I’d read through Margo’s contract and survey, which I wanted to frame but figured I would wait until I was famouser, especially since she probably wanted her details to stay private. Margo agreed to pay me five dollars an hour for my consulting! Today was the first time I’d ever been paid. I didn’t even care that she paid me mostly in quarters. In fact, I could use a few of those quarters at the arcade. Look, I wasn’t a machine. I couldn’t save every penny that I made.

  “Okay. First things first,” I said. “I need you to remember that I’m the coach here.”

  “Of course.” Margo frowned. “Although . . . maybe you should lose the bow tie when the party starts.”

  “It’s part of my brand,” I said.

  Margo shrugged, like she didn’t care. But she really did.

  “Why don’t you tell me about any successes you’ve had since our last appointment?” I asked.

  “I went to your party and I talked to five new people,” Margo said. “About kid things. Or I think we were talking about kid things. Like hopscotch. I think I should master hopscotch.”

  “That’s great to hear,” I said. “Where did your love for hopscotch start?”

  “I don’t know. Shelley and I used to chalk hopscotch on my driveway.” She looked down for a second. “I miss that. I miss her.”

  “Me too.” I bit into my pizza.

  “Do you think that’s a normal reason for two people to hang out? Because they are friends with the same person?”

  “We’re hanging out because I’m a paid, professional, kid life coach, and today we are going to engage in a fun childhood-focused activity.”

  Margo wiped her face with a napkin. “Yeah, totally.”

  Then we were quiet for a few minutes. Like too many minutes. Not only was I new to life coaching, but I didn’t exactly go to birthday parties every day. It was a good thing Margo was there. I had a hunch she wasn’t on a million invite lists, either.

  “Want to call Shelley?” I asked.

  Margo grinned. “I’m so glad you asked.”

  Margo had a fancy camera on her phone. When Shelley answered, it was the first I’d seen her in days. My best friend looked very smiley and relaxed. Whew. The breathing exercises I’d sent her must be working. “Aloha! Hey, you guys are hanging out together?”

  “Does it look like we’re in Hawaii?” Margo asked, holding up the phone to the mural of a wave.

  Shelley snorted. “Totally! Are you having fun?”

  Margo and I exchanged a look behind the phone. Were we? We weren’t exactly here for the fun. Or I guess Margo was paying me to make her have fun. Forced fun isn’t the highest level of fun. But I hadn’t forgotten that she’d stood up for me at my launch party. And that she knew how to make a mean spreadsheet. I was sorta kinda starting to like her. Not in that way. But you know.

  “Yeah,” Margo and I said at the same time, then started laughing.

  Shelley grinned. “Cool. You guys should go to the fake sandpit. I’ll go to the beach. It’ll be like we’re all hanging out together!”

  “Tubular!” Margo said.

  “Hang loose,” I said.

  “Aloha!” Shelley said.

  We hung up the phone.

  “There is no way in a million years I’m going in that gross sandpit,” Margo said.

  “Duh. We have life coaching to do. I didn’t wear a bow tie for nothing.”

  I came prepared for this party. Not only had I learned what a spreadsheet was, but I actually made one. Not on my computer, but with markers and stuff. I was extra excited to show Margo. I’d ranked each activity based on Best Stuff for Nine-Year-Olds. Here’s the list.

  Now . . . guess what Margo picked. Just guess.

  CHAPTER 18

  The First-Grade Episode!

  Margo took one look at my spreadsheet and sighed. “I guess . . . minigolf.”

  “Minigolf? You know golf is an adult sport? So you’re basically doing the smaller version of an adult sport.”

  “It’s part of my brand.”

  At least the golf course was beach-themed with sandpits, palm trees, and even cute cartoon crabs. Tiki torches lit the entrance. Margo didn’t seem to notice any of those details. She was really focused on getting the golf ball into the hole. She even kept score.

  “Willis, you hit the ball already. You can’t just hit it again.”

  “I didn’t like the direction it was going.” I pointed at Margo. “You know, let’s talk about the direction you are going! How are you being more of a kid right now? Every other kid at the party picked better kid activities. I mean, air hockey would work better than this.”

  Margo shot a ball. It went right into the hole. I think that’s called “a one in the hole.” “Why do you need me to act a certain age so much?”

  I swung, but I missed the ball. See? This game is not for kids. So much concentration. “I don’t need you to. I thought you needed to.”

  Margo leaned on her golf stick. I think it’s called “a club.” “But I’m superfine with the way I am. I work hard and play hard. Like . . . I’m awesome.”

  “True.”

  “Isn’t a life coach supposed to help you be your best self? Not change you?”

  It had been a while since I’d watched Clarabelle Coburn’s instructional video, but this sounded like something she would say. I was so consumed with trying to coach Margo the way I thought she needed, I ignored what she wanted. Which was kind of what I did with Dog, and that hadn’t worked, either.

  Margo liked planning and learning and dreaming about her future. She liked different things from other kids her age but, hey, so did I. Why should I ever try to fix that? Margo was right. She really was awesome.

