by Donna Cooner
“Caitlin!” I cried, clapping. “You did it!”
I ran to retrieve the balls, then ran back toward her and gave her a big hug. “You’re amazing,” I said. “You should totally be on the team.” I paused, then added, “Have you asked your dad yet?”
Caitlin shook her head. After a moment, we sat down together on the grass. I sensed Caitlin needed to talk.
“All my childhood was spent learning not to do things ‘like a girl,’ ” she said finally. She picked a piece of grass and studied it. “So now I don’t throw like a girl or run like a girl. But it doesn’t change things. I can’t play football because I’m a girl.”
“You need to talk to your dad,” I said firmly.
Caitlin shrugged. “After Mom died, Dad and I tried to learn to talk again. Sometimes he answers with one word, but sometimes he actually carries on a conversation. Even laughs.”
“Your mom was great at talking,” I said, remembering Caitlin’s mom with a sad smile. “About everything and nothing at all.”
“Football is the only thing my dad and I really talk about.” Caitlin wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, then smiled at me. “I don’t want to cry like a girl.”
“Everybody cries.” I didn’t tell her I’d cried all the way from the coffee shop to the football field.
She tilted her head slightly, thinking hard. “So, you’ll help me talk to my dad?”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Just be there when I do it. He’s always liked you …” Her hazel eyes were big and hopeful. “Pleeeeeeease.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ll be there for you when you ask him.”
“Thanks, Annie,” Caitlin said. “Where would I be without you?”
I sighed. “Well, you’d probably still be on ChitChat, for one,” I replied.
Caitlin started laughing. “Maybe it’s not such a bad thing to be off it. Even if I am still wondering what people are saying about the video Milo posted.”
“Who cares about the video?” I said. “What I just saw right now? That’s better than any video.” Caitlin smiled, bumping my shoulder. “And I bet I can guess what people would be saying on ChitChat, too.”
“Yeah?” Caitlin asked.
I nodded, tilted my head back, and cupped my hands over my mouth. I yelled words into the dark like comments scrolling across the sky.
“IF THIS IS THE GIRL THAT WANTS ON THE TEAM, THEN ABSOLUTELY!!!!! WOW!
“SIGN THAT GIRL UP!!
“HEY, COACH! SEND HER IN!!!!”
I knew I looked and sounded silly, but it was worth it to hear Caitlin laugh, and to laugh with her.
Maybe we’d be okay without ChitChat after all.
The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be only the beginning.
—Ivy Baker Priest
Every morning, I still woke up and reached for my phone before I remembered I couldn’t log on to ChitChat. Monday morning was no different. I woke up, picked up the phone, but then carefully placed it on my nightstand. I still wasn’t used to the empty feeling.
When I came downstairs and walked into the kitchen, my father was there looking lost. He had the cabinet under the sink open and was staring blankly at the trash can. He was still in his pajamas.
“Where is the dish soap?” he mumbled.
“It’s on the counter,” I answered him. He finally looked around as though he was seeing me for the first time.
“Oh.” He straightened, picked up the dish soap, and squirted some into the sink. I didn’t tell him he should really run the water first and then put the soap in the sink.
“Do you have work today?” I asked.
“I have a dentist appointment,” he said. “I’m going in later.”
I nodded and poured Frosted Flakes into a clean bowl, then added milk and grabbed a spoon. I sat down at the table and shoveled cereal into my mouth. Dad sat down at the table across from me with a cup of coffee and a granola bar. The difference without a phone in my hand was startling. It was almost like I needed to say something out loud. But what? I took another bite of cereal. What did we used to talk about before I had a phone?
“This wedding is a really big deal to your sister,” my dad finally said, startling me.
“I know.”
He looked at me for a long time, frowning slightly. “Do you think … ” He paused, as if he was thinking really hard about something. As if he was choosing his words very carefully. “… I really have to wear a tuxedo?”
I smiled. My dad was definitely not the tuxedo type. He was much more the tattoos, jeans, and T-shirt type. But I was surprised he was worried about it.
“You’re going to look great in a tux, Dad,” I said.
“You think?”
When do you stop worrying about how you look? Does it ever go away?
My dad took a sip of coffee. The hummingbird tattoo on his wrist hovered above his cup like the birds used to do at the back porch feeder.
“Savanna said I’m supposed to give a speech at the reception,” he said.
“Dad, the wedding isn’t until June,” I said. “You have plenty of time to figure out what to say.”
“I know,” he said, and groaned. “I’m just thinking about it.”
“More like worrying about it.”
He shrugged sheepishly. “I wish I could keep you both little for a while longer. I don’t think I’m ready for you to grow up.”
I thought about my dad being surrounded by girls all his life. It must have been hard sometimes. Then I thought about Caitlin and her dad. “Did you ever wish I was a boy?” I asked.
“I have never wanted you to be a boy. Never.” He looked at me straight on. Were those tears in his eyes? My dad, crying? Slowly he reached out across the table and stroked my cheek.
“I just wish I understood girls a little bit better and all that … stuff … you go through.” He smiled sheepishly.
“I wish I did, too, Dad.”
