Braced Page 12

“I’d have an entire bucket of Snickers by now, and we wouldn’t look like—”

  We both laugh.

  “Is your, um, is it okay? Your brace?” he asks.

  “I mean, mud wrestling isn’t recommended, but it’ll be fine.”

  “Cool.” He pushes back his hair. “I wasn’t sure if it could get wet.”

  “Well, I’m not supposed to go swimming or shower in it, but it doesn’t feel wet inside, so I think I’m okay.”

  “Good.” He smiles, and right now, my brace doesn’t feel like something I have to hide.

  Kyle and Hazel come out of the haunted house holding hands, followed by Frannie and most of the girls’ soccer team. They’re all dressed sort of like witches: tight black clothes, pointy hats, and brooms. It’s more witch-inspired.

  “Dude,” Kyle says as soon as he sees Tate. “What happened to you?”

  “I fell,” Tate says, covering for me. I can’t help but smile.

  “Since when do you fall? Other than never.”

  “It was dark in there,” Tate says. Then he looks at me, and our eyes stay glued together. I know he doesn’t care about Kyle or being covered in mud, and I don’t either.

  “Dude, did she take you down?” Kyle points at me.

  “Actually, someone pushed me, and Tate was trying to help,” I say. Kyle already knows that, since he’s the one who did the pushing. But I can’t say that part out loud, because Hazel is holding his hand and leaning into him.

  “Just like she’s dragging down the soccer team,” Josie says partly under her breath, but loud enough for everyone to hear. Someone gasps, and a few of the girls smirk or cover their mouths, pretending like they’re trying not to laugh.

  I swallow hard, but Frannie says, “Wait, remind me who was playing goalie again?”

  “It was my first time!” Josie says.

  “Sweet excuse.” Frannie rolls her eyes.

  I love her for backing me up and being my ally always. And I want to think Josie is wrong and stupid and just ignore her. But I know she’s right. We lost because of me.

  I WAKE UP way too early on Saturday morning. Eight a.m. too early. All I want to do is fall back asleep and not think about the game or what Josie said, but I can’t stop my brain from showing the instant replay.

  Two hours later, I can’t take it anymore. I know there’s a chance Frannie is still sleeping. Out of the three of us, she sleeps the latest. But I decide it’s worth the risk. I get dressed and walk over to her house. She answers the door, eyes half-open, like she could fall back asleep standing there.

  “You’re lucky my dad already woke me up.” She fake glares at me. “Want breakfast? He made pancakes.”

  I shake my head. “I need your help,” I say. “I’m bad at soccer.”

  “You’re not that—”

  “I am.” I don’t let her lie to me. “The brace is holding me back and I don’t know what to do. The secret-weapon-butt technique is good, but there aren’t enough situations where I can use it. I need something else. And I can’t do this alone.”

  She nods. “We need water bottles and oranges. Meet at your house in ten?”

  I nod back. “Thank you.”

  “Always,” she says.

  Ten minutes later, we’re warming up in my backyard. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to say,” Frannie says between toe taps on the ball.

  “Nothing could be worse than what Josie said last night.”

  “Ignore her.”

  “She’s right,” I say.

  “She’s a follower,” Frannie says. “But listen, you want the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “I really don’t think you’re going to get to play offense. You have to take what you can get.”

  “Defense,” I say.

  “Exactly. And there are a lot of good parts about playing defense. I get that it feels not as important sometimes, because you’re not scoring, but you know what happens when the defense goes wrong.”

  “Um, yeah, what happened at our last game,” I say. I know she’s right, and that she’s not trying to make me feel bad. “Okay.” I nod. “I’m ready.”

  We run one-on-one drills. After about twenty minutes, it’s Frannie’s turn with the ball. I see my chance to break in, but she runs around me and scores.

  “UGH,” I shout. I feel like I have no control over my body. I sit down on the grass. It hasn’t dried out from the rain, and now my butt is wet.

  Frannie walks over and sits next to me. “Ooo,” she says, but she doesn’t get up.

