Braced Read online

  “Ooh.” Mom’s voice goes all the way up, like she’s surprised. Then she takes a deep breath and asks, “So … how was it?”

  “The kissing part was good, but then … ” I shake my head. “One of his friends—Kyle. He figured out what happened and started saying all these mean things about me. Then Tate denied that we kissed. And when I told Hazel everything, she said there was no way that Kyle actually called me a Robo-Beast, even though he did.” Mom claps her hands over her mouth. “But then Hazel said it wasn’t just Kyle. Everyone talks about how my brace is weird, even Frannie. And Frannie said it wasn’t that bad and I shouldn’t be upset.”

  “Rachel. Honey.” Mom looks right at me. There are tears in her eyes. “It is that bad.” She wraps her arms around me and pulls me into her, rocking me back and forth and holding on as tight as she can, like she’s trying to protect me. “I’m so sorry.”

  We stay like that for a few minutes.

  “Want to hear the good news?” Mom asks.

  I shrug, because there is no good news.

  “It can’t get any worse,” she says.

  “Umm, how is that good news?” I ask.

  “Everything bad happened already, and it couldn’t have been worse, but you survived it. You’re on the other side.” She takes another deep breath and puts her hands to her heart. “And what makes me so proud is that you didn’t let any of the horrible things that anyone said stop you from practicing for tryouts and doing everything you can to get what you want. That takes a lot of strength. More than you probably realize.”

  I nod, because I hadn’t thought about myself that way—as strong—until now.

  “So the good news is that from this moment, it’s only going to be easier.”

  I smile, because in a weird way that does feel like good news.

  Before bed, I make a new playlist. It’s a mix of anthems and fight songs that remind me there’s nowhere to go but up.

  On Monday, Mom drops me off a little later than usual, so I don’t have to talk to anyone before school starts. That was her idea. She thought it would help me ease back into things. But as soon as I get out of the car, I see Frannie standing outside. There’s no way to avoid her. I turn around to get back in the car, but Mom is gone. I don’t remember hearing her drive away.

  Frannie runs her fingers around the ends of her blonde ringlets. She must have slept in thick curlers, because her waves are the big, bouncy kind. My hair is still wet.

  “Where have you been?” Frannie says as soon as I get close enough. “We were supposed to get ready for tryouts together. I called and texted you all weekend.”

  “I shut my phone off. I told you I didn’t want to talk.”

  “Hazel is so upset. I decided we’re all going to talk about what happened at lunch.”

  “I don’t want to talk to Hazel,” I say. “And we’re not having lunch.”

  “You have to at least give her a chance to explain,” Frannie says.

  “No, I don’t.” I grab the door handle.

  “Rachel, hold on.” Frannie puts her hand on mine.

  I push it away. I want her to know I’m serious.

  “Kyle is such an idiot,” she says, like he’s the only reason I’m upset. “It’s not like anyone else actually thinks that stuff about you. I mean, Hazel and I don’t.”

  “I bet you don’t,” I say. “But you don’t know what Hazel really thinks.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You weren’t there. You didn’t hear what she said.”

  Frannie rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re turning this into something it’s not. What happened is not a big deal.”

  “Everyone talking about me behind my back feels like a big deal—”

  “It’s just Kyle.”

  “I’d be over it by now if it were just Kyle.” I hate that she’s lying to me. “Hazel said that you make fun of me.”

  “That’s not true. He’s the only one. Who cares what he says? No one.”

  “Then why don’t you tell him about your mom? You don’t know what it feels like. No one can see what’s wrong with you.”

  I feel terrible as soon as the words come out of my mouth.

  Frannie looks stunned. She winces, then opens the door and walks inside.

  I didn’t mean it, but it’s too late to take it back now. I wait a few minutes to give her time to get away from me. Then I walk into school. The heat is blasting, but I leave my coat on. I’m going to sweat it out, because the extra wool-cashmere-cotton layers make me feel stronger. And right now I’d do just about anything to feel something other than alone and awful.

  The hallway is empty and quiet, except for the radiators humming and clanking. Every classroom door is closed. I’m late, and I have science first period.

  I close the door to the lab behind me and keep my head down, trying not to draw extra attention to myself. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, following me across the room. “Nice of you to join us, Ms. Brooks,” Mr. Hsu says.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble without looking up.

  “Let’s get to it.” Mr. Hsu claps his hands. “Rachel, Tate can fill you in on what we’ll be doing today.”

  My stomach aches when he says Rachel and Tate back-to-back, like our names belong together, when they don’t. Not anymore. Not ever. I’m so mad at Tate. I hate him for making me think he actually wanted to be my boyfriend. Here’s what I realized over the weekend: Tate likes me and wants to kiss me, but he doesn’t want to admit either of those things or stand up for me in front of Kyle.

  When I get to our table, I put my bag on the chair instead of on the ground, so I don’t have to bend over to pull out my notebook and pen. I pick up the instructions for the lab, walk to the other side of the room, and collect the materials listed on the paper. I know Tate is trailing me, but I don’t care or want his help. I carry everything over to our table and start reading the instructions out loud. “Pour vinegar into the bottle until—”

  “Rachel.” He stops me.

