Braced Read online

  “Try pulling from the middle of the strap, instead of reaching for the end.”

  I dig my nails into the Velcro and pull from the middle like Hazel said. I tug at it until the whole strap comes undone. It works. I can’t believe it. I do the same thing with the other two straps and take off the brace without any help.

  I drop it on the ground and hug her. “Thank you,” I say. “I would have never thought of that on my own.”

  “No big deal,” she says.

  Only it is.

  The next day, I have to wear the brace for twenty-three hours. Twenty-three hours is a long time to do anything, especially when it’s something you hate. But I don’t have a choice. I have to suck it up and try not to think about it. So as soon as I wake up I put together a back-to-school playlist, because that always makes me happy. I pick songs from ’80s movie soundtracks that are uplifting but not too distracting. And I’m pumped when I finally get to listen to it, because I think it’s going to be really good for doing homework.

  Then I go outside with the soccer ball. I know I shouldn’t work out too hard the weekend before my first practice in the brace, but I have to be able to pick the ball up as fast as I could before. The game clock doesn’t stop when the ball goes out of bounds. Those few seconds could mean everything. Also, I know I can do this. I have super long arms, and we’re using size five regulation soccer balls this year, which means they’re bigger and I don’t have to bend down as far to get the ball. Two thumbs up for that.

  I drop the ball on the ground in front of me and take a deep breath. I bend my knees and reach down, but the brace digs into my upper thigh. I stand up and try again. This time I keep my knees straight, bend forward, and grab the ball. It pinches a little in that same spot. I do it over and over until I have it down.

  After I’m finished practicing, I go into the kitchen to get a glass of water and accidentally slam into the counter. My brace makes a loud cracking noise when it knocks against the granite, but the impact doesn’t hurt me like it should. I don’t feel anything. As soon as I realize that, I can’t stop smiling, because out of nowhere I found another good thing about wearing a back brace. I can run into things without getting hurt. It’s like armor. When I think about the brace like that, it almost feels like a secret weapon.

  THE NIGHT BEFORE the first day of school, Mom is standing at the kitchen counter reading one of her DIY home-decorating magazines. “Rachel,” she says, stopping me on my way upstairs. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?”

  I shrug. “Fine, I guess. Hazel helped me pick out an outfit.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Yeah, it is,” I say, because I know I’m lucky to have good friends.

  “You’re going to talk to Coach Howard before practice, right?”

  “Why? There’s nothing to talk about. I’m playing even better now. Okay, not everything is better. But my footwork is.”

  “Rachel—”

  “It is,” I say.

  “I believe you, honey, and I’m proud of how hard you’ve been working to get ready for soccer. But you have to tell Coach Howard about your you know what,” she says, pointing to my brace. “You’re still adjusting. You will be for another—” She looks over at Jules’s chart, which is tacked up on her half bulletin/half chalkboard.

  “Today is the last day of ‘physical adjustment,’ ” I say, before she can find the answer. “So, you can take that down now. Thanks.”

  “No one knows what it is.”

  “It says ‘Rachel Brooks’s Brace Schedule’ at the top, so actually everyone knows exactly what it is. Can you take it down? I mean, I’m done adjusting, so I don’t think we need to advertise it in the kitchen anymore.”

  “Advertise,” she says. “That’s a little dramatic.” She walks over to the bulletin board, unpins the paper, and puts it in the recycling bin. “Better?”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  “You need to talk to your coach about the brace tomorrow before practice,” she says. “She needs to know it’s important.”

  “Fine,” I say.

  “Also, you’re going to have to miss practice on Wednesday. You need to have x-rays taken.”

  “I can’t miss soccer this week. We have a game on Friday,” I say. “Can you please change the appointment?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Mom. Please.”

  “We need to make sure the brace fits. It’s a priority. And this was the only appointment they had this week. So you need to tell your coach you won’t be there,” she says. “Are you listening, Rachel?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I’ll tell her the brace is your only priority.” I walk upstairs before she has a chance to say anything else that I don’t want to hear.