I stood up from my chair and walked around the table. He looked up at me with a half smile, and I put my arms around him, hugging him tight.
“You will be an amazing father of the bride,” I said.
In English class that day, we had a pop quiz on The Great Gatsby. Our teacher, Mr. Stein, walked down the aisles, handing out the tests and giving us a thumbs-up for encouragement.
Mr. Stein looked like he could have still been in high school himself. He was short and stocky, his round eyes always blinking rapidly behind steel-rimmed glasses.
The one good thing about being off ChitChat was that I’d had more time to read. I’d finished The Great Gatsby in practically one sitting and loved it.
I looked down at the paper on my desk, reading the prompt for the essay we were supposed to write.
In the novel, Gatsby has difficulty accepting that the past is over and done with. How does he try to recapture the past? What does this say about him? Should people live their lives longing for something in the past? Why or why not?
I stared down at the words. I thought of my dad, how he wanted to keep Savanna and me in the past. Maybe I was doing the same thing with Jameson.
If only it were easier to move on.
That afternoon, at Caitlin’s request, I waited with her after school until her dad was done with practice. When Caitlin and I got into her dad’s car, I could see how nervous she was. She was going to ask her dad about joining the football team on the ride home. I held my breath and gave her a supportive nod. I just hoped this wouldn’t be too awkward.
Caitlin’s dad drove off, navigating the parking lot and ignoring the buzz of his phone on the seat. This time of the year his phone was always full of messages from players, parents, and even teachers. Everyone focused on the possibility of a winning season courtesy of Coach Stone. Our team had been racking up wins, even though we’d lost the most recent game.
Before Caitlin could say anything, her dad spoke up.
“I thought we’d
go out for dinner tonight. Want to join us, Annie?” he asked.
“Ummm … I have a lot of homework.”
Caitlin shot me a look.
“But sure. I’d love to.”
Caitlin smiled. “How about Austin’s?” she asked. It was a restaurant in Old Town we both liked. Her dad nodded, humming to himself.
As we approached Austin’s, Caitlin sat up straight and spoke.
“So, I was watching Eli kicking today.”
“And?” her dad said, his eyes on the road.
“I have an idea,” Caitlin said. She took a deep breath and continued, “Eli might need a backup.”
“We don’t have one.”
Her dad turned into the parking lot at Austin’s, turned off the engine, and twisted to face her. The sudden tension between them made my stomach tighten.
“I could do it,” Caitlin said. Her voice came out quiet. Unlike her.
Her dad’s expression hardened. “We don’t have girls on the team.”
“I’m better than him. You know it.”
“Maybe. But you’re a girl.”
“Duh.”
He frowned at her sarcasm.
“And that’s the only reason I can’t be on the team? Because I’m a girl?”
“It’s one reason, but not the main one. I don’t want you to get hurt.” His tone left little room for argument. But I glanced at Caitlin’s face. I knew what she was thinking. She had gone this far and wasn’t going to give up easily. Her dad had taught her that.
“I can get hurt playing soccer,” she argued.
“It’s not the same thing. People aren’t hitting you. Knocking you down. Running over you.”
Her voice got louder. “Accidents happen, Dad. You can’t keep me from getting hurt.”
I realized I was holding my breath again. Maybe they’d just forgotten I was back here?
“There’s a video posted online,” Caitlin’s dad finally said. “Of you. I think Milo posted it, but someone forwarded it to me.”
Caitlin nodded.
“You’re kicking field goals. Over and over again. Right through the goalposts.”
Caitlin’s eyes widened, and my heart started to beat faster. And?
Her dad sighed. “You’re good, Cait. I’m not going to deny that. And it’s not that I don’t think you can do it. I know you can.” He rubbed his eyes. “It’s just, you’re five foot five and one hundred twenty pounds. What if a guy twice your size gets through the return coverage on the kickoff? What if three big guys come at you to block a point after?”
“Dad, you know all the bad things that might happen … more than anyone else,” Cait pleaded, “but there are over two thousand girls playing high school football in this country.” It seemed Cait had done some Luna-style research of her own. “I want to be one of them.”
“The dad in me says absolutely not,” her dad said, then paused. “But as a coach, I know we need a backup.”
My heart took off at the realization of what her dad had just said.
“And?” Caitlin asked.
“I could bring up Jack Richardson from the junior varsity team.”
Oh.
Caitlin’s eyebrows shot up. “Jack hasn’t made a single goal. Not in a real game.”
Her dad looked pained because he knew she was right. “He hit a couple in practice.”
There was a long silence between them. I knew Caitlin was dying to say more, but somehow she held it in. Saying the wrong thing wasn’t an option.
Her dad opened the car door, and the three of us got out of the car and walked in awkward silence over to Austin’s. The waiter sat us in a booth and brought us water and menus. I was sitting beside Caitlin, and we both looked across at her dad. I couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. Finally, he spoke again.
“You could get hurt out there,” he said.
“I could get hurt on the sidewalk.” Caitlin motioned out the window. “I could be hurt on the soccer field. Life is full of risks.”