  “Should I give up?” I ask her.

  She shrugs. “If you want to.”

  That’s not what I’m expecting or what I want to hear. I can’t imagine it: my life without soccer. I’ve been playing every fall and spring since second grade. And last year, I started playing indoor soccer too, because I didn’t like how the winter felt without the team or my friends or the game. “Would you give up?” I ask. “If you were wearing a brace? And if Josie said all that stuff about you?”

  “I want to say no, but I have no idea.” She shakes her head. “I really don’t.”

  “That’s fair,” I say. “You know, my mom didn’t even think I should try to play anymore.”

  “What? That doesn’t sound like something your mom would say.”

  “She’s been so weird about everything with the brace. We never talk about it, and when we do, it’s only because she’s reminding me that I need to follow every single rule perfectly.”

  “That must make it so much harder. I mean, not talking always makes everything a lot worse for me.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Sometimes with my dad, we just won’t talk for days about anything other than dinner, and those stretches are always the worst.”

  “Same!” I say. “But I’m so mad at her for acting like wearing a brace is no big deal. I don’t even want to talk to her about it. Ever.”

  “You should tell her she’s making it worse,” Frannie says.

  “I don’t think she’ll listen to me. I mean, she had a brace, so she knows what I’m going through. But she acts like I’m just supposed to deal with it and have no feelings about it because it’s not as bad as her surgery.”

  “You’re allowed to have feelings, especially about your own brace. Trust me,” she says. “Dad, Lucy, and me—we’re all in so much pain about Mom, sometimes it’s like we can’t even deal. But it’s always worse when we don’t talk about it, because we all need different things. My dad says it’s my job to tell him what I need, because he can’t guess and he doesn’t want to try. I think you should take that advice with your mom, because not telling her is getting in the way. She probably doesn’t even realize how annoying she’s being. I mean, she can’t read your mind. No one can.”

  “True,” I say. “I don’t even know where to start. She gets defensive about every little thing.”

  “Maybe ask her to listen to you,” she says. “Start there.”

  “That’s a really good idea.”

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, and then Frannie says, “What do you want to do about soccer?”

  I think about it. “I want to give up. I’m sick of being bad. But if I didn’t play, I wouldn’t get to hang out with you and Hazel as much, and I have no idea what I’d do after school other than listen to music and sit around thinking about how much I wish I didn’t have to wear a brace.”

  She laughs.

  I laugh too. It feels good to say it out loud.

  I keep thinking about the things I’d miss about soccer: playing hard and fighting to get better and being part of a team. Every time I take my place on the field, I feel this rush of energy pumping through me, filling me with excitement and happiness and hope that I can do anything. I know I can be good at soccer, even in the brace. I can be someone the team can rely on to help win games, and I want to prove I’m right about that. I roll over and push myself off the ground. “Let’s go,” I say to Frannie.

 
; “Really?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “I was hoping you’d say that. I would totally get it if you decided you didn’t want to play anymore, but I’d miss hanging out with you every day.”

  “Me too,” I say.

  She stands up. “Okay, so, I think you need to give up on your left leg for now. It’s fine for dribbling, but you don’t have enough flexibility in that hip to be able to kick or pass. You need to get to the point where your right leg is dominant. Basically, you have to turn yourself into a righty.”

  “That’s impossible,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “You just have to practice a lot.”

  “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  “No. Not really,” she says. “But if you can make this happen, after you get your brace off, you’ll have two dominant legs. You’ll be unstoppable.”

  I nod. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

  “Drills.”

  I practice passing and pinging and kicking the ball to Frannie over and over with my right foot for the next few hours, until it starts to feel natural.

  Mom makes fettuccini and meatballs with red sauce for dinner, which is my all-time favorite food after pizza, and as soon as I sit down at the table, she says, “I want to talk to you about something—”

  “Okay.” I stack a few meatballs on my pasta and drown them in marinara. Then I sprinkle a thick layer of Parmesan on top.