  PRO TIP #10:

  The customer is alway right—most of the time.

  I was never going to get my own talk show if I kept this up. I reminded myself to take notes of this conversation before my scholarship meeting tomorrow. I almost felt bad that Margo was paying me for this, but only almost.

  “You’re right!” I said. “I’m learning just as much from you.” And then I can’t really say why I did the next thing. Maybe because I was starting to realize Margo wasn’t horrible, and I needed to clear the air. “Hey, Margo? You don’t have to pay me for this next part. But I wanted to talk to you about . . .” My hands were starting to sweat. I never talked about the First-Grade Episode. I couldn’t believe I was bringing it up now. “Do you remember in first grade, when our teacher gave out awards after we’d reached something important?”

  “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

  “Do you remember how you always got fastest math whiz? Like, no matter what, you were always faster than everyone?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Well, one time I was really close, like two points behind you, and Mr. Giovanni wanted to give me the math whiz award, and you said no—you should get it because you were still the fastest. And . . . that really bothered me. I worked really hard for that award. Like all year.”

  “So did I,” she said. “Look, I don’t know what to say. Do you want me to apologize?”

  I’d waited for this moment for more than two and a half years. Yes! I wanted Margo to see that she took something away from me. I wanted her to give other people a chance to shine. I wanted . . . I wanted . . . to stop holding on to the award I never got. “Nah. I was just thinking about it. Maybe you can write your college essay about it someday.”

  “Or I’ll just write about my weird friend, Willis.”

  Well, fine. If we’re being honest, I sorta liked that Margo called me that. A weird friend. And I liked letting go of that old hurt and letting in a new person. No more stewing over the First-Grade Episode. Wow, it’s like I gave myself a life coaching session while coaching Margo. And I didn’t have to pay for it.

  I putted another ball. The ball jumped off the grass and into the fake water. Minigolf was maybe one of the funnest games I’d ever played.

  But we’re not going to tell Margo that, right?

  CHAPTER 19

  The Scholarship Presentation!

  When Logan was five, Mom took her to Disneyland. The night before, Logan jumped on my bed, repeating every exciting activity, every ride and character. She actually threw up; she was so excited. Or maybe it was all that bed jumping.

  I never understood that kind of excitement until Friday, when I sat outside the BOO scholarship presentation. I folded and unfolded my notes over and over again until the creases ripped. The teen boy next to me tapped his foot and the almost-a-teen girl hummed. I put on my headset and thought positive affirmations.

  My life is full of abundance.

  I love and approve of myself.

  Doors are opening for me now.

  This scholarship is my destiny, and I will become a legend.

  “Excuse me.” Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  I opened my eyes. It was a businesswoman in a yellow pantsuit. She smelled like fruity perfume and something else. What was it? Oh, yes. Success.

  “Are you Willis Wilbur?” Yellow Pantsuit asked.

  I was pretty sure she wasn’t asking for my autograph. Pretty sure.

  “I am indeed.”

  She smiled. “The scholarship committee is ready for you.”

  I let out a long breath. I’d been preparing my whole life for this moment. Well, two weeks. Two very long, very busy weeks.

  The scholarship committee sat at a long table, just like I’d imagined. Michael Morales sat in the middle. His hair was very shiny, and his suit very ironed. There were five other members. They had different products on the table. Jam. T-shirts. Some plastic thing shaped like a waffle.

  I didn’t have a product. I was the product.

  “Hello. I’m Willis Wilbur. Neighborhood Life Coach.” I shook each business owner’s hand and gave everyone a stress ball.

  “Hello, Willis.” A woman in a green scarf smiled. Her front tooth was crooked in a cheerful way. Her name was June La.

  PRO TIP #11:

  Make sure to remember your interviewer’s name.

  “You have three minutes to tell us about your business. Then we will ask three questions. Are you ready?”

  Of course I was ready. Just look at my bow tie.

  I had a PowerPoint that included screenshots of my website, video from the launch party, pictures of Dog and Margo, and even a few personal affirmations. The businesspeople nodded in the right parts and laughed in the right parts. One even wiped a tear away at the end.

  “I can tell you’ve worked hard to build your business,” June said. “We have some questions for you. Can you tell us how much revenue you’ve brought in?”

  This was a new word. “Revenue?”

  “How much money your business made.”

  “Oh. Sure. None.”

  “None?” she asked. “Can you explain?”

  I fiddled with my bow tie. It was on pretty tight. “I’ve invested all of my money into the business. But I’ve been open for only two weeks. Well, four days if you count from the launch. The guinea pig client was offered free services so I could practice. Margo’s payment went toward business expenses. But good news! I have two new clients booked next week. I project a profit happening soon.”

  “Makes sense.” June scribbled some notes on paper. So did the other business owners.

  “Next question.” Yellow Pantsuit smiled. She hadn’t told me her name. “What is unique about your business?”

  “Have you ever met anyone named Willis Wilbur before?” I asked.

  The group shook their heads.

  “Have you ever met a nine-year-old life coach?”

  Again, head shakes.