  I look right at him for the first time since he kissed me. I wish he didn’t look so cute and that his eyes didn’t sparkle and that he would stop looking at me like he actually cares what I have to say, when he doesn’t. Everything Tate has ever done makes me feel pathetic. I want him to fix what happened at the dance. I want him to say he’s sorry and go tell Kyle how much he likes me and make it better now. I don’t want our kiss to mean nothing, when it mattered to me.

  “You forgot your goggles,” he says, picking them up off the table and holding them out for me.

  “That’s why you stopped me?” My voice comes out too loud.

  “Safety first.” He grins.

  I don’t smile back or say anything, because it’s not funny. I take the goggles, cover my eyes, and start reading the instructions again.

  For the rest of class, I keep waiting for him to apologize, but he doesn’t mention the dance or the kiss or anything other than science, like he thinks I’m just going to forget what he did to me. And the only good part about the way he’s acting is that it makes me like him less.

  Thankfully Hazel isn’t in any of my classes, except for gym, and I don’t go to gym anymore. I manage to avoid her all morning. At lunch, I carry my food over to an empty table in the back corner. I don’t look over at Hazel when I hear her laughing, or when I hear her say “Rachel.” A few minutes later, she sits down next to me.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  I take a bite of my sandwich.

  “Frannie told me not to bother you. She said you would talk to us when you were ready, but I wanted to say it in person. I’m really sorry.”

  I glance over at her. Her eyes are glossy, like she’s about to cry or she’s been crying. I know she’s sorry. She’s sorry we had a fight and that I’m hurt and probably that I’m going through this, because before I got the brace, we never had an argument, not one. I want to forgive her for everything and have the whole thing be over, because this is a million times wor
se for me than it is for her. She’s the one with the boyfriend and the matching formal outfits who is almost definitely going to make the A Team. I’m the Robo-Beast.

  But I’m mad that she won’t flat out admit what Kyle said about me, and I guess I’m a little mad that he’s still her boyfriend after how he treated me. The part that hurts the most is that she didn’t have my back when the worst thing that has ever happened to me happened. “I needed you,” I say. “And you left me.”

  “I know.” She takes a deep breath.

  “That’s not going away for a while.”

  Hazel nods. Then she stands up and walks away.

  After school, I head to the locker room and change for tryouts. I’m not talking to Hazel or Frannie, which means I have no one to stand next to during warm-ups or partner off with for passing. I have to walk over to Coach Howard and ask to be paired with someone. “Does anyone else not have a partner?” Coach Howard announces.

  A hand goes up in the back. It’s a nervous-looking sixth grader who didn’t play in the regular soccer season.

  “Okay, great. Now you do,” she says. “Rachel, grab a ball and head on over there.” I can hear people laughing. I don’t turn around to see who it is. I need to block it out and concentrate on playing my best. I want to make the A Team. I’m going to.

  It turns out Jenna, my new passing partner, has never played soccer before, but she does pretty well for her first time. I even help her work on following through, which is fun, especially when she gets better.

  After that, Coach Howard has us run drills, every kind imaginable: kicking and shooting and agility. I stay focused, even when I have to guard Hazel. I keep my eyes on the ball and pretend she’s someone else, someone who didn’t used to be my best friend.

  I control the ball, and without thinking, I use my right foot to clear it, as if kicking with my right leg is instinctive, even though it’s not. It’s practice. All the hard work—dribbling and shooting and strengthening my right side—is finally starting to pay off and make a difference.

  Coach Howard watches every player closely and scribbles a lot of things on her clipboard. I hope she’s writing that I’m on the A Team.

  I’M SITTING ON my bed after school, wrapped in a fluffy ball of blankets, reviewing my science notes and jamming out on my brace drums to “We Are the Champions.” I’m at the part about “fighting ’til the end” when I feel the pages spread out in front of me vibrate. I pat around for my phone. Do you think we need to memorize the periodic table? It’s Tate.

  I stare at his message. I don’t get why he’s sending me a stupid text about science. I’m not writing back and pretending everything is fine. He needs to apologize to me and leave me alone or apologize and ask me out. Those are his only options.

  Someone knocks at the door. I know it’s Mom before she even opens it, because Dad is on call at the hospital, and he wouldn’t come up here even if he were home. He’s afraid of all the cranberry- and cream-colored ruffles.

  “Come in,” I say when Mom knocks a second time.

  I check my phone to see if Tate has said anything else. Nope.

  “I came to see what you’re doing up here.” Mom says it like it’s weird for me to study in my room.

  “I have a big science test on Friday.” I glance down at my notes.

  “I can see that.” She sits down next to me and runs her fingers through my dry, tangled hair, tucking a few pieces behind my ear. It feels good. Really good. “Can I bring you anything?”

  I shake my head.

  Mom smiles. Without makeup to brighten her eyes, I can see how tired they are. I bet she misses Dad. I know I do. I’m glad she’s here, checking on me. It makes me feel less alone.

  “We’re going to see Dr. Paul tomorrow,” she says, “to make sure your brace is working.”

  My chest tightens. “No. I can’t.”

