen. Her

footsteps sounded purposeful, like she had

been waiting for Dad to leave and now she

was coming to get answers.

“Well,” she said, “you’re up and at it.

Good.”

“Yup!” I replied, hoping to make our

conversation short. “Early skaters, um,

have to eat worms. Or something. So, I

waited ’til now. Speaking of which…” I

made toward the door.

“Hang on,” Mom said. “You know, we

didn’t talk much about your skate date with

Christopher yesterday.”

“Uh, ‘skate dates’ are not a thing,

really, but yeah, I skated. We skated. Me

and Gopher.”

“Gopher?”

“Christopher,” I explained. “I call him

‘Gopher’ because ‘Chris-Gopher’ is just

one letter different from his actual name.”

“Oh,” Mom said, and chuckled lightly.

“Does he like being called that?”

“He does… I think,” I said. But then I

squinted and my mouth puckered. Had I

ever asked if he liked the name? I think I

started saying it because I thought it was

funny. What if he hated being called

Gopher?

I started to spiral. “He never said he

didn’t like it. But, well, maybe… maybe I

don’t know how he feels about it. I don’t

think he hates it…”

And that was it. That was my breaking

point.

“… but he probably hates me now!

Since I’m the worst person he’s probably

ever met!”

I clamped my mouth shut and started

breathing short and hard through my nose.

Then, I lost it. I was crying like a newborn

baby. So much for my secret agent routine.

Operation: Keep My Feelings To Myself

was ruined.

Mom’s eyebrows shot up a mile—she

was super surprised—but in that same

second, she swoop-scooped me into her

arms.

“I’m such a bad friend!” I blubbered.

“Josephine, Josephine,” Mom said

gently, stroking my back. “Slow down,

honey.”

She gave me time to cry myself tired

and asked, “What’s going on?” when she

could finally get a word in.

I took a shaky breath. Then I told

Mom everything. How Saturday had been

Gopher’s first lesson and how I was proud

that he had asked me. I also told her how I

had bragged and felt worried that Gopher

was going to be as good as me in no time. I

finally told her about what I had said. How

I made fun of him. The look on his face.

How there was no chance to fix it.

Mom listened without interrupting.

She nodded sometimes and frowned

sometimes, but mostly she just held my

hand and let me tell the tale. When I

finished, she let out a long breath.

“Oof,” she said. “That must’ve felt

awful.”

“It did,” I said. “It still does. My

stomach is in a knot.”

“It sure can feel like that,” she said,

and squeezed my shoulder. “Well, we’re

not going to sit here and let you feel awful

all day. Let’s untangle that knot.”

This should have been a relief to hear,

but I frowned. I was suspicious. “Wait.

What do you mean?”

“We’re calling him,” she said, like the

decision had already been made.

My stomach knot did a barrel roll.

“Mom, no—”

But she was already heading for her

phone.

I scrambled after her. “Mom, please, I

can fix it tomorrow at school! Or later in

the week! Or never! Never is an option!”

She didn’t slow down. “You made a

mistake, Jo. And the longer you wait, the

bigger it feels. We’re dealing with it today.”

My heart was thumping so loudly I

could hear it over the twins’ noise in the

living room. An argument over the exact

moves for a complicated secret handshake

had now turned into a squealing, hand-

slapping frenzy.

Mom picked up the phone, dialed, and

before I could stop her, she was talking.

“Hi, Melody, it’s Jo’s mom. Is

Christopher around? Jo wants to meet up.”

I froze completely. Like maybe Mom

would believe that I was a statue of Jo.

Statues can’t talk on the phone.

“Oh!” Mom said in response to

something Gopher’s mom said. “That’s

perfect. We’re home.” And then she ended

the call.

“What… what just happened?” I

asked.

“Melody and Christopher are out

running errands. They’re stopping by on

their way home so you two can talk.”

“Mom!” I yelled, but I didn’t really

have more to say. A conversation needed to

happen and she was making it happen. I

didn’t have a vote in it anymore.

I watched out the window as Gopher

and his mom pulled up, feeling the knot in

my belly tighten. I didn’t know what I’d

say.

Mom and I both went out on the stoop

to meet them.

Mom said, “Come on in, Melody. I’ve

got some iced tea in the kitchen.” To me,

she said, “You and Christopher take your

time, sweetheart. Come in when you’re

ready.”

And with that, Gopher and I had the

driveway to ourselves.

“Hi,” he said.

I swallowed hard. “Hi.”

There was a long pause. Then Gopher

broke the silence.

“Thanks again, by the way. You know,

for the skate lesson.”

He thanked me. Even after I had been

mean to him, Gopher was being nice to me.

I had to make things right.

“Gopher. About yesterday. I’m so

sorry for what I said about your ollie. Your

ollie was amazing. And I’m sorry for

saying you’d get hurt on the ramps.”

Gopher waved it off, but I wasn’t

letting myself off the hook. I kept going.

“I was being a jerk. The truth is that

I’m not ready for the ramps yet. I was just

trying to look cool when I’m really not.”

Now here’s something I didn’t expect:

Gopher laughed a little.

“I wondered about the ramps,” he

said. “But don’t worry—you’re definitely

still cool!”

I blinked. “I am?”

“Well, yeah. You taught me to ollie,”

he said. “And I knew you weren’t being a

jerk. I just didn’t know what to say. We had

been having so much fun. And then my

mom pulled up, and… It was bad timing.”

A warmth spread through my chest,

like sunlight finally reaching a cold spot.

“And guess what?” he added. “My

mom said I can get my own skateboard. So

I can practice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! She said as long as I wear all

the pads and don’t do flips off the roof.”

“Very fair,” I said.

We talked a while longer. I asked if it

was okay to call him Gopher. Turns out, he

loves having a nickname! That made me

feel about ten pounds lighter. When it was

eventually time for Gopher and his mom to

go, the knot in my stomach wasn’t just

smaller. It was gone. Completely gone.

Back in the kitchen, Mom raised an

eyebrow at me, waiting to hear how the

conversation with Gopher went.

“All better?” she asked.

“All better,” I said, and I meant it.

“You can tell me about it while I get

lunch ready.”

I ran that idea past my knot-free

stomach. It growled in agreement.

“Tell the boys I’m making ham and

grilled cheese sandwiches, would you?”

I smiled.

“I absolutely will,” I said.

With that, I crept into the living room

as quietly as I could, then called out to the

twins in my best bleating goat-voice.

“Ham! Haaaaaam!”