  “I know we talked about it before, but I want to say it again just in case. Things are going to start to change around here after the baby is born, and I want to make sure you feel like you can ask me questions or talk to me if you’re worried about anything.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I don’t have any right now, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

  “That sounds good,” Mom says.

  “I made a list of names I like,” I say. I stand up and walk over to my backpack. I unzip the front pocket and pull out the folded piece of paper. I haven’t changed anything since I first made the list, but I read through it one last time before I hand it to Mom.

  She looks it over and smiles. “You probably won’t believe this, but we have a lot of the same favorites.”

  She’s right. It surprises me that we agree on anything anymore.

  ON MONDAY, I’M nervous for the last game of the fall season, but I’m excited too. Frannie and I practiced again on Sunday, and I’m getting better and more confident at kicking with my right leg. For the first time in forever, it feels like there’s a chance I could actually play well. I’m glad I asked Frannie for help.

  The thermometer on our kitchen window says thirty-seven degrees, so I pack a long-sleeved shirt and leggings to wear under my uniform. I grab a Snickers bar for Tate from the leftover Halloween candy Mom bought. I know it’s very boyfriend/girlfriend to give each other things, and I’m not sure exactly where we stand after what happened at the haunted house, but I’m pretty sure he like-likes me too. I don’t know if he wants to be BF/GF, though, because that’s a whole different official level I’ve never experienced before. I’m not even sure how you can tell if someone wants to be your boyfriend. But if I had to guess, I’d say he probably tries to help you with things like getting out of the mud, and he also probably doesn’t care about things like the fact that you have a back brace. I mean, no one really makes a big deal about my brace or stares at me anymore. Everyone knows, and I guess they’re all used to it by now. But Tate acts like it doesn’t matter to him at all. And that makes me like him even more.

  The good news about the sudden drop in temperature is that the brace with all its extra padding actually keeps me super warm, which means I can dress like I always do and feel toasty. I almost feel bad for all the non-brace wearers, aka everyone else at school, because they need to pile on extra layers today and I don’t.

  At school, everyone is in the lobby before class starts, waiting for the bell to ring, because it’s too cold to stand outside. The air is thick and sweaty. Lucky for me, Hazel and Frannie are standing right near the door, so I don’t have to push through the crowd to get to them. “I can’t believe we have to play Hill today,” Hazel says. “It’s freezing outside. I mean, come on.”

  “I can’t wait,” I say.

  “Did I miss something?” Hazel looks at Frannie like, What planet is she living on?

  “Just wait.” Frannie smiles at her.

  “Sneaky.” Hazel crosses her arms. “I like it.”

  I want to tell her what Frannie and I have been up to, but I don’t want to jinx my luck. “Does anyone else think it smells like an armpit in here?” I ask.

  “Seriously. Deodorant. Get some, people!” Frannie shouts. “The nurse is giving it away for free.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” Tate says. I look up as soon as I hear his voice. “Hey, um, Rachel, can I talk to you?” He pushes his hair back, and all I can think about is what Hazel said about texting being one step away from going out.

  “Um. Yeah. Sure.” I flip my hair too. I try to act totally and completely chill, even though my heart feels like it’s actually about to escape from my chest. I meet Hazel’s eyes, and she mouths, “OMG! It’s happening!”

  I smile at her.

  I follow Tate’s bright green sneakers away from my friends until he stops walking. “I was wondering if—” He pauses. “I came to ask—”

  It feels like whatever is making Tate nervous is rubbing off on me, because out of nowhere I’m queasy and hot under not-that-many layers.

  “So, um, Kyle wants to know if Hazel would maybe want to go out with him,” he says in a rush.

  It feels like all the blood is being drained from my body. “Sure,” I say and walk back to Hazel. “Tate wants to know if you want to go out with Kyle.” I try not to look directly at her when I say it. I don’t want to see her smile, because even though I know she’s not gloating, that’s how it will feel.

