Sidelined

by Kara Bietz

  It feels nice to have a friendly face during first period. Even though it’s only the first week of school, it’s been pretty rough. I recognize faces and want to wave and say hello, but they don’t always recognize me. Or worse, they do recognize me and either pretend they don’t see me or give me a dirty look. Sure, some of the guys on the team have been cool to me, but it would be nice to walk through the halls of Crenshaw again with my head up.

  I manage to keep my eyes open all through Ms. Parliament’s grammar lecture and even take a few notes. Camille waits for me to pack my bag when the bell rings. “Where are you headed next?” she asks.

  “I’m supposed to be going to health with the freshmen,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. “I never got credit for it in ninth grade, and Ms. Woods says I have to have it to graduate. But right now, I actually have to go see Ms. Woods again. She’s put me in a freshman social studies class by accident.”

  “Oh my god, that’s the literal worst,” she says. “I’ve got marketing and then AP Spanish. I’ll walk with you,” she says, falling in step next to me.

  “Marketing,” I say. “What’s that like?” I ask her, happy to have someone with me in the hallway.

  “It’s my favorite class!” Camille says. “I’ve told you my plan, haven’t I?”

  “I don’t think so,” I say, hooking my thumbs through my backpack straps.

  Camille launches into the details of her fourteen-step business plan that includes going to Coastal Texas for two years, transferring to Texas State to double major in business administration and dance, and eventually moving back to Meridien to open a massive dance studio after a storied dance career somewhere glamorous and far away. “I mean, I want to dance forever, right? But honestly that’s not realistic. At some point I’ll be old and wrinkly and won’t be able to do a triple pirouette anymore or glissade across a huge stage.”

  “You really think you’ll want to move back to Meridien after you live in some cool place like New York or Paris?” I ask her.

  Camille shrugs. “I’m happy here,” she says. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to see the world someday, but it’s always nice to come home after an adventure, you know? Someplace where everyone knows you and it’s comfortable.”

  “I agree,” I tell her. “Your plan sounds pretty solid.”

  “It’s a dream. I mean, I’m going to get those degrees and open a dance studio here at least. All that stuff that happens in between might be a little bit of a pipe dream, but what’s life without a little bit of whimsy, right?” Camille smiles, but it seems a little sad.

  I want to ask her what made the light go out of her eyes right then, but it feels too personal. Too pushy. Instead, we walk through the halls, both quiet now. Camille is lost in her thoughts and I’m lost, too, if I’m being honest. I’ve never given a ton of thought to what I might want to do when high school is over. It’s a big decision, and one I’ve pushed out of my head whenever it taps at me. Julian has had a capital P Plan since we were kids, and now even Camille seems to know exactly what she wants. Is it okay not to know? The thought sticks in my gut and I readjust my bag and clear my throat to try to shake it loose.

  “You ready for Powder Puff tonight?” I ask Camille, desperate to chase away the gathering cloud above our heads and change the subject before she asks me what my plans are after graduation.

  Camille brightens again. “We’re going to crush those cheerleaders this year,” she says. “The Guardettes are ready.”

  I laugh. I have to admit that I’m looking forward to watching the Guardettes go at it against the cheer squad. Especially if they’re all taking it as seriously as Camille is.

  “Hey, let me ask you something,” I say to her.

  “Anything.”

  “Why do you think Julian is so down on homecoming?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Psh. Your guess is as good as mine. I’m sure it has to do with him having to plan the pranks. You know that kind of goofing off is really not in his DNA. I keep trying to get him to lighten up, but he’s wound tighter than a tick.”

  “You think he’ll actually do it? Plan the pranks?”

  “I think he’ll do them his way,” Camille says. “Eventually. After a lot of kicking and screaming.” She laughs. “Do you think you’ll go? To the homecoming dance after the Taylor game?”

  “I… I don’t think so,” I answer.

  “Why not? It’s a lot of fun! Find yourself a date; you get to wear a garter around school. I know you missed all that stuff freshman year.”

