Braced Read online

  “I can’t wear anything like that dress anymore,” I whisper to Hazel as we walk onto the field.

  “Oh. I didn’t realize.” She puts her hand over her mouth. “I mean, it’s a special occasion. I assumed you wouldn’t have to wear the brace.”

  “I always have to wear it,” I say. “There are no special occasions.”

  “I just thought—”

  I shake my head.

  “I’m sorry. That’s so not fair.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, even though I’m sick of being the one with the problem, and I’m pretty sure she’s sick of it too.

  Between warm-ups and the huddle, I walk over to Coach Howard. She glances up from her clipboard. “Hi, Rachel,” she says.

  “I’m really ready for today,” I say. “Frannie and I ran drills all weekend.”

  “I’m so glad to hear you’re feeling more confident.” Coach Howard smiles at me, and it’s not some fake, see-through adult smile either.

  “I’m sorry about the last game. I know I lost it for us—and the play-offs.”

  “One person can’t lose a game,” she says. “It takes the whole team to do that.”

  I want to believe her, but I keep thinking about what Ladan said earlier and what Josie said at the haunted house and how most of the team laughed like they agreed with her. “It’s okay.” I shrug. “I know it’s my fault.”

  “Rachel, I’ve been coaching soccer for three years and I’ve played my whole life. I’ve lost a lot of games, and I promise it’s never because of one person.” She rests her hand on my shoulder. “I don’t blame you for what happened at our game, and I’d really hate to see you take responsibility for something that wasn’t your fault.”

  “You really don’t think it was my fault?” I ask, because it surprises me.

  “I wouldn’t say something that wasn’t true to make you feel better.” She smiles.

  I nod and try to let her words sink in, because now I know she means everything she said. She doesn’t think we lost because of me.

  “I think you’ve been hard on yourself, when things are already harder for you right now. I’d like you to give yourself credit for the work you’ve put in and the progress you’ve made. You’ve really pushed yourself, and I’ve noticed.”

  “Thanks.” I grin. She sees how hard I’m working to get better. And that makes me want to keep trying.

  “Get out there and have fun today,” she says.

  That’s exactly what I do. About three quarters of the way through the first half, Coach Howard puts me in for Josie. Josie rolls her eyes at me when she jogs off the field and doesn’t even give me a low five when I put my hand out, which, by the way, is pretty much standard protocol. Rude. Just rude. But whatever. I don’t have time for haters. I keep moving on the balls of my feet even when nothing is happening on my side of the field.

  A girl in purple zigzags toward our goal. Hazel has her covered. I sprint toward the nearest open player. She’s fast, but I stay on her. When the girl Hazel is guarding passes the ball to my player, I get in the way, and without thinking, I ping the ball to Emily, one of our midfielders, with my right foot, just like I practiced with Frannie. It flies above the grass and lands at Emily’s feet.

  Coach Howard doesn’t take me out for the rest of the half. And then the best thing ever happens: I start in the second half of the game!

  I stay focused and do my best every chance I get. I only let one player get by me.

  Coach Howard rotates me out toward the end of the game, which is annoying because I don’t want to stop playing, but I was on the field for almost twenty minutes. It’s the most I’ve played since I got the brace. I didn’t let anyone get by me the whole game. And we win, four to zero!

  Hazel’s mom drops me at home afterward. Mom is sitting at the kitchen table stitching the letter “A” into the center of a hand-knit blanket. I know it’s for someone else’s baby because the blanket is pink, and I’m glad, because I didn’t have any “A” names on my list.

  I lean against the oven. It’s sighing and breathing gusts of warm air. I love the way the heat feels against my chest and face. I stay there for a few extra seconds, letting my skin soak in the warmth. It reminds me of baking sugar cookies with Mom. I used to stand next to her and watch as she slid trays of our homemade treats into the oven, wishing I could be more like her.

  Mom takes a deep breath, like she’s about to say something important. “Can I ask how it went today?”