  I plop down on my bed and text Frannie: Telling coach tomorrow ☹

  Want me to go with you? she writes back.

  OMG! Yes. Please. I hadn’t even thought to ask her. Can you go at lunch?

  Totes!!! she says. Done and done.

  WHEN MY ALARM goes off in the morning, I want to stay in bed and pretend it’s not the first day of school. I couldn’t sleep last night, which is weird because so far I haven’t minded sleeping in my brace. I kept rolling around trying to find a comfortable position and trying not to think about how nervous I was for today.

  I climb out from under the covers and peel off the brace. My muscles are so stiff, I wouldn’t be surprised if I heard myself creak and then crack in half. I lean against the edge of the bathtub and turn on the water, waiting for steam to fog up the mirrors. My back is throbbing. I need this shower so I can move and breathe and feel like me again.

  I reach behind the glass door. The water is freezing. I wait a few seconds and then try again. Still cold. “Mom … ” I shout as loud as I can.

  “I know,” she yells back. “Ed is on his way over to fix it. I’m sorry.”

  I look in the mirror. Disaster. My hair is tied back in a tight bun, but wispy pieces hang around my swollen eyes from tossing and turning. It’s not a good look. I can’t go to school like this. I hang two towels over the shower door and step in, letting the icy water pour over me until I’ve finished washing my hair and the goose bumps on every inch of me start to ache. I shut off the faucet, shivering from the water dripping down my arms and legs, and drape myself in towels. After I dry off, I stretch out my upper body using the foam roller Dad brought home for me. It helps a lot.

  Once Mom is done helping me into the brace, I dot my eyelids with light pink shadow and braid my hair into a fishtail. I put on my new outfit and smile at myself in the mirror. I think I look pretty.

  The first thing I see when I get downstairs to the kitchen is a giant bouquet of roses. I know they’re not for me, because red roses are Mom’s favorite. I like pink.

  Mom is holding the phone between her ear and shoulder, laughing into the receiver as she arranges her breakfast. When she sees me standing there, she says, “I have to go, Sue.” She listens to one last thing. “Okay, sounds good,” she says and hangs up. “Can I make you something? Anything you want,” she says to me.

  I shake my head. I’m not hungry, and I don’t like eating with the brace on, because the padding pushes against my stomach, and when I’m even a little full, it’s hard to breathe.

  “Take something with you in case you get hungry before lunch,” she says. “You need to eat if you’re going to play soccer.”

  I grab a few granola bars and a banana, because I know she’s right about that.

  When the phone rings again, Mom picks it up. “Hi, Ma,” she says, smiling and sneaking off to the bathroom, her secret hideout.

  Mom runs the water and I walk a little closer to the door so I can hear her. “It’s a boy!” she says. That explains the flowers. “We’re so excited. We’re going to wait a few days before we tell Rachel. I don’t want to burden her with one more thing right now. She already has so much going on.” She really doesn’t think I can hear her over the running water. I listen, wai
ting for her to say something else, but she’s quiet. Gram must be talking. “I’m not telling her on her first day of school. I can’t do that. We won’t wait too long—just until she’s back to being herself.”

  I wonder if Gram knows what I know: If Mom and Dad are waiting for me to go back to normal, they’ll be waiting forever.

  When I get to school, I see Frannie standing on the other side of the crowded courtyard with the forwards. I don’t want to go over to them, but I don’t see Hazel anywhere, and I can’t stand here by myself. I don’t see Tate either. Not that I’d go up to him, but I like knowing where he is.

  “Rachel, over here!” Frannie waves to me. Her voice is loud enough that people turn around and stare.

  I hold on to the green, leopard-print straps of my mostly empty backpack and keep my eyes on the ground. It still feels like summer, and I guess technically it still is. I’ve only taken a few steps and I’m already sweating under the thick layers of cotton and plastic. It’s seriously hot inside the brace.

  Frannie backs up, making space in the circle for me.

  “Great color,” Ladan says. “I love that purple skirt.”