  I think about Julian’s face last night when Camille talked about Reece and the mum he made for Julian. I wonder what that would feel like. Having someone care about me enough to make me a homecoming garter. I wonder what it would feel like to wear it to school, and everyone would know that I had a boyfriend. Someone who cared about me. Someone who would show up for me.

  “I would like to go,” I say. “But I don’t know. It still seems pretty far off. I think it might take a while for people to get used to seeing me around again.”

  “At least think about it.” She gives me a half smile. “And hey, the Guardettes are having a fundraising dance this weekend that all of you football players have to come to, anyway. Maybe you’ll find yourself a homecoming date.” She bumps me with her shoulder.

  “This is the most dance-having school in Texas, jeez.” I laugh.

  “Hey, I know you spent a lot of time in the big city,” she jokes, putting air quotes around big city. “But spoiler alert: There’s not a whole lot else to do out here in the middle of nowhere. Cow tipping? Mailbox baseball? Watch the pumpjacks? Yawn. Hey, did you know that homecoming mums are only a Texas thing?” Camille changes subjects as often as some people change their socks. My head is spinning while I try to keep up.

  “No way,” I argue.

  “Yeah!” She laughs. “Everywhere else in the country, you just go to homecoming. Mums are this big bushy plant people put on their front porch in the fall. Isn’t that weird?”

  We laugh together all the way to the guidance office, where Camille splits off and heads toward her marketing class.

  Everyone in the guidance office is dressed in either a pink or purple T-shirt in support of the Powder Puff game tonight. Ms. Woods meets me at the door in a bright pink jersey that looks very similar to Camille’s. WALTZIN’ WOODS is spelled out on the back in glitter.

  She sees me eyeing it and twirls around. “I won’t tell you how many years old this is, but we played Powder Puff way back in the dark ages, too.” She smiles and winks. “What can I do for you, Mr. Vance?”

  “I’ve got a problem with my schedule,” I tell her.

  “Let’s get that fixed, Elijah,” she says, perching her red readers at the end of her nose and taking my schedule from me.

  She starts typing on her computer, and I look around her office. There are pictures of her with students everywhere you turn. Some are taken at school functions, some right here in her office. On a top shelf in a dusty corner, I spot a picture of Frankie all dressed up in her marching band outfit, smiling away with her arm around Ms. Woods. I didn’t notice it yesterday.

  “When was that taken?” I point toward it.

  “Oh, your sweet big sister. That was her sophomore year at the last football game of the season. Isn’t she a cutie with her piccolo?”

  “I miss her,” I say before I can stop the words.

  Ms. Woods removes her glasses from the end of her nose, and they hang on a chain around her neck. “How are things going for you, Elijah?”

  “I’m fine,” I tell her. I keep the doubts behind my teeth. The way some people looked at me at bingo last night. I heard some of the things they were saying about me. Julian’s reaction to seeing me for the first time and later his comments about the pregnant cheerleader. The ache in my gut when I realized just how much I’d missed him. Me, afraid to tell him about Frankie and Coley. Feeling like I take up too much space at Ms. Birdie’s house.

  She looks at me for
a beat longer than is comfortable and then leans back in her swivel chair. “You can always come talk to me,” she says. “My door is always open.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her. “That… that means a lot.”

  She hands me my new schedule with US history right before football at the end of the day. “You can start this schedule tomorrow, okay? Just sit through that freshman class one more day, and tell Mrs. Schad you’ll be out of there tomorrow.”

  “Will do.”

  “I’m not just here to fix schedules, you know.” She smiles.

  “I know.” I smile back, glad that she’s here. I throw one more glance up at the picture of her with Frankie before heading out of the office.

  The rest of my school day is a lot better than Tuesday. I notice a few more familiar faces in my classes, and a few of the football players invite me to eat lunch with them. I’m sitting at the end of the table and I’m kind of on the outskirts of most of the conversations, but that doesn’t matter. At least I’m not alone.

