Braced Page 9

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “So, I reviewed your x-rays and everything looks great,” Jules says. “The brace is an excellent fit. I’d like to trim down the piece that goes under your arm as well as the bottom edge, if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes. You can stay here. It won’t take long. But I think it will make the brace slightly more comfortable for you.”

  “Um, yes, please.” I smile and nod.

  Jules takes my brace in the other room.

  When she comes back, she buckles me into the brace. I can feel the difference right away. There’s more space between the plastic edge and my armpit. My boob isn’t dented in anymore. And when I try to sit down and bend over, the bottom edge doesn’t pinch the top of my thigh as much. “Thank you,” I say to Jules. I can already tell the little changes are going to make a big difference.

  As soon as we get in the car, Mom says I can play my music, which is amazing, because she usually listens to the traffic report on the way home from Boston. We’re in the middle of the first song—“Here Comes the Sun”—when Mom says, “So, Dad and I found out the baby’s gender.”

  “Oh yeah?” I try my best to act like I have no idea what she’s going to say next.

  “You already know?” She glances over at me like she’s checking to make sure she’s right. “How?”

  “I heard you tell Gram it’s a boy.”

  She claps her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry, honey. Dad wanted me to tell you right away. I should have listened to him.” She shakes her head. “I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret from you. I just wanted to wait until we had a few minutes alone to talk about it in case you had any questions.”

  “I don’t.” I shake my head. “I’m excited about having a brother.”

  “Okay, good,” she says. “Well, if you do want to talk about anything, we can, whenever you want. I’m really sorry. I feel terrible.”

  I nod, because I know she means it. I just wish Mom would feel this bad about the things that actually upset me.

  I SKIP GYM on Friday with Dad’s note and spend the whole period in the library working on my science homework.

  After school, I change into my uniform. I told Mom she shouldn’t come to the game. I haven’t gotten better since Tuesday. Not even a little. I missed practice on Wednesday. And on Thursday, I was basically the same—not so great. I didn’t even tell Mom that I’m back to playing defense—if I’m lucky. I said it would be better if she picked us up after the game was over and then dropped us off downtown. Still, when I step onto the field in my cleats, I expect to see her next to Hazel’s mom.

  In the huddle, Coach Howard talks about teamwork and manning the goal and being aggressive. She reads off the starting forwards and midfielders, and I stare at the grass. She doesn’t call my name.

  “Now on to defense,” she says. I hold my breath. I know it’s a long shot, but I still want to be picked. “Angela on the left, Josie in the middle, and let’s start with—” Coach Howard pauses before she reads the last name on her list of starters. “Hazel on the right.”

  My stomach drops. It’s official. I’m on defense, and I’m not even starting. I squeeze Hazel’s hand and smile at her. I wish I could be happy for her in a real way, the way she was happy for me when I got picked to play forward, but I’m so sad and jealous of her right now that I’m having a hard time feeling anything else.

  I cheer for Hazel and Frannie and all my other teammates as they run onto the field, and I take my place on the sidelines. I don’t sit, because I’m already stiff inside the brace and I don’t want to make it worse.

  Twelve minutes into the first half, nothing is happening on defense. Coach Howard puts me in for Angela on the left.

  I jog onto the field doing butt kicks, though I try not to actually kick my butt, because it’s covered in plastic and it hurts. I’m excited I get to play. I want to do well and help us win, but I’m nervous I’m going to screw up and ruin things for the whole team, which would be a lot worse than not playing at all.

  Ladan passes the ball to Frannie and one of the midfielders on the other team intercepts it. She dribbles toward me. I run forward as fast as I can. I do my best to shuffle and stay with her.

  She drags the ball with the inside of her foot, hops, and pushes the ball with the outside of her foot to get around me and make a break for the goal. But I don’t let her. I take the ball from her. Then I pivot and pull the ball with me, turning my back to her. I dribble left, which I know she’s not expecting, and look around for an open player—Katrina. I’m about to ping the ball to her.

