Braced Read online

  RACHEL’S TOP FIVE BABY NAMES

  (in order of importance)

  1. TRISTAN

  2. DANIEL

  3. CONNOR

  4. KAI

  5. MATEO

  My new “stick-my-butt-out technique” in soccer is not foolproof or magical or anything, but I’ve been playing better ever since I started using it. By our fourth game, I haven’t come in contact with any other fakers. The only issue is that Coach Howard doesn’t seem to notice I’m improving. I was only on the field for ten minutes in the last game and thirteen in the one before that, and in both games, she divided up my playing time, probably so I wouldn’t be able to tell that I wasn’t on the field for very long or feel as bad about it. I noticed, but I stayed focused and guarded my side of the field. I didn’t mess anything up in either game. I even had a big play where I cleared the ball from the goal. It felt good to play like that again, like someone who could make a difference for the team.

  The other good thing that happened last week was that I figured out how to put the brace on by myself. I went straight to the locker room after school and took it off to stretch out before practice. Hazel has always helped me put the brace back on after I’m done, but she never showed up. She went down to the field with Ladan and forgot to tell me. By the time I realized that she wasn’t coming, I only had five minutes to get to practice, and I couldn’t ask anyone else for help, because there was no one left in the locker room.

  It took me a few tries to figure out that when I put the brace on myself I need to start by buckling on the middle strap and pull really hard. And now I don’t need help getting it on or off. I don’t know why it took me so long to try. I guess when you don’t have another choice, you have to make things happen for yourself, or they won’t.

  HALLOWEEN IS TWO weeks away, but no one has mentioned dressing up or trick-or-treating to me. I guess it seems a little babyish, which is weird because this time last year, Frannie, Hazel, and I had our roller-girl costumes planned and our candy route mapped out. Literally. But now that we’re in seventh grade, we’re supposed to be too cool and mature to care.

  I do care, though. Halloween is our thing. I’d love to use my free hour to get dressed up in matching outfits and go around to different houses. I wouldn’t be able to binge on all the candy, but that wouldn’t be too bad. Eating in the brace is a lot easier now that I’ve learned when to stop, and I could probably eat a few pieces between houses and still have time to digest.

  “Are we trick-or-treating this year?” I ask Frannie and Hazel at lunch.

  Hazel gives Frannie a look I’ve never seen before. I don’t know what it means, but as soon as it happens, I realize how weird it is that I’m the one bringing this up. Costumes are Frannie’s territory, so I’m never the person who decides what we’re doing or wearing. And it seems really weird that the soccer team isn’t planning anything.

  “I’m surprised you’d even want to get dressed up.” The way Hazel’s voice swings up and down makes it obvious that she memorized this line. She would be a terrible actress.

  “It would be fun,” I say. “Remember, we talked about wearing the grass skirts as part of our costumes?”

  There’s the look again, passing between them. This time, I know for sure I’m on the outside of something.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I told you,” Hazel says. “We didn’t think you’d want to get dressed up this year because, you know.” She glances down at my brace. “And it’s too late to get another ticket now.”

  “A ticket to what?” I ask.

  “The haunted house at Andover High.” She picks up a baby carrot and pops it in her mouth. “It’s sold out. I guess it’s really popular this year, since Halloween is on a Friday.”

  “When did you decide to go?” I ask.

  “Last week,” Hazel says. “Ladan asked some peeps from the team about going together. I told her I didn’t think you’d want to go because it’d be longer than an hour.”

  “You did?” Frannie asks.

  My cheeks are burning, probably red and splotchy by now—a dead giveaway that I’m hurt. They made a whole plan for Halloween and didn’t tell me. Best friends are supposed to share everything, not leave each other out of costumes and haunted houses. “Maybe I could still get a ticket?” My words taste desperate.

  “Doubt it,” Hazel says. “I mean, you can check. I’m not lying about them being sold out.”

  I keep waiting for her to realize how mean she sounds. I wonder if she knows, because I think that might be worse. I don’t call her out on it, because there’s a chance that if I open my mouth everything I’m feeling will pour out of me, and I don’t want to say anything to Hazel that I can’t take back.

  “I don’t have to go,” Frannie says to me. “I don’t even want to. No one else actually cares about dressing up anyway. They all want to look cute. I’m sorry, but you can’t be a witch without at least one wart, and a tight black dress is not authentic. It’s not practical for flying around on a broom. Everyone knows that.”

  “You can’t leave me alone,” Hazel says to Frannie.

  “You’ll be with the other girls,” she says. “Rachel, we can get dressed up for real and go all out. I have a million ideas.”

  “Where would you even go?” Hazel asks before I have a chance to respond.

  “Trick-or-treating!” I say.

  “Yes!” Frannie says.

  “That could be cool too.” Hazel plays with her hair.

  “It will be.” Frannie smiles at me.

  “I’ll map out a new candy route,” I say.

  “Perfect!” Frannie says. “This is going to be awesome.”

  I love her for trying to make it better, for picking me over everyone else. It helps.

  I WALK OUT onto the field in my uniform with the rest of the team. I wish I’d told Mom not to come to this game and that I hardly play anymore, but I completely forgot, so she’s here, folding chair and all. “Go, Rachel!” She smiles and waves to me. It feels like she’s mocking me.