  I nod. “Good,” I say.

  “I’m glad to hear your hard work over the weekend paid off.”

  “Thanks. It did. Coach noticed. And I think I can keep getting better.”

  “Of course you can.” Mom says it like it’s obvious to her. “Dinner will be ready soon. You must be hungry.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “You just did.” I can tell Mom is smiling. She tries to twist around to face me, but with her spine, she can’t move that way. “Come over here.” She pats one of the empty chairs next to her, and I sit down. Her eyes have dark, tired circles around the edges. “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “You know how the seventh grade formal is right after Thanksgiving break?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She nods.

  “I was wondering if maybe I could go to the dance without my brace,” I say. “I’ll make up the hours over the weekend.”

  “No,” Mom says, without taking a breath or a sip of water or a second to think.

  My heart stops. “Why not?”

  “Because Dr. Paul said you need to wear the brace for twenty-three hours a day until you’re done growing, so that’s what you’re going to do.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry.

  “It’s three extra hours. It won’t make a difference, and you know it.” My voice is strained from trying not to shout.

  “You don’t know that. It could,” she says. “It’s too many hours. You won’t be able to make them up.”

  “I will. I swear. Mom. Please.”

  “I really don’t see how,” she says. “You still have to shower and stretch every day, and you can’t do either of those things in the brace.”

  “I can do that in ten minutes. I have before.”

  “You can’t. It’s not happening,” she says. “No.”

  “Why not?” I ask. “Tell me the reason you won’t let me.”

  “Because I said so,” she snaps.

  “Because you’re trying to ruin my life!” I shout. “I can’t go to the dance in my brace. I can’t.”

  “I did! And mine was bigger!” she shouts back. “I don’t understand you, Rachel. Do you want to have surgery?”

  I stand up and glare at her. “Stop making everything about you!” I storm up to my room and slam the door as hard and loud as I can.

  I’m doing everything I can to make sure I don’t need surgery. And all I’m asking for is one night out of the brace so I can go to the formal, and have fun with my friends, and for once, not worry about stupid scoliosis.

  I’M IN THE art room the next day with Team Decorations: Frannie and Markus Steinem, who picks his nose and is probably only here to avoid being in the cafeteria at lunch. I don’t get how the three of us are supposed to build a winter wonderland in five forty-five-minute lunch periods when Frannie is the only one with any artistic ability. That’s the theme: “Winter Wonderland.” I wish it didn’t sound magical.

  Today, we’re sewing sparkly beads onto white fabric that will be draped around the gym. Other than the part where I’m making decorations for a dance I can’t go to, I don’t mind being in the art room. The walls are a mishmash of colors, covered with self-portraits of sixth, seventh, and eighth graders. It’s a sea of faces looking back at me.

  After thirty minutes of non-stop stitching, Frannie finally comes up for air. “Where is she?” She means Hazel.

  “I have no idea,” I say.

  “Don’t lie.” Fran
nie’s voice is huffy. “Does she seriously have someplace better to be?”

  “Maybe she forgot.” I don’t realize the question is rhetorical until it’s too late.

  “That’s crap, and you know it.” I’ve never seen Frannie like this before.

  “It stinks,” I say, because sometimes hearing someone else say the thing you’re feeling makes it easier to deal with. At least it does for me.

  “Yeah.” She nods. “It really does.”

  Hazel walks in with a few minutes left in the period. “Sorry I’m late. Kyle needed help with his math homework, and then we ended up talking for a while, you know, about us.”

  I wonder if she knows she’s bragging and is doing it anyway, or if she just doesn’t realize how into herself she sounds.

  “Super fun.” Frannie’s words sound like spitballs.

  “Everything with Kyle is fun. Or at least funny.” Hazel runs her fingers along the edge of the fabric. “I can’t wait for the formal! Did I tell you that Kyle and I are wearing matching outfits?” She doesn’t wait for either of us to answer her question. It’s a new habit she’s picked up. “He’s wearing this blue tie that’s the exact color of my dress, so everyone will know we’re boyfriend/girlfriend.”

