Elisabeth and the Unwanted Advice by C.H. Deriso

Author:C.H. Deriso [Deriso, C. H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: The Babysitter Chronicles; C. H. Deriso; Tennis;Sports & Recreation/general; Social issues/new experience; social issures/self esteem & self reliance; babysitting;money making project for children; grandmothers; dating; 9781496527578; 9781491488645; 9781496527615
Publisher: Capstone
Published: 2016-07-25T00:00:00+00:00

Be yourself. It’s exhausting to try to be something you aren’t, and kids can tell if you’re not being your true self.

Chapter 8

“… but if she didn’t let me give her the tips, she was threatening to hover in the laundry room while I babysat.”

Lance laughed lightly, the green flecks in his eyes sparkling as a breeze nudged a dark lock from his forehead.

Elisabeth took a deep breath of the jasmine-scented spring air and crossed her legs at the ankles. She couldn’t believe it: As she told Lance about her upcoming babysitting job, Elisabeth was actually having a normal conversation with him, just like she used to! It felt so good. Maybe she’d ruined any chance for romance … but she had her friend back!

And it was the friendship, she knew now, that she cared about. It was part of her motivation for gathering every ounce of courage to get back on the tennis court. She’d decided at the ice cream parlor the day before that if she didn’t make the tennis team, so be it. But she wouldn’t slink away. She wouldn’t run away. That was so not her style.

She’d show up for practice, and she’d give it all she had. What’s more, she’d actually concentrate on the sport this time. No more silly games. No more pretending to be somebody she wasn’t. No more ridiculous distractions.

As they sat on the bench waiting for practice to start, Elisabeth knew for sure she’d made the right decision. She hadn’t felt this lighthearted in days.

“Hovering in the laundry room,” Lance repeated to himself, seeming to enjoy the mental picture he was forming. “Kinda like Cyrano de Bergerac.”

Elisabeth nodded cheerfully, recalling the classic play they’d read the year before in language arts class about a man who pulls the strings for his friend, feeding him lines and otherwise working behind the scenes to help the friend win over his true love. “There have been a lot of Cyrano de Bergeracs in my life lately,” Elisabeth said. If Lance only knew.

A warm breeze brushed against their faces as other tennis team hopefuls began to gather, talking casually among themselves as their rackets dangled by their sides. Elisabeth glanced at Lance, did a double-take, then smiled as she realized that the breeze had actually blown a sliver of a leaf onto his cheek.

She leaned forward, wrinkled her nose, and casually flecked it off.

“You had something on your face,” she said, holding Lance’s gaze.

“Thanks,” he said, that crazy-cute dimple settling into his cheek.

That was it. A simple, relaxed moment. Just like her swings and her serves would be authentic and relaxed when tennis practice began in a few minutes. No Cyrano de Bergerac pulling her strings.

Mima’s words echoed in her mind: You’re just fine at being yourself.

It had sounded like grandma-speak when she’d heard it the day before. But now she was starting to believe it.

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