AK_SalmonGranny: LOVE the bag. Already got some memorable reactions

HalfpipeEmms: I bet.

AK_SalmonGranny: The locals all know me. It’s mostly the tourists that get all up in my business. Probably don’t know any better, poor dears.

I know how that goes. It’s a little different with people who know you.

HalfpipeEmms: You get weird looks for your wheels, too?

AK_SalmonGranny: Who doesn’t?

HalfpipeEmms:

I think about telling her how I almost didn’t have the guts to make the bag at all, but then she writes more.

AK_SalmonGranny: I liked the new bags you put up—feisty!

HalfpipeEmms: You inspired me, I guess. They’ve already sold, too.

AK_SalmonGranny: Always happy to corrupt youth where I can.

I’m surprised again at how much she doesn’t sound like any grandparent—or other adult—I know. Except her sass reminds me a little of my mom, and maybe that’s why I keep talking to her. One topic leads to another, and before I know it, I’ve told her all about the new chair I’m saving for, the Fairy Festival, and reluctantly helping Ale with her beehives while trying not to hyperventilate or crush stray bees with my wheels. And she tells me about her all-seniors, nonmotorized touring group (Purgatory’s Pixies), seven ways to cook salmon, and how she first came to Alaska as a can-can dancer way back when she was just eighteen.

She’s so much fun to talk to, I’m surprised when I hear Dad come inside almost an hour later. I’m even more surprised to realize I feel a whole lot better—even though it’s so late I once again don’t get a chance to tell Dad about Dawn.

The next morning, I arrive at school determined to try and be a bit more like AK_SalmonGranny and not let anyone or anything get to me.

I also vow to suck it up and straighten things out with Devontae.

It takes almost all day to get some time without Dawn over my shoulder. Finally, after I’m done eating and she goes on lunch break, I break away and find Devontae in the library again, reading a rodeo magazine. He doesn’t look up, even though I know he hears my wheels rasp over the carpet.

I stop in front of him. “Got a minute?”

“Just about.” Devontae looks up from the book but doesn’t smile. “What’s up?”

My fingers fidget with my brakes, flipping them on and off and on again. “The rodeo. How’d you do?”

He gives me a funny look. “You interested for real?”

“Yeah. I wanted to come, too.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Now Devontae closes his book and starts to stand up.