  “YES!” Hazel shrieks. “Tell him yes!” She’s nodding her head so hard and fast I’m afraid it might fall off.

  I walk back over to Tate.

  “I heard,” he says.

  “I’m pretty sure Kyle heard,” I say under my breath.

  He smiles and then turns to walk away.

  “Tate,” I say, and he turns back around. I take off my backpack and pull the Snickers out of the front pocket. “Because you didn’t get to go trick-or-treating.”

  He smiles wider. “Thanks, Rachel. You remembered. That’s really cool.” He slips it into his back pocket and then walks over to Kyle.

  Hazel is squealing. “I can’t believe it! Kyle is my boyfriend. I have a boyfriend. That makes us the fifth new couple in our grade this year.”

  I am happy for Hazel, and I don’t want to be jealous. I hate that I am. I know it’s not her fault that it wasn’t me. I smile as big as I can at her, until my face starts to ache as much as everything else.

  I go to the soccer field early to stretch out and warm up before everyone else arrives. Only, when I get there, Hazel and Frannie are already there with the forwards. They’re sitting in a circle talking and stretching.

  “Rachel.” Hazel sounds surprised. “You’re here. Sit. We’re talking seventh grade formal.”

  “I can’t believe it’s only five weeks away,” Ladan says.

  “Seriously.” Hazel nods.

  “We’re in charge of decorations.” Frannie looks at Hazel and then at me. “I signed all three of us up. I’m not going to a dance with a dumb theme. Last year it was ridiculous. I mean, hearts? Really? That’s not a theme. It’s like they didn’t even try.”

  “I guess that’s one good thing about not making the play-offs. More time for decorating.” Ladan looks at me when she says it, so I know she thinks that it’s my fault we didn’t make it. It stings behind my eyes, but I don’t even try to defend myself, because Ladan is the best player on the team and everything she says sounds like a fact.

  “With Frannie, there’s always time for decorating,” Hazel says.
/>
  “What are you wearing?” Ladan is still looking at me, but it’s one of those general questions that anyone could answer, so I pretend not to hear her. I don’t want to think about going to the dance in my brace.

  “I’m wearing red,” Frannie says.

  “You’re so lucky.” Ladan rubs cherry gloss onto her already shimmery lips. “My mom won’t let me wear red until I’m like eighteen or married or something stupid. She’s so strict. It’s a Persian thing.”

  “Red is très chic. You should tell her I said so.” Frannie pretends it’s no big deal that her mom isn’t here to have an opinion on the color of her dress.

  “Rachel found this purple dress that’s totally gorge!” Hazel says out of nowhere. I get that she’s trying to move the conversation away from Frannie and her mom, and I can’t blame her for that, but I don’t have a dress for the dance. I tried on a dress that Hazel and I both loved when we went to the mall together over the summer, but I didn’t buy it and she knows I can’t wear anything like it anymore.

  “What’s it like?” Ladan asks me.

  I don’t know what to say, and I’m afraid nothing is going to come out right. “It’s hard to describe.”

  “It’s not. No one’s going to think you’re being braggy, Rachel,” Hazel says. “It has a sweetheart neckline.” She runs the tips of her fingers over her chest like she’s drawing it.

  “I’m not sure I’m getting that one anymore,” I say. “I mean, I think I found something even cuter.” The words fall out of my mouth, jumbling together in the air. I hope they don’t sound too much like a lie.

  “I love it,” Ladan says. “So many options. I seriously can’t wait.”

  I can. I wish I hadn’t told Hazel and Frannie I’d go with them way back when we first found out about the seventh grade formal. It feels like a promise, like something I can’t take back. I mean, what am I supposed to do if Tate actually asks me to dance? I can’t. Plastic. Hips. He’ll probably end up dancing with someone normal, and I’ll have to stand in the corner and watch the whole thing.

  Sometimes, like right now, for example, I wonder what it would be like if I knew someone else who had a brace, besides Mom. I could ask her what she thinks about things like dances and dresses and boys.