  “Thanks.” I smile at her, because even though I wish she hadn’t drawn everyone’s attention to me, I know she’s being nice. I try to slouch a little, since I’m afraid they can see right through my shirt to the brace. I’m jealous of the way Ladan’s turquoise V-neck falls and how her white jeans hug her legs like they were made for her. I wish I looked like that, like getting dressed was easy. Hazel slides into the circle on the other side of me.

  “We’re doing the long run today at practice,” Ladan says.

  “Who told you that?” Frannie glances at me to see if that’s going to be okay.

  I shrug, because I’m not sure. I’ve been running half a mile in my brace every other day as part of my training. But the long run is a mile.

  “Josie,” Ladan says.

  “Obviously.” Frannie rolls her eyes. “What’s her deal? She’s always hanging around Coach Howard.”

  “She’s desperate. Also, can I just say what we’re all thinking? I’m sorry that she has neck hair, but I don’t want to look at it.” Everyone laughs. Ladan is talking to Frannie, but she’s looking at me. They all are. They look at me and then at each other, like they’re passing messages with their eyes. Something is definitely wrong with her. She’s so not normal-looking right now. Did she swallow a cardboard box? How is she going to play soccer like that? I hope she doesn’t think she’s practicing with the forwards anymore. Who cares? It’s Rachel Brooks. I always knew she was weird.

  I can’t make it stop. I can’t even prove it’s happening. But I know I’m not imagining it, because Frannie and Hazel both look worried. They must know there’s nothing they can say or do to make it better, because they don’t do anything. Neither do I. We all just stand there and let them judge me.

  The bell rings. No one rushes over to the building, because no one wants to seem like they’re ready for school to start. Frannie and Hazel stand on either side of me like bodyguards, even after we have no choice but to start walking.

  “I really don’t feel like being all focused,” Hazel says. “I mean, how can teachers expect us to concentrate?”

  “At least you don’t have math first,” Frannie says.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “Double science.”

  “That’s so not okay,” Hazel says. Then she leans in and whispers, “Watch your skirt.”

  I reach for the hem in back, but all I feel is my leg. My skirt is hiked way up. My underwear is almost showing. I yank it down and turn around to see who’s walking behind me. I don’t recognize the girls, holding shiny, new folders and staring at me. They must be sixth graders. Still, they have this look in their eyes and smirks on their faces.

  “Don’t worry. No one else saw,” Hazel says softly. “You caught it in time.”

  “Thanks for telling me.” I swallow my words.

  She smiles at me, and I try my best to smile back, because I really am grateful for Hazel.

  Hazel waves bye to Frannie and me and walks into her class.

  “Do you want to meet me outside Coach’s office at lunch?” I ask Frannie.

  “Yes, that’s perfect,” she says. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be great.”

  “I hope so,” I say. “I’m really glad you’re coming with me.”

  “Me too,” she says.

  The science lab is empty. There are folded pieces of paper at every seat with first and last names written in all caps. I turn around to make sure no one is looking before I adjust my skirt, pulling it down below my fake hips. I walk around the tables looking for my name. Every time I take a step forward, my skirt inches up. I push down on the elastic waistband again, but it won’t stay put. I hate that I can’t even feel it happening.

  I stop as soon as I see “RACHEL BROOKS” next to “TATE” “BOWEN.” My throat closes up. He wasn’t on the class list. I read the names over and over and I wouldn’t have missed his. Mr. Hsu must have made a mistake. I can’t sit next to Tate in my brace for an hour and forty-five minutes.

  I’m about to go to the nurse’s office and fake a headache when Mr. Hsu walks into the room, followed by Tate. My heart sinks. I think about bolting out the door or re-applying my strawberry lip gloss or smiling really big, because one time Mom told me I look prettiest that way. I need to do something to distract him from my brace, but before I have a chance, he looks right at my stomach. His eyes stop and then jut away from me, across the room, like they’re fleeing the scene.

