by Coco Simon
After family brunch, Gabby and I washed the dishes and cleaned up. Then it was time for me and Dad to go to the game.
That afternoon was a beautiful Saturday for field hockey. It was perfect fall weather—the air cool and still, sun high, not a cloud in the sky.
As we settled into Dad’s SUV and buckled our belts, he glanced down at my sketchbook and seemed like he was about to say something, then decided against it.
I side-eyed him. I knew why he wasn’t going to go there. If he was even slightly interested in the fact that I was bringing a sketch pad to a school sporting event, well, there was no way he was going against Mom who said I should be spending more time on “academics.”
After all these years, Gabby and I have never been able to come between our parents on any front, and Gabby’s a pro. They are so united on every possible thing, it’s like they possess this weird parental telepathy. They’re such different people in the world, but when it comes to me and Gabby, it’s like our two parents merge into one. I personally found it super annoying, but then Matt came along and showed me another perspective.
Back at camp, I thought Matt and I had some sort of telepathy going. By the last week, we were finishing each other’s sentences and saying the same expressions. Then camp ended, and poof, he fell off the face of the earth, like the imaginary friend you suddenly outgrow.
After his last one-word text, I didn’t really know what else to say without coming off as too “in my feelings”—even though I was! So I remained silent.
And then there was Lindsay, who I’ve had a telepathic friendship with since kindergarten, until just lately. I didn’t know what was happening with us, but we weren’t so in sync these days either. It was like we’d lost our radio signal and there was all this static between us, interfering with our connection.
I was losing my grip on two people I cared about, and I wanted to know my parents’ secret recipe for relationship success once and for all. Despite their busy lives with competing responsibilities, how did they manage to stay so… in sync all the time?
I was just about to ask my dad about this when he interrupted my thoughts.
“So what are we filling our ears with this morning, Miss DJ?” Dad asked, fiddling with the Bluetooth on his phone.
I was so lost in thought I almost didn’t answer. Usually, I decided what we listened to when Dad drove me, but music was the last thing on my mind today.
“I dunno. Whatever you pick, I’m game,” I mumbled absentmindedly.
“Well, that’s a first,” Dad said, before choosing his favorite Otis Redding playlist.
He started the car and backed out of the driveway.
“Dad… do you and Mom agree on everything?” I asked, once we were well on our way.
“Heck no, we don’t always agree,” he answered with a laugh.
“For real?” I asked, disbelieving.
“Well, you and best buddy Lindsay are practically married. Do you two always see eye to eye?”
“Definitely not,” I grumbled.
Especially not lately.
“Well, same goes with your mom and I. We’re not always of the same mind on things and have to talk it out behind the scenes. Thankfully, our home is spacious enough, or else you’d hear us.”
He paused before adding, “Especially when it comes to you and Gabby. As the parents, we must find common ground, or else you two queens of schemes will walk all over us!”
Dad and I laughed hard at this for a good minute because it was so true.
Gabby alone would debate our Mom and Dad all day and all night if necessary to get her point across.
Dad continued, “But what I’m saying is, we don’t always agree on issues that bubble up concerning politics, religion, and the two of you, but when it comes to our children, we have to land on a position. Through the process of doing this since you were babies, essentially, your mom and I merged into our own organism.”
Ha. After blowing my mind with his honesty, leave it to Dad to put his scientific spin on everything.
“Can you two read each other’s minds?” I asked.
Dad laughed loud and looked away from the road for a half second to throw me a glance.
“Sorry to disappoint, but we have no such abilities. Your mother is one of the greatest mysteries of my life, next to science. I don’t think I’ll ever understand her completely.
“Yet, over time, we’ve learned to accept each other for exactly who we are. Years of disagreeing to find our middle has made it easy in our later years to predict what the other’s response will be to any question or situation you two come at us with.”
“Now this is one real-talk Saturday,” I said.
I still didn’t get it all, but I couldn’t wait to tell my sister the good news, that Mom and Dad didn’t have telepathy after all.
* * *
The field hockey girls were doing warm-up drills when we arrived. I scanned the first row of bleachers for Michelle. When I spotted her, she was already waving me over from her wheelchair at the far end.
I sat in the front row with Michelle, and Dad sat a row behind me to cheer on our team. He’s really into sports and gets really loud at games, so I never let him sit next to me.
“I’ve already gotten some great shots. Check these out,” Michelle said excitedly.
She handed me her camera to take a look.
“Michelle, these are amazing,” I said.
There were some wide shots of the girls stretching, and more close-ups of them talking with their coaches. Michelle had zoomed in on their faces so you could see how intently they were listening to every word their coach said.
I felt especially inspired by photos of the girls laughing and fooling around. I wondered how well I would be able to capture all that personality with the mental pictures I was planning to take, plus my pencils.
My favorite was a photo of Kelsey that was really incredible. She was holding her hockey stick laughing, lots of blue sky above her and a look of pure joy on her face.
“You can see how much she loves to play,” I said. “This could be the cover of a sports magazine!”
Michelle grinned.
“Thanks. That’s my dream, actually! I want to one day see a photo of mine on the cover of a magazine,” she said.
“Keep taking photos like this and you’ll be well on your way,” I assured her.
With a smile, Michelle looked through her camera lens and started snapping away again.
The game started. We became quiet for a while, each of us deep in thought.
