Braced Page 4

  “What’s that?” she asks, pointing at me.

  I look at the ground and count the tiles, hoping to disappear. Hazel starts to giggle. It’s soft and jittery at first and then it gets louder. I know it’s her nervous habit when she feels awkward or embarrassed about something, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. If this is how my best friend is reacting to my brace, I don’t want to know what everyone else is going to do and say.

  Before I realize what’s happening, I’m crying.

  Hazel immediately stops laughing. “What did I miss?” she asks.

  “I can’t get out,” I say. “I need help.”

  She nods like she’s glad there’s something she can actually do. I turn around so my back is facing her and accidentally look in the mirror. Plastic has swallowed the middle of my body. I look a lot worse next to someone normal.

  “Uh, what do I do?” Hazel says. She’s looking at the brace like she’s afraid to touch it, like if she’s not careful, it might swallow her too.

  “The Velcro,” I say. “Can you undo it?” My words barely make it out.

  Hazel pulls the straps open and I push the plastic apart, twisting myself until I’m free. I shove the brace under the sink and put my sweatshirt back on.

  “I lied about being sick,” I say. “I’m sorry—”

  She shakes her head.

  I nod, because I know what she means—that it’s okay. Hazel and I are the kind of friends who are more like sisters. I don’t have to apologize for faking sick when something is actually wrong.

  “I have to wear it every day.”

  “But not to school,” she says.

  “All day,” I say.

  “What? That’s so not okay.” She sounds mad. “Did you get hurt or something? You were totally fine at the scrimmage. I don’t get it.”

  “Nothing happened,” I say. “I have scoliosis, and I guess it got worse.”

  “Is that why you had all those random doctor’s appointments?”

  “Yeah.” I try to remember what I told her. I know it wasn’t much.

  “I was wondering what that was about.”

  “My spine is curving, and they’re trying to keep it straight.” I take a few tissues and blow my nose. “My mom had the same thing. Only worse. She had this surgery where they put a metal rod along her spine.” It’s a lot easier to feel bad for Mom when she’s not in the room.

  “Wait! What? That’s super serious. You’re not having surgery, right?” Her forehead crinkles up and her eyebrows squeeze together. “Are you?”

  “I wish I were.” I feel like a bad person as soon as the words come out of my mouth. It’s not true. Not really. I know surgery is hard and scary in a different, bigger way. But then I wouldn’t have to wear a brace to school and people wouldn’t be weirded out by me. They’d be worried.

  “How long do you have to wear it?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.… At least six months, maybe a year.” The words linger in the air like a thick cloud of smoke, making it hard to breathe. “It feels like forever.”

  Hazel opens her mouth to say something and then doesn’t. She sighs, and it feels like she’s taking back whatever she was thinking. I wish she’d tell me what she was about to say before she stopped herself. Hazel has this way of making everything bad seem like it’s not that big of a deal, and all of a sudden, I’m afraid this is so big that nothing will make it better.

  “I have no idea how I’m supposed to play soccer in this thing,” I say.

  “There’s no way. You can’t play in that.”

  “They said I could.”

  “Oh. Wow,” she says. “Are you sure you want to?”

  Yes, I think. Only I’m scared that if I say that, Hazel will tell me I’ll never be good now, and I should quit. And then I won’t be on the team, and we won’t be friends in the same way anymore, and I’ll be left out of everything. “I love soccer,” I say.

  “Okay. Then we’ll have to figure it out. We will. That’s just what’s going to happen.” She smiles at me.

  I smile back. This is exactly what I needed to hear. “Promise you won’t tell anyone. Not even Frannie. I really want to tell her myself.”

  “Promise,” she says. I know she means it. “I’m glad you told me.”

  “Me too,” I say.

  “I’ll get snacks. You get ready for practice.” She points her finger at me. “You can’t show up looking like you’ve been crying. You can trust me to tell you the truth. That’s what besties are for.”

  It feels good to hear her call me her best friend right now, like somehow it means more than it did before she knew about the brace. “Get a lot of snacks,” I say. “I’m so hungry.”