  I feel better by the time seventh period rolls around, and I change my clothes as quickly as I can and run out onto the practice field. I do a few high-knee laps on the sidelines while I wait for Julian and the rest of the team to come outside.

  “Short practice today, fellas,” Coach Marcus tells us when Julian starts the stretches. “Powder Puff game after this, and I expect all of you on the sidelines if you’re not coaching.”

  A small crowd of pink-and-purple-shirt-clad fans are already gathering in the bleachers. Guess our practice will serve as the warm-up act for the Powder Puff game.

  “Defense with Coach Andrews!” Coach Marcus blows his whistle and points to the fifty-yard line after the warm-ups. “Elijah Vance, you’re with me.”

  I jog over to him, carrying my helmet under my arm.

  “Yes, Coach?”

  “I’d like to try something different with you today,” he says.

  “Okay?”

  “You’ve got to be willing to give it a chance. Keep an open mind. Will you trust me?”

  “I trust you,” I say, wondering what his plan is. Is he going to make me a kicker or something?

  “We’ve got a little problem with protection,” he says, setting his lips in a straight line and crossing his arms over his chest. “How do you feel about offensive line?”

  “I’ve never played offense before,” I tell him, which isn’t exactly true. I played both sides of the ball when Julian and Nate and I played peewee ball, but I think we all did.

  “I’ve got to get Julian more protection out there, and I think you’re a smart enough guy for the job,” he says. “Let’s try you out at left tackle today, all right? You watch Martinez for a couple of plays, and then we’ll get you in there.”

  Coach Marcus makes it sound like it’s a question, but I know better. The only correct answer here is Whatever you say, Coach.

  “Yes, sir,” I tell him, and strap my helmet under my chin and jog out to where the offensive line is gathered.

  Most of the dudes on the line tower over me, but my shoulders are just as wide. Bucky Redd buries a fist in my gut. “Welcome to the o-line, little man.” He laughs. The rest of the guys laugh along with him, but I know it’s all good fun. Bucky runs me through a few of the plays, and I feel like I’ve got a good handle on them when Coach calls for a short scrimmage.

  “Just keep your eye on the line for these first few plays. You’ll pick it up easy, I bet,” Bucky says, tightening his helmet under his chin.

  The o-line gets down in their stance, and I watch Martinez set up. He’s the last one to bend at the waist after watching the defensive setup across from him. He nods to Julian.

  “Red 14! Red 14! Hike!” Julian calls, catching the snap from the center and backing up a couple of paces.

  Martinez digs in and tries to take out the defense, but the tackle breaks right through the protection, grabs Julian around the waist, and takes him down hard. I hear a loud “oof” as he lands on his side and drops the football.

  “Ooh, that’s going to leave a mark,” Coach Andrews mumbles next to me.

  Coach Marcus taps me on the back. “Get in there, Vance. Martinez! You’re out!”

  Julian is pacing in a circle, panting, when I get out onto the field. He meets my eye, and I can tell he’s not okay. I want to ask if I can do something. Get him some ice. Get the trainer. But there’s not time before Coach calls the next play.

  “Set up!” Coach Marcus yells. “Run Oklahoma hook left!”

  Julian stretches his ribs, puffing air through his cheeks. He shakes his limbs loose before he gets in position. Just like Martinez, I check the defensive setup and then get in my stance after giving Julian a nod. My stomach is in knots. Julian’s just been smacked hard, and I can’t let that happen again. I know what Martinez did wrong, and I’m determined not to take my eyes off the tackle that broke through. A giant mass of a kid that probably has a nickname like Tiny or something else ironic. My heart is beating in my throat when I hear Julian call the play.

  “Hike!” he shouts behind me.

  I bury my helmet right in Tiny’s numbers, and he falls in slow motion like a tower of Jenga blocks. I jump up and make sure Julian’s had the chance to make the handoff and step out of the play. He’s safe behind me.

  “You good?” I ask him as the running back gets tackled a few yards away.

  “Yeah,” he says, completely out of breath. His hand is on his side and he is grimacing. I know he’s lying.