  Coach Howard puts me in on defense about halfway through the first half. I can’t let anyone get through to the goal. If we win the next two games, we get to go to the play-offs, and even though I’m not starting or playing very much, I still want our team to win.

  I cover the girl in red who’s carrying the ball up the left side of the field. She tries to fake me out, dragging the ball to the side. I don’t fall for it. I stay with her and wait for my chance to get the ball as she inches her way toward our goal. She taps the ball between my legs and sprints around me before I can stop her. I run to catch up with her, but she pings the ball to her teammate, and they score the first goal of the game. The red team erupts. They’re all shouting and cheering for each other.

  Coach Howard pulls me off the field. No one says, “Good work” or, “Way to hustle out there” or anything to me. They whisper things to each other, and I stare at the grass. I wish I could blame it on the brace, but what happened was all me.

  No one else scores for the rest of the game.

  “Good try today, honey,” Mom says to me when we get in the car.

  “You’re not serious,” I say.

  “Yes, I am. I think it’s good that you’re out there giving it your all.”

  “Nothing about today was good.”

  “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

  “Stop. We’re not going to the play-offs because of me.” I say it a little too loudly.

  “Don’t yell at me,” Mom shouts back.

  It feels like we’re always fighting or almost fighting. It used to be like this every six months when we went to see Dr. Paul, and now every six months is every day.

  ON HALLOWEEN, FRANNIE’S dad picks the three of us up from school. Hazel is going to the haunted house with the soccer girls and Frannie and I are going trick-or-treating, but we’re all getting ready together.

  Practice was canceled because it’s been raining all day, which is good
because even if no one is talking about how I let in the one and only goal at the game two days ago, I know they’re all still thinking about it, because I am. My shoes make a squishy sound when I climb into the backseat. Everything I’m wearing feels wet. I thought ahead and stashed a second outfit in my bag in case I get uncomfortable and my brace starts pulling on my clothes in a weird way, which happens sometimes. Even if I never change, knowing the option is there makes me feel better.

  As soon as we get to Frannie’s house, I change out of my school clothes and into a long baby-doll shirt and the new leggings Mom bought me. The leggings are my favorite things to wear, because they’re thin but still warm, and they have this special grip on the inside so they don’t move around under the brace. They’ve pretty much solved the pants problem. I don’t think I’ve ever worn this exact outfit to school, but I like it a lot and I could. I feel pretty and it’s comfortable, which is a dream combo. Plus, my hair is a little wavy from the rain. It looks like I spent all day at the beach.

  Frannie and Hazel are sitting on the carpet sorting through enormous piles of costumes when I get upstairs. “Everything is curated by decade and/or genre,” Frannie says as I drop down next to them.

  Hazel rolls her eyes at me. “Curate” is Frannie’s new favorite word.

  “I wish I were going with you guys,” Hazel says. I try not to let her comment bother me, but it does a little. “I’d be very into eating pounds of chocolate right now.”

  “When would you not be into that?” Frannie asks.

  “Good point.” Hazel smiles.

  I hear the muffled sound of tiny bells. Everyone who texts me is currently in the room, which means it has to be Tate. I roll over onto my hands and knees and push myself up as fast as I can. I don’t usually get up that way in front of other people, but at this point, I’m not hiding anything from my friends. I unzip the front pocket of my backpack. His name makes me smile. Going to the haunted house tonight?

  Sold out, I write back, then Frannie and I are trick-or-treating. What are you up to? I press send and then re-read what I wrote a few times. I wish I’d sent it all in one text, so it would take up less space on my screen and my words wouldn’t seem so much bigger than his. I want it to feel like we are trying the same amount, but he is trying a little more because he texted me first.

  He doesn’t write back for four minutes. It makes me think I should have waited to write back too. Finally he says, I want to trick-or-treat! But Kyle said we’re too old.

  I laugh. Haha! No way! You’re never too old for unlimited candy.

  “Who’s that?” Hazel asks.

  “Tate,” I say before I can stop myself.

  “Wait, what? That’s amazing!” she squeals. “Texting is one step away from going out. Trust me.”

  I want to believe her. I hear the bells again, sparkling from inside my glittery turquoise case. I have an extra ticket, he says. Meet in front at 8?

  “Fran, want to go with Hazel tonight?” I ask, because I’m not ditching her. “Tate has an extra ticket. But if you’d still rather trick-or-treat, I’m totally good with that too.”

  “I know I have something for three people,” Frannie says to herself, digging around in the pile in front of her. “Sorry, Hazel, but you’re not being a lame witch with the soccer girls anymore.”

  “Whatever,” Hazel says. “You’re in charge.”

  “Is that a yes?” I ask Frannie.

  “Yes!” she says.

  See you at 8, I write.

  Sounds good, he writes back.

  “We need a costume that will work with my brace,” I say. I know we’ll be at the haunted house for more than an hour.

  “You can’t wear it tonight,” Hazel says. “Tate is going to be there.”

  “I have to,” I say.

  “There’s no way your mom will ever find out that you didn’t wear it. It’s not like it has a tracking device.”