  “Ditto!” Hazel smiles again.

  I leave the brace under the sink, next to the toilet paper and cleaning supplies, and change into my number-one favorite practice outfit: a blue tank top with a built-in sports bra and multicolored soccer shorts. I wash my bright-red eyes, so no one can tell I was ever upset, and dab a little cover-up on my new chin zit. I take a minute to look in the mirror and smile at myself. I’m ready.

  When I get downstairs, Hazel and our moms are standing in the kitchen. “Did you get something to eat?” Mom asks me.

  “I’m about to,” I say. The fact that she was supposed to help me out of the brace either isn’t registering or doesn’t matter to her. She doesn’t care that the brace hurts or that I can’t get out of it on my own or that I wasn’t ready to tell Hazel. The only thing she cares about is that I follow all of Dr. Paul’s stupid rules.

  “All right. I should get going.” Hazel’s mom hugs her. “Have fun, girls!” She gives me a half smile and a sigh. Hazel and her mom have the same orange tint in their hair and the same facial expressions. Neither of them is very good at hiding what they’re thinking. She’s looking at me with sad, scrunched-together eyebrows, like she feels really bad, which means Mom must have told her about my brace. I wish my mom would feel bad for me.

  “Aloha!” Frannie walks in wearing a mini grass skirt over pink soccer shorts. There are leis around her neck and wrists and she’s carrying a huge bag with more grass skirts and other tropical accessories. It’s tradition to dress up for at least one pre-season practice, and costumes are sort of Frannie’s thing. She drops her bags and kisses me on both cheeks. Frannie has been doing the whole kiss-kiss French thing since she got home from Paris in July. Last year, after she went to India, she was all about henna and chicken tikka masala.

  Hazel can’t stand it. She winces when it’s her turn for the double kiss. And the second Frannie looks away to adjust the flower tucked into one side of her sandy blonde hair, Hazel rolls her eyes so hard I think they might fall backward into her head. I wonder if she ever rolls her eyes at the things I do.

  Frannie hands both of us grass skirts.

  “This is perfect.” I smile and try to let the happy Hawaiian vibe soak in.

  “I don’t know. It might be kind of weird,” Hazel says.

  “Just put it on,” Frannie says.

  “But if we get made fun of … ”

  “We won’t.”

  “There are going to be other people at school. It’s not just the girls’ soccer team.”

  “Stop.” Frannie sounds annoyed.

  “Okay. Fine.” Hazel gives in. The two of them disagree the most out of the three of us, because Frannie is all about trying new things and Hazel usually wants to do what everyone else is doing. I fit somewhere in the middle, but probably closer to Hazel.

  “Where did you get all this stuff?” I ask.

  “Lucy took me shopping before she left for school.” Frannie puffs out her chest a little, like her big sister is a movie star, which she probably could be if she liked acting instead of the violin. “She left me a ginormous pile of clothes too. She only wears black now that she’s a hard-core musician.”

  “You’re so lucky,” Hazel says.

  “Yeah, I know.” Frannie smiles with her mouth closed. I can tel
l she’s trying not to let herself think about anything except her new wardrobe. Ever since their mom died two years ago, her sister is always away at boarding school or Habitat for Humanity or summer programs for overachieving violinists. I don’t blame Frannie for wanting to live in a make-believe world of double kisses and grass skirts. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend to be someone else, especially when who you really are makes you sad.

  “It’s not fair. I’m done being the oldest. I’m abdicating,” Hazel says. “I don’t get anything good from my brothers.”

  “Oh, shut up,” I say. “Don’t even talk to me.”

  We all laugh. It helps when I turn the whole Mom-being-pregnant thing into a joke.

  “I’m thinking we should work these into our Halloween costumes,” Frannie says, pointing to her grass skirt. “We could get the whole team in on it.”

  “Yes!” Hazel says. “I want to be something really cute this year.”