  “I’m your left tackle now,” I say, standing up a little taller. I don’t really know if that’s true yet or not. Coach Marcus might decide I’m the worst tackle in history and put me somewhere else after a play or two, but I want to say something to Julian. Something so he knows I won’t let him get smacked again.

  Julian meets my eyes. We stare at each other for a full breath. Finally, he just nods in my direction and puts his mouth guard back in.

  I’m laser focused. No one’s getting to Julian if I can help it. My entire job as left tackle is to protect him from the defense. It takes a little bit of practice not to want to wrap my arms around the receivers and bury them into the ground after Julian passes the ball, but I start to get used to it. I crush and push as hard as I can to keep the defense from cutting through and sacking Julian while he falls into a nice pocket behind me. It’s an easier job than I thought it was going to be as far as reading the plays and anticipating the defensive moves. I don’t really have to concern myself with that anymore. Literally my entire job is to hold the defense back from knocking Julian over.

  The bleachers are starting to fill up with pink and purple T-shirts, parents with balloons and flowers, and student groups with huge signs on colored butcher paper.

  When the dance team and the cheerleaders start to gather at the far end of the field, Coach calls practice and we all head to the locker room. The o-line surrounds me.

  “You’re a beast out there,” Bucky Redd says. “Now all we need is for Julian to throw a few touchdowns and we’re golden this weekend.”

  “That was awesome,” I tell him.

  “Yeah? It’s nice burying the defense, right?” Bucky laughs.

  Julian is sitting stiffly on the bench near our lockers, taking deep breaths with his pads still on. “Hey, nice job out there today,” he says quietly when I sit down and start untying my cleats.

  My cheeks warm. “Thanks. I haven’t played offense since our peewee days.”

  “I got a few good throws in,” he says quietly. “I think it’s a good fit for you.”

  I feel like I want to say more to him, but he looks down and starts unbuckling his pads after that. Once he has his jersey off and most of the buckles undone on his shoulder pads, he heads for the shower with just a quick half smile in my direction. He lumbers away awkwardly. Not exactly limping, but not exactly not limping, either.

  I shower quickly and put on the pink T-shirt Camille threw at me before football practice. In black letters on the fr
ont it says COACH. Julian meets me in a matching T-shirt near the field house, where Camille and an army of dance-team girls dressed in highlighter pink are waiting for us. Julian holds the bags with the flags and starts handing them out to the girls.

  “Let’s stretch a little before we do this,” Camille says to her team of warriors in pink. Some of them have painted pink hearts under their eyes. All of them are wearing neon pink knee socks. A few of them even have pink tutus on. I don’t know how that’s going to work with the flag belts, but I don’t say anything.

  As the girls form a circle on the field and start stretching, I stand next to Julian and watch the chaos around me. The stands are filled with pink and purple T-shirts, parents with noisemakers, and huge painted signs.

  “Are regular football games this well attended?” I laugh.

  “This event always draws a huge crowd,” he says, folding his arms across his chest and drawing in a quick breath.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “I’m good. Just a little sore from that last hit,” he says. “I’ll be okay.”

  I know he’s not telling me the truth. His voice cracks just a smidge, and the smile he’s trying to give me is pinched and forced. But I don’t say anything. I don’t want to give Julian more of an excuse not to talk to me than he already has.

  The girls finish their stretches and nervously size up their purple-clad foes on the other side of the field. Camille is nervously bouncing around the sidelines, reminding her team of the plays and her signals. I want to laugh, but I can see how seriously she’s taking her job as team captain.

  Bucky, Nate, Darien, and a couple of the other seniors are acting as the referees, and the crowd roars when they run out onto the field in their black-and-white-striped shirts. Nate grabs a microphone from the tech kid who has run out onto the field.

  “You look nice, Camille.” Bucky pauses on his way past the sideline to smile at our Pirouette Queen. “Good luck out there. I know you’ll be awesome.”

  “Thanks, Bucky,” she says, returning his smile.