Page 52 of Skate the Line

This is a total disaster.

Ellie and I are covered from head to toe in paint. I’m glad Marco recommended I put plastic down on the floor and over the furniture before we opened the paint cans, because otherwise, Rhodes would probably fire me on the spot.

I tap my paint-covered finger on my chin and turn to Ellie. “Maybe we should just doonebig rainbow?”

There’s white paint in her hair, on her nose, and both hands. Thankfully, I lent her one of my old T-shirts—one that I was going to get rid of anyway—as it, too, is covered in paint splatters.

She gasps. “Wait! I have an idea!”

I gasp right back. “Oh, please tell.”

“What if you did the sun?”

I glance back at the wall. “The sun?”

“Yeah! Onebigsun!” Ellie scurries over to the sticky wall, now painted white. She traces a huge sun in the air that would practically cover the whole wall.

She turns toward me, waiting to see my reaction.

I smile. “Iloveit. It’s like you already knew my favorite color is yellow.”

Over the last week, she’s opened up a little here and there. She remains fiercely independent—something I can relate to—and is still leery when I go to the bathroom during Rhodes’s hockey games, but I'm hopeful for improvements as time goes on.

One morning, before the school day started, Marco and I watched her from the car while she played on the playground. She played alone, but it wasn’t for lack of friends. Several little girls came up to her, chatted, and then walked away.

My heart shattered with howaloneshe looked. I didn’t say anything to her dad, because he didn’t hire me for parenting advice. But I am going to take it upon myself to continue to build a rapport with her—ask for her advice on things, play games, paint together, do activities that someone her ageshouldbe doing instead of worrying that I’m going to disappear like all the rest.

Maybe then, she’ll open up to more people—hopefully, some her age.

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask her.

Her little mouth forms a frown. “Blue.”

I walk over and find the paint can full of yellow paint. I try to remain busy so she doesn’t think this is a test.

“Why do you look sad about that?”

She watches my every move. “Because one of the boys at school said it’s a boy color.”

I begin to stir the paint. “That’s their opinion, and their opinion doesn’t really matter.”

“It doesn’t?” she asks.

I shake my head and turn around to grab her hand. I place it on the paint stirrer and place my hand over hers so we can stir together. “There are going to be plenty of people in your life thatdon’t agree with something that you like. But as long asyoulike it, it doesn’t matter what they think.”

She nods slowly and accepts my advice. “Okay.”

I probe a little further. “Are there any other girls that like blue?”

Without looking up from the yellow paint, she answers, “Jacie. She likes it because it’s the color of her soccer team.”

“Lookie there,” I say, “two girls who like the color blue.”

She giggles. “I like it because it’s the color of my dad’s jersey.”

Speaking of.

I glance at my phone.

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