  I close my eyes because I feel like I’m going to puke. I can’t think about October or dressing up with the team.

  I should tell Frannie about the brace now, because I’m going to need her help figuring out how to play soccer in it. But I know she’ll say I have to tell Coach Howard today, and I’m not doing that. I get that it’s selfish to practice with the forwards when everything is about to change, and when someone else could be practicing on offense instead of me. But I only have a few more chances to play without the brace, and I want to use them to prove I’m someone who matters to the team.

  An hour later, the three of us show up to practice in our grass skirts and leis. Everyone rummages through the clothes and accessories that Frannie brought. Ladan adds a yellow flower to her shiny black hair. She’s wearing a gray vintage tee that’s worn in and fitted at the same time. It says “من فارسی صحبت می کنم” on front, with the English translation on back: “(I speak Farsi.)” I always think I look semi-cool until I’m standing near Ladan, and then it’s obvious I’m trying way, way too hard. “I heart these grass skirts,” she says to Frannie, wrapping a short one around her waist. Ladan is the most popular girl in our grade, so if she thinks something is cool, it is.

  That’s when the boys’ soccer team walks across the field. Tate is in the back with Kyle. He looks even cuter than last year, if that’s possible. He’s tan and his hair is a little floppy in the back. And all I can think about is the bus last year: how he’d slide into the seat next to me, and we’d talk the whole way home.

  I don’t realize I’m staring at him until he looks right at me with his clear blue eyes. He smiles, and my heart starts pounding so fast I almost forget to breathe. I look away as quickly as I can, because no one can know about my crush, especially not Tate.

  “Let’s circle up,” Coach Howard says. “As you can all see, we’re sharing the field with the boys’ team today. I don’t want that to distract from our practice. We have a big game the first week of school. Let’s get ready for it. Pair off and take the next ten minutes to work on passing.”

  Hazel and I don’t have to say anything. We’re always partners. I grab a ball and dribble down the field and over to her. I pass the ball to Hazel with the inside of my right foot, aka my weak side, trying to control where it lands, like I’ve been practicing.

  “Don’t think I didn’t see what happened with you and Tate.” Hazel stops the ball and then taps it back to me. “You totally had a moment.”

  I don’t want to say anything that might jinx it, so I shrug and smile and pass the ball back.

  “What if he asks you out? That could happen,” she says. “I mean, we’re in seventh grade. Guys are going to ask girls out all the time. It’s not some once-in-a-lifetime thing like last year.”

  I hadn’t thought about it like that. “Do you really think he would ask me out?”

  “Seriously?” Hazel rolls her eyes. “Stop fishing.”

  “I’m not,” I say. “Wait, am I? Because I didn’t mean to do that.”

  Hazel smiles. “I’m kidding—about the fishing part. Not about Tate. I mean, think about it—anything could happen. Especially now that you’re a superstar soccer player.”

  “Shut up,” I say, chipping the ball into the air.

  Hazel bounces it off her chest and shoots it back to me.

  We pass back and forth until Coach Howard claps to get everyone’s attention and we all circle up again. “We’ll be divided up by position today. I want you to work on developing the skills you need to master your role on the team. For example, the forwards will be running drills that focus on speed, ball control, and footwork.” She’s holding her clipboard and the special piece of paper that says where everyone belongs. She puts her hand on Frannie’s shoulder. “Forward,” she says and then moves on to the next person.

  I hold my breath. Coach Howard circles me a few times, naming the other offensive players, before she comes back around and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Forward,” she says.

  I smile so big it hurts. Coach Howard thinks I can do it. She’s giving me a chance to prove that what she saw in the scrimmage is real.

  When the team breaks up, Frannie takes off her leis and waves them around over my head. “I knew it!”

  “Thanks,” I say to her, then I look at Hazel. “Are you good?” I ask her, because if I’m playing forward, she’s going to be alone on defense.

  “Totally,” she says.

  “Because, I mean, you’re my best friend, and if you—”

  “Rachel.” She stops me. “I’m good.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “We’re still passing partners, right?”