  Then suddenly the girl behind me shrieks. “You need to watch that thing,” she shouts, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  I turn around. What did I do? She’s holding her arm like she’s in pain, and I realize I must have knocked into her with the back of my brace without realizing it.

  The ref blows the whistle and runs over to us. The girl makes another loud breathing noise to show how much it hurts, and now I know she’s making it into a bigger deal than it actually is.

  “Everything okay over here?” the ref asks.

  “Yeah. It’s fine. I mean, she crushed me with that metal thing she’s wearing, but I guess I’ll be fine.”

  “Do you need to sub out?” he asks her.

  She shakes her head.

  I don’t look up or around. Everyone on the field and on the sidelines is staring at us and whispering to each other, probably about me.

  “All right, then. Let’s try to keep our hands to ourselves.” The ref puts the ball down in front of her and blows the whistle.

  The girl taps the ball to one of her teammates, runs past me, and gets the ball back before I can stop her. She shoots and scores.

  Coach Howard keeps me in until the end of the half. Then she doesn’t put me back in for the rest of the game. I sit on the sidelines while the other team scores two more times before the second half is over.

  Everyone is in a pretty bad mood, since we lose 3–1. No one says a word to each other in the locker room.

  I pull Hazel into the back by the bathrooms. “You rocked today,” I say as softly as I can. She got an assist to an assist, and even though that isn’t a real thing, it should be one. She would have had an actual assist if Ladan had taken a shot on goal when she had the chance, but Ladan passed to Saaya instead.

  “Thanks for saying that,” she whispers. “Don’t worry about what happened. It’s just the first game. It doesn’t matter.”

  I want to believe her.

  After I take a shower at home, I put on my favorite dress and a cropped jean jacket. I hide my brace in my new gym bag in the back of Mom’s car. We’re going to have a sleepover at Frannie’s afterward.

  Hazel and Frannie are whispering about something on the ride downtown. I’m in the front and they’re in the back, so I can’t hear anything they’re saying. I hope they aren’t talking about what happened at the game. Other than Hazel, no one has said anything about it to me. I guess I’m worried everyone thinks I’m the reason we lost today. I try to think about something else, something good and happy.

  I get to hang out with Tate tonight. I smile. And it’s Friday. I don’t have to wear the brace to school until Monday, and that feels far away. It’s funny how Friday night can trick you into believing the weekend will last forever.

  Mom pulls up in front of Biscotti’s. “Frannie’s dad will pick you girls up.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Brooks.” Hazel opens the door, and they both get out of the car as quickly as possible.

  “Hold on a second,” Mom says to me.

  “What?” I ask, checking to make sure my friends haven’t gone inside without me. They’re standing by the door waiting.

  “I’m going to drop your brace at Frannie’s, but Rachel, you’ll be out of it for extra time today.” She’s giving me this look I’ve only seen one other time that I can remember—when I didn’t tell her about getting a “C” on a math test at the beginning of last year.
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  “I’m making up the time tomorrow,” I say. “I already planned it out.”

  “This is a special occasion,” Mom says. “Not a regular thing.”

  “It’s ten minutes,” I say.

  “You have to get used to the routine of being in the brace.”

  “It’s ten minutes.” My words taste bitter the second time.

  “It matters. Every second counts.” Mom’s voice sounds angry. “You want the brace to work, trust me.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “Do you know what will happen if you don’t wear it?”

  “Surgery.”

  “But do you understand what that actually means?”

  “I would if Dr. Paul explained anything to me,” I say.

  “Don’t be rude.”

  I’m being honest.

  “There are risks. Real ones.”

  “I know,” I say. “I looked it up.”

  “I feel this shooting pain in my back right now, just from sitting in the car for too long,” Mom says. “The brace is your one chance at preventing surgery. Lots of kids your age would do anything for that chance.”

  “I haven’t messed anything up,” I say. I jump out of the car and slam the door shut before Mom has a chance to say anything else.

