Thud! Pigúiça fell again.
The green scooter had wheels made of smooth stone, the kind that sing when they spin: “weeeee.” It was beautiful. And it was hard. Every time she pushed off with one paw and stepped up with the others, the scooter swerved one way, and she went the other.
Everyone seemed to know how to ride. Bolota glided by slowly, perfectly balanced. Tico zoomed past, ears blowing in the wind. Nina could even ride with just one paw, just to show off.
Pigúiça sat on the grass, her paw stinging, just a little scrape. “It's no use,” she said, sulking. “I'm bad at this. I give up.”
Fofuxo looked at the scooter, looked at her, and said, “Want to see something?” He picked up the scooter, which was much too small for him, and put one paw on it. Pigúiça laughed. “You'll never manage it!”
“We'll see,” he said. He pushed off and glided a little way. Then he slid backward, “whoaaa!”, and ended up on his back, against a tree trunk, with all four paws in the air and a look of shock. Little seeds flew everywhere.
Pigúiça laughed with her paw over her mouth, and laughed even harder when Fofuxo laughed too, lying on his back. “I fall every day,” he said. “Every day?” “Every day. Falling is part of learning. The trick is to get up one more time than you fall.”
Pigúiça got up, shook the dirt out of her fur, and thought about what each fall had taught her. On the first, she had leaned too far to the left. On the second, she had folded her paws out of fear. On the third, she had only looked at her own feet.
“I need to look ahead,” she said. “At where I want to go.”
She picked a stone far away, pushed off, stepped onto the scooter, and breathed. The scooter wobbled. She didn't look at her feet. She looked at the stone. Weeee, sang the wheels. Weeee, weeee.
She glided along, five whole pushes, and on the sixth the scooter wobbled. But she put her paw on the ground in time and didn't fall! She stopped, eyes wide, her heart beating hard and happy.
“Five pushes!” she shouted. “I did five pushes!” “Tomorrow, six,” said Fofuxo, still lying on his back, with little seeds on his head. “And then ten. And then you won't even count.”
That night, the scooter leaned against the wall, and the wheels still sang softly, just one sleepy weeee. Pigúiça curled up in her bed and dreamed that she was gliding slowly, looking ahead, in no hurry.
In the dream she didn't fall even once. And if she had, that would have been fine, she would have gotten up again.