  “Then that answers your question. I found my niche.” I waved my injured wrist in the air. “Nobody else is working the kid coaching market.”

  More notes were scribbled. This time with smiles.

  Michael Morales leaned back in his seat and stared at me like I was a question and the only answer came from staring. I really wanted to cross the room and give him a fist bump. “I’m Michael Morales.”

  “I know,” I said. “I sit on your benches all the time.”

  He grinned. “That’s great to hear. I’ll get you an autograph.”

  “Wow, really?” My sister would be extra jealous.

  “Anything for a fan.” Michael winked. “Are your parents looking to sell their house?”

  “Michael,” June said. “We’re not here for your business.”

  Michael shook his head. “Of course. Local celebrity moment. You understand.”

  None of the other business owners smiled at Michael Morales. Maybe because his smile never turned off? He sipped his coffee.

  “Are you going to ask Willis a question?” Yellow Pantsuit asked, frowning at him.

  Michael Morales leaned back in his seat. “Nah. Willis has gumption, dontcha, kid?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Gumption was on the BOO flyer, so obviously it was important. But it felt like Michael Morales didn’t really care what I had to say. Maybe he was just there to smile a lot? Maybe I didn’t want to host a talk show with him anymore.

  “Final question, Willis,” Yellow Pantsuit said. “How does your business contribute to our community?”

  I spread my hands wide. “I have neighborhood right in the title. And I believe that a good community business focuses on service. At some point I will make money from helping people. But that doesn’t change what I am doing—helping. When I first started I tried to force clients to be what I wanted. But I learned to listen and guide. Kids in Green Slope will learn to overcome their fears and accomplish big things. It’s my gift to my community, but it’s also a gift for me because I’ve learned to be myself when I’m by myself. You probably don’t understand that part, but that’s because you haven’t met my best friend, Shelley. Anyway . . . I really like this quote from the boxer Muhammad Ali: ‘Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on earth.’ Thank you.”

  Boom. If I had a microphone, I would have dropped it right then.

  Date. Destiny.

  Done.

  CHAPTER 20

  The Big News!

  The business owners clapped as I floated out of the room. Then I floated around the neighborhood for the next hour. I even let Mom talk me into floating at the neighborhood pool. Float, float, float.

  The sky was so blue, the trees so green, my heart so full. There wasn’t a word to describe this sense of accomplishment. Happy wasn’t big enough. Joyful wasn’t round enough.

  There was a note from Logan on my bedroom door when I got home.

  “Some scholarship guy called. Here’s his number.”

  Today was Logan’s day with our cell phone. Since she was nowhere to be found, Mom finally let me use her phone.

  I walked over to the magical bench where this had all started. Out of respect, I did not sit on Michael Morales’s face. Instead, I sat on his phone number, which was the same phone number I dialed with a shaky hand.

  “Hello, this is Willis Wilbur.” I blew out a breath. “Just returning your phone call.”

  “Oh! Hello! This is Michael Morales, of Morales Homes and Enterprises.”

  “Michael . . . the Michael Morales?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re a fan.” There was some sort of commotion in the background. “Give me a second. I’m just helping my kids.”

  I tapped my foot while Michael instructed his kids to put their bikes away before he took them away. Wow, he sounded just like my dad. It’s nice to know a celebrity could be just like regular people.

  Finally, he got on the phone. “Okay, Willis. First off, the committee wanted me to tell you we were very impressed with your business savvy.”

  “Thank you.” I reminded myself to look up the word savvy.

  “And personally, I think the bow tie is a good look on you.”

  I KNEW IT.

  “Unfortunately . . .”

  With that one word my stomach dropped. My soul shriveled. My destiny disappeared.

  “We decided to go with a candidate who has a more established business. Jam, actually. I love jam. But I want you to know, this is not a failure.”

  Tell that to the rest of my summer.

  I leaned forward, resting my forehead on my wrist brace.

  “You’ve created a business,” Michael Morales said. “I didn’t start my first business until I was fourteen. And now look at me. This is one rung on your ladder to success.”

  “Thank you for your time,” I said. I was not crying. Not yet. “Best of luck in your future, Mr. Morales.”

  “And Willis?” Michael Morales added.

  I had to get off the phone. Rejection was not something that should last this long.

  “I told my son about your business. He’s twelve. He would like to book an appointment.”

  And then the tears slipped out. I had to cover my mouth to keep from letting out a sob. Clarabelle Coburn may have said to feel your feelings, but she didn’t understand what it was like to feel so many good and bad feelings at the exact same time.

  “Are you still there?” Michael Morales asked.

  “Yes.” I swallowed. “Sounds good. Have him—” I stopped. Dried my eyes. Swallowed again. “Have him. Call and make. An appointment. Goodbye.”

  I stretched out on Michael Morales’s bench. I would never have my own bench. I was not a legend, and I was never going to be a legend. No one would name a wing in the hospital after me or tell all their friends they know me, even when they didn’t. I had Michael Morales on the phone, and I didn’t do something smart like pitch more business ideas.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9