  “What was that about?” Hazel asks me on our way inside.

  “Who knows?” I shrug it off. I’m excited to hang out with Tate and the team tonight, and I’m not letting Mom ruin it.

  The forwards are crowded around one of the small tables by the window, sipping fancy coffee drinks topped with swirls of whipped cream. Ladan has done a costume change into cutoffs and a shirt that says “dweeb,” which is the opposite of true.

  I go to the bathroom with Hazel so I can look in the mirror one last time before Tate gets here. I coat my lips with strawberry gloss. “What were you guys talking about in the backseat?” I ask, because I want to know if they were talking about me.

  “Oh. Nothing,” Hazel says, looking away from the mirror and up at the ceiling.

  “Seriously. You’re the worst liar. Just tell me.”

  “Fine.” She sighs. “We were talking about Kyle. You know how Frannie is sometimes really loud about the whole thing, saying I’m obsessed with him or whatever? I finally told her to shut up about it in front of the other girls, because they don’t need to know I like him.”

  “I get that.” I nod.

  “I know you do,” she says. “I always thought Frannie knew and talked about it in front of them anyway to annoy me.”

  “Um, I thought that too,” I say.

  Hazel shakes her head. “She seriously had no clue. I’m glad I said something. She pinky swore she’d stop talking about it in front of other people.”

  “Wow,” I say. “That’s awesome.”

  “Yeah.” Hazel smiles at me. “It really is.”

  On our way out of the bathroom, she grabs my arm. Her long, pink nails pinch me. “They’re here,” she whispers.

  I look up, and Tate and Kyle are standing at our table. Hazel pulls me over to the counter with the milks and sugars. There’s a partial wall separating us from them, but we can hear everything they’re saying on the other side.

  “You drink coffee?” It’s Tate.

  “Um, yeah, I really need caffeine,” one of the girls says. I can’t tell who it is without looking.

  “Oh,” he says.

  It’s quiet for a minute.

  “Does anyone know what’s up with Rachel? She looks—uhh—different,” Kyle says. I know it’s him because it’s not Tate, and he’s the only other boy there.

  “Yeah, I know,” Frannie says. “She got really pretty over the summer.”

  “I didn’t know you were a lesbian,” Kyle says.

  One of the girls giggles.

  “So what if I was?” Frannie says. “I wouldn’t have to deal with idiot boys.”

  “Whatever,” Kyle says. “She looks weird.”

  My heart stops.

  “So weird,” the giggler says. “It’s like her clothes don’t fit right or something.”

  “It freaks me out to look at her,” Kyle says.

  I hate that Tate is here, listening to them talk about me like this.

  “Can we talk about what happened at the game?” It’s another girl’s voice. I’m not sure who it is. I don’t want it be Ladan, but it might be. “She crushed that girl. She really shouldn’t be allowed on the field like that. She’s dangerous. And she’s not even good anymore.”

  “I can’t go back there,” I say to Hazel as quietly as I can.

  “You have to,” she whispers. She takes my hand and squeezes it. I squeeze back and lean against the empty wall. I know she’s right.

  “She didn’t do anything to that girl,” Frannie says. “That was a total act and you know it.”

  “We just want to know what’s wrong with her,” the person who might be Ladan says. “You don’t have to be awkward about it.”

  “She has to wear a brace for her back. It’s like a cast.,” Frannie says. “You can ask Rachel about it. It’s not a big deal She’s cool.”

  “I bet,” Kyle says.

  “What’s your problem?” Frannie asks.

  “Chill out, Fran,” the giggler says. “We’re all just saying what we think. You don’t have to go all crazy psycho face on us.”

  Frannie doesn’t say anything. I grab Hazel’s arm. We can’t stand here and let that girl call Frannie crazy, even if she doesn’t mean it the way it sounds.