  “It doesn’t have to do with my mom,” I say.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I can’t skip hours.”

  “It’s one night. It won’t make a difference.”

  “It could,” I say.

  “There’s no way,” she says. “They’re probably telling you that to scare you so you actually wear it. I bet a lot of people don’t follow the rules. I mean, think about it, there has to be some cushion.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “It’s not like I want to wear my brace tonight. But if I start taking it off whenever Tate’s around or whenever I don’t feel like dealing with it, the hours will add up really fast, and then it might not work.” As soon as I say it, I realize why Mom made such a big deal out of ten minutes. If I think ten minutes here and there doesn’t matter, I won’t wear it as much as I should, and I don’t really know how big of a cushion I have. No one does.

  “Oh. Sure. I mean, that makes sense,” Hazel says. Only it doesn’t seem like she really gets it.

  “I’ve got it!” Frannie pops out from under her bed holding two long fishtails. “Mermaids! And you can be a clamshell! It’ll blend right in with your brace. It’s from when Lucy was in band for The Little Mermaid musical.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. I don’t love the idea of being a bedazzled clam. But it’s too late to stop Frannie. She’s handing me light gray tights and a sparkling shift dress, and I guess it’s probably the best option. The hard, shimmering shell that attaches to my back blends in perfectly with the brace.

  When I see Tate standing in front of the haunted house in his FC Barcelona jersey and all his soccer gear, waiting for me like he said he would, I can’t think about anything else.

  “Sweet costumes!” Kyle shouts at us from under his gorilla mask.

  “Thanks!” Hazel clings to his side. “You really think so?”

  “Nope. Not really.”

  “Shut up! You’re so mean.” She hits his shoulder, not like she wants it to hurt, but like she’s trying to find an excuse to touch him.

  “What are you supposed to be?” Kyle points at me. I accidentally look at Tate, but he’s looking at Kyle. “He doesn’t know the answer,” Kyle says. “Do you, bro?” I feel my face heat up and turn red.

  “Yeah, I do,” Tate says. “They’re characters from that movie. The one where they’re all, um, under the sea. You know, the cartoon.” Then he looks at the ground, like he’s embarrassed. Maybe he was expecting a different version of me to show up.

  “Solid guess.” Kyle laughs. Then he looks at me. “Spit it out already.”

  “He’s right. We’re from The Little Mermaid. I’m a clam.” I mumble the last part.

  “Hmm.” He smirks. “Weird costume.”

  I think about telling him to shut up, but I don’t totally disagree about my costume being weird, so I change the subject instead. “Scale of one to ten, how scary is this haunted house going to be?”

  “I hope ten,” Frannie says. “But probably two.”

  “Five,” Hazel says.

  “Um, one,” Kyle says. “It’s all fake.”

  Tate shrugs. “No clue.”

  We follow the signs, which say “WATCH OUT: Satan is loose in Salem” and “BEWARE. This House is Haunted” until we are standing on the football field. There isn’t much of a line to get into the long tent, but once we’re on the other side of the heavy curtains, it’s dark and crowded. The music sounds very dun-dun-dun, like something bad and scary is about to happen, and I can’t see anything other than hands and eyes popping out at me. Someone pushes against me like they’re trying to knock me down, and the grass is wet. I slip backward and land in a cold, slimy puddle.

  “Kyle!” I hear Hazel shriek. “Where are you?” She’s way ahead of me.

  “Coming.” His voice is close. He’s standing right next to me.

  I try to push myself up with both hands and lean to the right, because even though I’m not as strong on that side, nothing is digging into my armpit and my hip is free to help. But my hand slips and slides under me, and I end
up falling back into the mud. “Hey, what the—” someone shouts. “You can’t sit down in the middle of the path. People are trying to get by.”

  “Because obviously that’s what I’m doing,” I shout back.

  “Rachel?” Tate says.

  No! “Yeah.” My voice is so soft I almost can’t hear it.

  “Why are you sitting down?”

  “I fell,” I say.

  “Do you, um, need help?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I reach out and feel my way around in the air until I find one of Tate’s hands. He grabs on to me and pulls me up. All I can think about is that his skin is touching mine, and then I lose my grip and fall backward onto the ground again. Plop. So does Tate. Plop.

  “So … that didn’t go very well.” Tate starts laughing.

  I start laughing too.

  “Do you think you can get up on your own?” he asks. “Or should we try that again? I’m down for whatever.”

  “I think I can do this.”

  “Okay,” he says. “I’m standing by just in case.”

  I do the only thing I know will definitely work: I roll onto my knees and push myself up with both hands. I don’t care if his eyes have adjusted to the dark and he can see me. He’s doing everything he can to help me and acting like he doesn’t care about my brace, so why should I? “Okay. I’m ready.”

  He grabs my muddy hand and leads me back outside. I’m covered in mud, and so is Tate.

  “Thanks for helping me,” I say.

  “A for effort?”

  “Definitely.” I nod. “You can go back in if you want. You didn’t get to see any of the haunted house.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t tell Kyle, but I hate haunted houses.”

  “We should have gone trick-or-treating,” I say.