  “Everyone already knows,” I say. I don’t look up to smile and let her in. I’m not in the mood to pretend that the fact that she ditched us to hang out with Kyle is okay when Frannie’s not okay with it.

  “That’s exactly what Kyle said. But I want it to be obvious that we’re not a regular couple. If we have matching outfits, everyone will know we’re in a really, really serious relationship. You’re going to feel the same way when you and Tate are boyfriend/girlfriend.” She says it in this way that makes it seem like she knows everything about having a boyfriend now that she has one, and I know nothing because I don’t. “By the way, I have this feeling it’s going to happen at the dance. Did I tell you that already?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not going to the formal,” I say. I can’t hold it in any longer.

  “What?” Hazel asks. They both look up at me. Frannie puts down her needle.

  “I can’t go to the dance in my brace.” I keep my voice low so Markus doesn’t hear me. “I mean, I could, but I really don’t want to, and I have to wear it, so I’m not going.”

  “Did you talk to your mom about it?” Frannie asks.

  “I tried. And it didn’t go very well.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “Me too,” Hazel says.

  “I think you should try again,” Frannie says. “Or you could ask your dad?”

  I nod, because I know she’s right. I don’t know what else to say to Mom to get her to listen to me. But Dad is a good idea.

  “Am I the only one who thinks the formal is dumb?” Tate says to me in science class, while we’re supposed to be coming up with a hypothesis.

  “Definitely not,” I say, even though I probably wouldn’t think it was dumb if I was going.

  “Really?” he asks. “Are you going?”

  I shrug, because I don’t like my answer. “Are you?” I wish he’d say no, or shrug too, so the fact that I’m not going wouldn’t feel like the end of the world.

  “Kyle is making me,” he says.

  “Why are you letting him do that?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “You really don’t know if you’re going?”

  “I really don’t.”

  “You should.” His voice is so quiet I almost miss what he says next. “It’d be more fun if you were there.”

  That makes me smile. In fact, I can’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. Tate wants me to go to the dance because I would make it more fun for him. I’m pretty sure that’s boy code for he wants to be boyfriend/girlfriend.

  “How was school?” Mom asks as soon as I get home.

  “Fine.” I take a deep breath and follow Frannie’s advice. “Mom, I really want to go to the dance, and I don’t want to wear my brace. I promise I’ll make up my hours.”

  “We’ve already talked about this. I don’t want to have the same conversation again.” Mom looks down at her hands. She doesn’t say anything else or ask me any other questions. Obviously.

  I give up and decide to wait for Dad.

  By the time Dad gets home from work, Mom is already asleep, which is perfect because I don’t want Mom interrupting our conversation. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and if Dad says I can’t take my brace off for the dance, then I’ll go anyway. It’s really not what I want to do. But I think it would be worse for me if I stayed home by myself. I don’t want to miss out on having fun with my friends and Tate because I have a brace.

  The garage opens and the back door slams shut. I wait a few minutes before I walk downstairs and into the kitchen. Dad is standing by the microwave, waiting for his meal to finish re-heating.

  “Hey.” He takes off his tie, rolls it into a ball, and stuffs it in the pocket of his suit jacket. “Keep me company while I eat?”

  I nod and sit down at the empty table.

  He brings his food over and sits next to me, then looks down at his plate of pan-roasted chicken and vegetables. “Not bad.”

  “It’s a winner,” I say.

  “Good. I’m hungry.” He smiles at me. “How are you doing?”

  I shrug. “I asked Mom if I could take my brace off for the seventh grade formal, because it’s a really big deal to me, and she said I couldn’t, but I thought you—”

  “Might have a different answer?” he asks and then takes a bite of his dinner.