  I look down. It’s not good. I’m clunky. I adjust my shirt. It doesn’t make a difference. No matter what I do, something about me always looks off.

  I sit down at our table and play with my hair. I don’t look up when I see his bright green sneakers coming toward me.

  Tate sits down next to me. “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey,” I say, finally turning to look at him.

  He’s looking at Mr. Hsu. He doesn’t glance over at me or call me “bus buddy.” I hope that’s just because Mom is driving me to school this year. He copies the information from the board into his notebook as fast as he can. Maybe this is how Tate always acts in class. We’ve never been in the same one before.

  I open my notebook and start copying everything down. I don’t bother to read the words as I write them. I’m too busy trying not to think about the way he looked at me, the same way the forwards did and the woman in the dressing room. I try not to cry, but everything looks blurry and wet and I feel a few tears escape down my cheek. I catch them with my fingers and wipe them away as fast as I can, so it’s like they never happened. A few drop onto my new notebook, seeping in and smudging the ink.

  When Mr. Hsu drops a syllabus on my desk, I pick my head up and look at him. “We’re going to jump in and start class off with an experiment.” He paces around the room with his hands stuffed into his khakis, the way I’ve seen him walk around the boys’ soccer field after school. He talks about the lab like it’s a game we need to win. “You’re sitting next to your lab partner. You’re teammates now.” He claps. “Get over to the lab tables and get to work.”

  It takes me a minute to piece Mr. Hsu’s words together. Tate is my lab partner.

  “How about I get the test tubes and eyedroppers, and you grab the rest of the materials?” I ask Tate.

  He looks down at the list and then up at me. “That works.”

  I walk to the sink, rinse out the test tubes and eyedroppers, and bring them over to the table, where Tate is setting everything else up. He puts the instructions out in front of us, and safety goggles over his eyes. I put mine on my forehead like a headband, since it’s not time to wear them, and then dry off everything I just washed with a paper towel. I add labels to each test tube and line them up. “Are you ready?” I ask.

  Tate leans toward me, close enough so I can smell his shampoo. I bet it’s called “Sporty Ocean Breeze” or something else that says “I’m a
boy,” because that’s how it smells, in a good way. He pulls my goggles over my eyes. My stomach flips. “Don’t be too cool for safety.” He smiles at me. It feels like a sign, like maybe what I thought happened before didn’t really happen.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Tate adds ten drops of grape juice into each test tube. Then I add ten drops of lemon juice.

  “Have you talked to Adam since he left for college?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” He smiles. “Only once, but he’s coming home if we make the play-offs—when we make it. Our team is unstoppable this year.”

  “That’s huge,” I say. “We’re pretty good too. Maybe we’ll both make the play-offs.”

  “You’re still playing?” he asks.

  “I’m starting, remember?”

  “I thought I heard someone say you might quit or something.”

  What? “No. I’d never quit.” I shake my head. It feels like my face is on fire. “I love soccer and being on the team.”

  He smiles at me. “I didn’t really think it was true. That’s not your style. They probably got confused.”

  I smile back. I should ask him who said it. But I don’t think I really want to know.

  “I seriously can’t wait for Adam to get home. My parents don’t get anything.”

  I nod. I think carefully about what to say, because I can tell he’s sad about his brother being gone. “My parents don’t get anything either. This morning I found out that the baby is a boy. But I only know because I heard my mom talking about it on the phone.”

  “I hate that,” Tate says, like he’s mad at Mom for me.

  “Me too,” I say. “I mean, hello, I can handle things.”

  “They’ll probably tell you soon,” he says.

  “I hope so.” I pick up a clean eyedropper, fill it with the liquid antacid, and add one, two, three drops to the first test tube. I stop as soon as the liquid changes color. “That one worked pretty fast,” I say. “I mean, I think it did.”

  He shrugs. “I guess we’ll see.” His floppy brown hair falls in front of his eyes. He moves closer, so now our shoulders are barely an inch apart. My stomach gargles loud enough that he looks up. “Need one of these?” he asks, pointing from the antacids to me with his free hand.