  “Um, for life.” I smile at her.

  “Good.” She smiles back. “You’re ready for this.”

  It feels good to have Hazel and Frannie on my side.

  All of the forwards, including me, stand in a small circle and stretch. “Hey,” Ladan says. I’m not 100 percent sure she’s talking to me, since it doesn’t happen that often, but I look at her in case. “You’re good this year.”

  “If you’re saying it, it must be true,” I answer.

  “I always forget how funny you are, Rachel Brooks.” She says my name like I’m a character from a TV show she sort of likes. “I think it’s chill that you’re playing forward today.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “Me too!”

  We put our feet together and reach for the ground. Ladan folds herself in half like she’s about to do something where yoga is involved. It’s funny how cool people are always naturally flexible and good at things like yoga. I can hardly touch my toes.

  We start with a four-corner speed dribble, which sounds easy, except the other girls are all so fast. I try to focus on my inside cuts and not pay attention to what everyone else is doing, but it’s hard to ignore Ladan running right behind me like she wants to push me out of the way. It’s better when we switch directions, because my left inside cuts are stronger than almost everyone else’s, except for Frannie’s.

  “Very nice footwork, Rachel,” Coach Howard says. I don’t look up. I stay focused. I can do this. I know I can.

  We set up for one-on-one shooting drills. I’m up against Saaya. I dribble forward and drag the ball right. She lunges, and I pull the ball left and kick it into the goal. YES!

  I score three more times. By the time I have to go up against Ladan, I feel good, and I think I could maybe play forward in a real game situation.

  Ladan is tough from the start. She stays on me, and no matter what I do, I can’t get around her. She’s quicker than I am—fact. She keeps sticking her foot out, trying to get the ball away from me. I can’t let that happen. Finally, I fake left. She goes for it, thinking I’m trying to set up my shot. Instead I drag the ball back, switch feet, and shoot with my right, before she has a chance to block. It hits the goalpost and bounces back at me.

  Coach Howard blows the whistle. “Nice work, everyone,” she shouts.

  We all head over to the sidelines.

  “That was awesome.” F
rannie gives me a high five.

  I shake my head. “That last round—”

  “You went for it. That means something. Trust me.”

  I nod.

  “I’m telling you the truth,” Frannie says.

  “I know.” I smile at her. “Thank you.”

  “Hey, Rachel,” Ladan says. “Welcome to the offense.”

  I wish I could freeze this moment and everything could stay exactly the same.

  Tate is standing next to our bench. “Offense, huh?” he says to me. “Way to go, bus buddy,” he adds, like that’s a thing we call each other.

  I smile. He’s so cute. That word doesn’t even do him justice. “Yeah, I had an assist in the scrimmage, so—”

  “I heard,” he says. “Impressive.”

  He heard? I play with the end of my ponytail, because Hazel told me that boys like it when you do that. But he isn’t looking, so I do it again to make sure he saw.

  “Big Tate Dog,” Kyle shouts. “Let’s split.”

  “In a few,” Tate says back.

  “Seriously, bro. That’s weak.”

  “Whatever,” Tate says.

  Kyle walks over to Hazel, and I hear her giggle. She’s in love with Kyle Montgomery, even though lately she’s been all, “Kyle who?” I know she’s just afraid of what will happen if she admits how she feels and then finds out he doesn’t feel the same way. I’m afraid of that exact same thing.

  There’s a sort of weird silence. It reminds me how nervous I am.

  “Give me the summer highlights,” Tate says.

  “My mom’s pregnant.” UGH. Why would I ever say that? Seriously. What is wrong with me? I can feel my stupid words hanging in the air between us.

  “That’s awesome.” He smiles at me with both dimples. “I wish I had a little bro or a sister. That would be cool. Do you know which one it is yet?”

  “No clue. But yeah, a brother could be cool.” I hadn’t thought about the possibility that it could be a boy. I just assumed it would be a girl. “Your turn. What’s going on with you? How’s Adam?”