  I walk out from behind the wall. Everyone stops talking as soon as they see me. It’s dead quiet. I look at Ladan and then at Kyle. I don’t look at Tate. “I have to wear a back brace for scoliosis,” I say. “If you want to ask me about it, ask me.” I have no idea where the words come from, but as soon as they’re out there, floating around in the air, I feel them slap me in the face.

  Nobody says anything.

  “I don’t have any questions, but I have a comment,” Kyle says.

  “I’m not taking comments,” I say.

  “Fine,” he says. “Have you considered joining a freak show?”

  “No,” I say. I try to sound confident and fine, even though he’s insulting me to my face. But I can’t stay here, so I walk over to the door. I’m pretty sure Frannie and Hazel are right behind me, but I don’t turn around to look because I can feel my face turning red and my hands shaking. I walk down the street until I know I’m completely out of sight.

  When I turn around, Frannie and Hazel are there, and I’m so happy to see them. “You’re not crazy,” I say to Frannie.

  “I know.” She sounds hesitant, like she doesn’t really know.

  “You’re not crazy,” I say again.

  “You don’t look weird,” she says.

  I don’t say anything, because I do.

  Frannie sighs and then opens her mouth like she’s about to say something else, but she doesn’t. And I’m glad, because I don’t want her to lie to me, and nothing she says will change how I feel.

  “Do you think I’m dangerous?” I ask.

  “I think the ref made a really bad call,” Frannie says.

  Hazel nods in agreement. “He never should have given that girl the ball. It made it seem like it was your fault when it wasn’t.”

  “Really?” I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I do,” Frannie says. “Anyone who freaks out about getting bumped by your brace is a total flopper drama queen. That’s just a fact. Also, your brace is the best thing ever for keeping other players away from the ball. I think you need to start boxing people out with it. All you have to do is stick your butt out and bend forward a little and let that plastic put a few extra inches between you and the other players. Most people are either going to back up or get bumped. They aren’t going to fake getting hurt and cry about it.”

  “I guess even if they do, it can’t be worse than today,” I say.

  “Today would be hard to beat,” she says. “I’m sorr
y it was so bad.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Frannie looks at her phone. “Ladan texted me.”

  “What did she say?” I ask.

  “ ‘Everyone wants to know why Rachel stormed off. No one was trying to make her cry. We were trying to be honest.’ ” Frannie looks at me like she’s sorry she has to be the one to tell me.

  “I got the same text,” Hazel says.

  Everyone is in there talking about me. I feel tears behind my eyes.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Frannie says. “I’ll call my dad to come get us now.”

  I nod.

  “Wait. We’re leaving?” Hazel looks down at her phone. “Kyle texted me too. He says he didn’t mean it like that. He wanted to know what was up. And you look different than you did before. You know you do. But he’s sorry.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “You’re good to go back in?” she asks.

  “I can’t,” I say.

  “Tate’s in there,” Hazel says. “He’s waiting for you.”

  I shake my head. I feel stupid for not being over it. I know I’m making it worse, but I don’t know how to make it better.

  Frannie puts her phone to her ear, so I know she’s calling her dad. We’re going home early.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to Hazel.

  “It’s fine,” she says, looking back down at her phone.

  “Are you texting Ladan back?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  It doesn’t feel fine.

  IN THE MORNING, Frannie’s house smells like cinnamon and butter. Her dad puts a stack of thick waffles and Vermont maple syrup on the table. “Perfect timing,” he says as we stumble into the kitchen. “Come eat.”

  I take a bite of the waffle. It’s perfect: crunchy on the outside and soft inside. I make sure to drink water between bites. I have to be careful I’m not getting too full inside the brace. I have a whole system now where I stop and wait to make sure I have space before eating more, and it actually works.

  “Fran, we’re leaving in ten,” her dad says. “I’ll drop you girls off at home on the way.” He moves a bouquet of lilies from one counter to the other.

  “K,” Frannie says. She holds the syrup bottle upside down until her waffles are soaked in a sticky, sugary puddle.