  “Uh, yeah, kind of,” I say. “I mean, I wasn’t going to say it like that, but yeah.”

  “Nice try,” he says. “Mom’s worried. We both are. We want to make sure your brace is working before we start making concessions.” He stops and looks right at me. “But I understand why you don’t want to wear your brace to the formal.”

  “You do?” I ask.

  “I know I’m your dad, but I don’t live under a rock.” He smiles. “It’s your first big dance. Of course you want to feel your best.”

  “Exactly.” I nod. It feels good that Dad gets it.

  “Mom’s not trying to make it harder for you. She just wants you to follow all the rules. It’s really important to her.”

  “I know, and I am. But the formal is really important to me,” I say. “And just so you know, I’d make up the hours. I promise.”

  “That’s good to know,” he says and nods, like it actually does matter. “Mom and I will talk about it and decide what’s best for you together. I know that’s not what you were hoping to hear, but it’s the best I can do.”

  “It’s good,” I say. “It’s better than no.”

  WHEN I GET to school the next day, Frannie grabs me and says, “Emergency!” She pulls me through the crowded lobby into the girls’ bathroom. Hazel is in there waiting for us.

  “What’s going on?” I say. I’m worried Frannie texted Hazel and they had a whole back-and-forth and now I’m out of the loop about something really important. I just hope it isn’t about me. “Please. Just tell me,” I say to Hazel.

  “I have no clue.” She shrugs.

  “I’m telling you both at the same exact time,” Frannie says. “I heard from someone who will remain nameless, but who is a very reliable source, that there are going to be two indoor soccer teams this year. Sort of like a varsity and a JV, but apparently they’re calling it the A Team and the B Team, which is obviously the exact same thing.”

  “No way. They can’t do that,” Hazel says.

  “That’s what’s happening,” Frannie says. “There isn’t enough space for everyone to practice inside at the same time.”

  “They’re picking teams.” My voice comes out sounding shaky and scared. “We’re going to be split up.”

  “That’s not happening.” Hazel looks at Frannie, like maybe she’s as nervous as I am. “I mean, are they going to have tryouts?”

  “Yeah. Monday
and Tuesday after the formal,” Frannie says. “We’ll find out who made which team the following Monday. We need a plan. We can’t be separated.”

  “Here’s the plan: I have to make the A Team,” I say.

  “Me too,” Hazel says.

  “You had too good of a season not to make it,” I say. “You and Frannie will definitely be together.”

  “Rachel’s right,” Frannie says to Hazel. “As long as you don’t totally screw it up, you’re on the A Team.” It stings to hear Frannie say that about Hazel. If the brace hadn’t happened, she might be saying the same thing about me. “I’m not going to lie to you.” Frannie looks at me. “You’re not even close to a shoo-in. You have to make it impossible for Coach Howard to cut you.”

  “What happens if that doesn’t work?” Hazel says.

  “We’ll switch to the B—”

  “No,” I say before Frannie has a chance to finish. “If it doesn’t work, you’ll both play for the A Team, and I’ll play for the B Team. No backup plan.” Because even though I’m scared I won’t make the A Team, and I don’t want to be alone, I can’t do that to them.

  I’m going to run twice as many passing, trapping, and kicking drills with my right foot for the next week. I need to do everything I can to make the A Team.

  TWO DAYS LATER, I’m in my room doing homework and drumming along to “Cheeseburger in Paradise” when Mom knocks. She doesn’t walk in without my permission, which feels like something she would have done before the brace. “Can I come in?” she asks.

  “Fine,” I say. This is how it’s been all week: one to five words at a time.

  “I—” She pauses. “I know you’re upset about having to wear your you know what to the dance.”

  I hate when she talks about the brace in code, like it’s a secret, when it’s not.

  “I came up here to tell you that Dad and I both agree with you. We think re-arranging your hours this once would be okay. So, as long as you make up the hours, you don’t have to wear your brace to the dance.”