Caitlin’s dad was quiet for a minute, fiddling with his menu. Beneath the table, I clasped Caitlin’s hand, hoping he’d say yes.
Eventually, her dad stared at Caitlin across the table, and nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Okay?
“Okay?” Caitlin whispered, her eyes shining.
“I’ll give you a tryout,” her dad said. “Just like everyone else. No special treatment,” he added.
“Of course not,” Caitlin said, and a huge grin spread across her face. I could feel myself start to grin, too. This was actually happening.
“On one condition.”
“Yes?” Caitlin asked.
He gave her a look. “On that field, I’m the coach.”
Cait nodded frantically. “Got it.”
“If I don’t send you into the game, there’s a reason for it. You have to trust my judgment.”
Caitlin nodded again, not daring to say anything that might mess things up.
Her dad took a deep breath, then mumbled, “I don’t even know if we have a uniform that will fit you.”
Caitlin slid out of the booth and went over to her dad, giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the top of the head.
“You won’t be sorry. I won’t let you down,” she insisted.
“You never do,” he said.
After dinner, all I wanted to do was share Caitlin’s good news on ChitChat. I thought about what I would have posted—a selfie of me and Cait and her dad, with the hashtags #footballteam #makinghistory. I imagined all the likes and comments that would pour in, and how people like Milo and Jameson and Mariah would react. I thought about it the whole time that Caitlin’s dad drove us back home from Austin’s. But I didn’t touch my phone.
I waved good night to Cait and her dad and got out of their car. I let myself inside my house and went upstairs to my room.
When my parents first moved into the neighborhood, my dad planted tiny blue spruce trees along the fence line. Now the trees were tall enough to block the view into our living room. But my bedroom on the second floor was still perfectly unobstructed and aligned with Luna’s room.
Tonight I saw her clearly, standing in her window in her fleece pajamas. She saw me, too, and smiled. She held both hands over her head with her fingers spread wide. It was our long-ago-designed way of asking to come over before any of us had access to phones and text messages. I gave a thumbs-up: the response that meant yes, of course. A thumbs-down was no, but I almost never gave that.
It was a relief to know Luna would be coming over. I had felt this close to breaking the vow. Now I’d have a distraction.
I was sitting up in bed, flipping through one of Savanna’s bridal magazines, when Luna arrived a few minutes later wearing an oversized T-shirt and leggings. She kicked off her fleece-lined boots and threw herself across the empty side of the bed.
“Cait got her dad to let her try out for the team,” I told Luna, and she cheered.
“That’s the kind of thing Cait would have posted on ChitChat,” Luna said, plumping up one of my pillows behind her head.
I flipped a page of Modern Bride and nodded. “I would have posted about it, too.”
“How’s the wedding planning going?” Luna asked, looking at the picture on the cover of the veiled woman tossing a bouquet of lilies over one shoulder.
“It’s going well,” I said, closing the magazine. “Savanna’s really excited.”
Luna squinted her eyes at me. “So why don’t you look happy about it?”
“I was thinking about how it’s never going to be just me and Savanna anymore. Now everybody is paired up. Even my mom and dad have each other. I’m going to be the odd one out in my own family. It feels … weird.”
“Maybe you can write about it in your journal,” Luna suggested.
“How is that working for you?” I asked.
“Not great. I still want to go on ChitChat every few minutes. I think about it all the time.”
“I was dyi
ng to break the vow tonight,” I confessed. “I almost did.”
“Why was tonight so tough?”
I shrugged. “I guess I was excited for Cait … and also I just keep wondering what I’m missing on there. Even though I know going online will probably make me feel bad about myself, I still want to do it.” I pulled my purple floral comforter up under my chin. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“FOMO,” Luna said. “Fear of missing out. It’s a social anxiety people have about being disconnected from others.”
“It’s a real thing?” I felt better knowing I wasn’t alone.
She nodded. “Being off social media can make FOMO worse for people who feel like they are missing opportunities.”
“Seriously, how do you know all this stuff?” I asked.
She laughed. “Wikipedia. It’s my weakness.”
“I miss Jameson,” I said quietly. “I needed to tell someone.”
“I’m glad it was me,” she said, putting her head on my shoulder. “And not ChitChat.”
“Me too,” I said, leaning my head against hers. “Hey, did I ever tell you how great you are for going offline for me?”
“No.”
We sat quietly for a moment.
“So … ?”
“So … what?” I asked.
“Tell me!”
I rolled my eyes, then said, “Luna Ortega is pretty great.”
“Thanks,” Luna said with a grin. “I ‘like’ that comment.”
I have to admit something about myself. I figured it out last night when I was just lying in bed waiting (and waiting … and waiting) to fall asleep. Usually, I would be scrolling through ChitChat looking at pictures, reading comments and posts. But now I just think.
So here’s the thing. I do things sometimes because of the audience. Every like, or comment, or mention makes me feel like I matter. Is that so bad?
Social media asks so many questions. It implores me to answer.
How are you feeling?
What are you doing?
Where are you?
Who are you with?
What makes you angry?
But I need somewhere to answer them.
Annie