  “I spoke to the principal’s assistant a few hours ago. Someone from each of your classes is going to collect your homework, and we can pick it up on our way back from Boston. They promised you wouldn’t be penalized in any way.”

  “No,” I say. It stings behind my eyes. No. No. No. “I have tryouts tomorrow. If I don’t show up, I won’t even have a chance at making the A Team.”

  “We’ll try our best to get you there in time.”

  “That’s not good enough. Coach Howard is going to think I knew about this appointment, even though I didn’t. Even though nobody told me.”

  “This is not a negotiation. We’re going. It’s important.” Mom stands up and walks over to the door, so I know the conversation is over. “You don’t have a choice.”

  “I never do,” I say.

  She sighs. “Is there something else I can do to make it better? Other than cancel?”

  I try to think of something that could make this easier for me. “Can Dad come with us?” I look up at her.

  “You know how busy he is, honey.”

  “If this appointment is really important, he should be there. I want him there.”

  She nods. “I’ll try to make it work for next time.”

  “Just reschedule. Please.” My voice sounds strained. “Then I won’t have to miss tryouts and Dad can come with us.”

  “Do you think I like dragging you to the doctor? Do you think this is fun for me?” Her voice is loud and strained, like she’s trying not to scream at me. “This is exactly why I don’t tell you about the appointments ahead of time. You act like a baby.”

  “I hate Dr. Paul!”

  “No, you don’t.” She brushes my words away.

  “Yes, I do.” I’m not backing down.

  She walks back over and stands next to my bed. “He’s an old-school surgeon,” she says, like that’s a totally reasonable excuse for how he acts.

  “He never talks to me, Mom. He doesn’t explain anything. He acts like I’m not even in the room until it’s time to examine me! And that’s even worse.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that. I went through so much more. You can’t even imagine.”

  “Then why are acting like you don’t get it?” I ask.

  “You’ve blown these appointments up in your head. You’ve turned them into something they’re not. It’s ten minutes in the room with him, if that, and then it’s over. You don’t need to act like the world is crashing down around you, Rachel.”

  “I’m naked, Mom,” I shout. “I’m standing there naked and they’re all staring at me and pointing and talking about me and quizzing each other in medical code about my problems like I’m not in the room. I have no idea how long we’re in there, because I’m so uncomfortable and it feels like it’s never going to end. I hate all those eyes on me. And then you treat me like there’s something wrong with me that I don’t feel lucky to be there. I can’t go back. I’m not doing it.” There are tears pouring down my cheeks. I don’t bother to wipe them away. “Please don’t make me. Please.”

  She looks at me and covers her mouth. Her eyes fill up with tears. She’s seeing my appointments the way I see them for the first time. She sits down next to me on my bed, sinking into the mattress. “I didn’t know.” Her words sound broken, falling out of her mouth.

  “What do you mean you didn’t know? I don’t understand. You went through the same thing. I don’t get why you’re acting like you have no idea what it’s like for me.”

  “I can’t remember any of the things you just described,” she says. “I mean, I know a lot of those same things happened to me, but the feelings aren’t there. It’s more like facts that I memorized—cold hands and long white coats.” She swallows hard. “I had no idea how it felt for you. I’m so sorry, Rachel.”

  “I thought I didn’t have to explain it to you, because you understood.”

  She nods. “I thought that too.”

  “Why don’t you remember?” I ask.

  She sighs. “My first surgery was such a long time ago. Gram, Papa, and I—we never talked about it. I think it was too painful and scary fo
r all of us. We were just trying to get through it.” That must be why Papa was crying at Thanksgiving. “Then after my recovery was over, we wanted to move forward and pretend the brace and the fusion never happened. I think I’m really starting to deal with everything that I went through for the first time now, twenty-five years too late. I guess it’s harder for me than I even realize. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I nod, because I think I do. It explains a lot about why Mom is the way she is. “I didn’t know you had more than one surgery,” I say.

  “I had one when I was your age, and another about two years after you were born. I was having a lot of pain from the rods and screws in my back, and by that point, my fusion had healed and I didn’t need them anymore. Eventually my pain got so bad that they had to be removed. Dr. Paul did the second surgery. I was so afraid. They were trying to put me to sleep, and I was crying. I couldn’t stop, so he came into the operating room and sat with me. He rubbed my head until I fell asleep. No doctor had ever done that for me before. I’d never felt so safe. I guess I assumed you’d feel the same way with him.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I say.

  “Does it matter?”

  “I don’t know.” I don’t want it to. It’s weird to think of Dr. Paul as someone who took care of Mom. “I still don’t want to go.”

  “I wish you didn’t have to,” she says. “But you do, which means we need to come up with a plan so it’s more comfortable for you to be there. I want you to feel safe.”

  I think about it for a moment. “It would really help if you could find a way to ditch the extra doctors.”

  “I’ll try my best to make that happen for you.”

  I nod. “Can you do something so that my gown doesn’t fall off?”

  “I can definitely do that.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “You’re going to ask Dad to come, right? And also check to see if there’s a way for me to get to tryouts on time? Because I really want to be there.”

  “I’ll do everything I can,” she says. “I promise.”