I turned to a blank page in my sketchbook and glanced at the players. Sophia caught my eye. She was small, swift, and dark-haired, and played with a fierce intensity. That made her a great subject to draw, but also a challenging one. She moved like a minnow on the field, making it harder for me to pin down a mental picture. It took me a while to latch onto something, but once I did, it was exhilarating to capture her energy on the page.
After a few minutes, Michelle leaned over to peer at my sketch.
“Now that’s amazing,” she said, then laughed. “Sophia looks so serious, doesn’t she? You almost want to give her a hug and tell her to lighten up.”
I beamed, silently overjoyed that Michelle knew exactly who I was sketching, and that I’d done Sophia justice.
“That’s why I thought she’d be great to sketch. I loved the expression on her face.” I turned to Michelle. “Since I got back from camp, you’re the first person to be interested in my artwork, so thank you for saying that. Sometimes I struggle with whether I’m even any good. But I’ve been working really hard to hone my craft. I guess it just feels good to have my work… seen.”
I surprised myself, saying this much to Michelle. She was more Kelsey and Lindsay’s friend than mine. I guess I was feeling more comfortable talking about this with someone who shared an eye and appreciation for life’s beautiful moments.
“Yeah, I could tell you weren’t feeling it at lunch the other day
when Lindsay was just not getting it,” Michelle said.
“Oh, you noticed, huh?” I asked, laughing.
Michelle smiled.
“I have an eye, remember?” she said, holding up her camera. “Casey, you’re not great at keeping your feelings hidden. Even if you don’t say what you feel, you’re saying it anyway.”
“Good to know,” I said.
“Look at it this way,” Michelle said, lowering her camera and turning to look at me. “Sometimes, people don’t get things they’re not interested in. My cousin Joanne wants to be a physics teacher. Physics! I break out into hives just thinking about math. So you know, to each her own.”
She raised her camera again and took a few more photos. Then she added, “And you know what else? I think Lindsay might be a little jealous.”
“Jealous? Why?”
“Her mom was a great artist. I’m sure Lindsay would love to have a little of talent herself. But you have talent.”
“Hmm.” I was silent for a moment, considering this. Lindsay and I have never had problems with jealousy in all our years of friendship. She didn’t ever seem to be jealous about me going to sleepaway camp every summer, and Lindsay wanted nothing more than to leave our small town, where anybody’s business is everybody’s business.
Michelle continued, “Don’t get me wrong—she’s not crazy jealous. It’s not like she hates you or anything like that! I’m just saying I think she feels a little uncomfortable when you get excited about your artwork. It probably reminds her of her mom or something.”
I sighed, because she had a point.
“You know, you might be right. I never thought about it that way,” I said.
“You should talk to her about it,” Michelle said. “It’s never good to keep things bottled up. She’s your best friend, after all.”
I nodded. “Maybe I will.”
I know Lindsay’s my best friend, but still, why do I feel so uncomfortable?
Chapter Eight Cute With a Capital C
The following Monday at lunchtime, the girls’ field hockey team huddled around Michelle at our lunch table. From the outside, it could have looked like they were strategizing their next play. But really, they were gazing at Michelle’s photographs from their game on Saturday.
“Shelly, you always make me look sooo good!” Kelsey squealed. “I want a copy of this picture.”
It was the photo I loved too, with Kelsey gripping the hockey stick and laughing with the blue sky.
“If you think these are good, you should see Casey’s sketches. They’re even more amazing,” Michelle said.
Before I knew it, the girls were grabbing at my sketchbook.
Now with the spotlight suddenly on me, my face went hot with embarassment, which then turned to pride. Since the art exhibit at the close of summer camp, I haven’t had a chance to show my artwork to anybody. I’ve been pretty secretive about it.
“Wait, wait! Hold up!” I said, laughing.
I was kind of happy that people were actually interested in my work for a change. I opened my sketchbook and flipped some pages, looking for the field hockey sketches.
A sketch that I had torn out of the book fluttered to the floor. It was meant to be private, but it was already too late.
“Now you hold up—who is this?” Kelsey said, picking up my sketch of Matt.
I hadn’t planned to show it to anyone. Actually, I had torn it out to put it someplace private but got sidetracked.
I hadn’t drawn it from a photograph like the others before it, but from a mental picture of my campfire memory of Matt. I had to close my eyes for a long time until every feature of his face froze into place and made sense. I had tried to remember him on paper, but it didn’t come out exactly as I saw it in my mind. No matter how good or bad the drawing was, it could never capture Matt in living color.
But even my drawing of his dark hair, sparkling eyes, killer smile, and deep dimples had a table of girls captivated for a few moments.
I guess that meant I’d done something right.
Matt had that effect on all the girls at camp too, but he was only interested in spending his kayaking and campfire hours with me. Maybe it was because I was biracial like him, or the only girl who wasn’t fawning over him.
It felt kind of awesome seeing people so mesmerized by my sketches but I also felt super exposed, as if everyone, just by staring at the picture, could overhear our campfire conversations and taste the marshmallows Matt roasted just for me. It was like everyone was reading from a ripped-out page of my private journal.
“CUTE, with a capital C!” squealed Sophia. “Is that your boyfriend?”
I sighed inwardly.
I wish! Or do I?
“I’m not even allowed to have a boyfriend, Sophia. We’re just friends,” I said.
“What’s his name?” Michelle asked.
“Matt.”
“Ooh, Maaaaatt,” said Sophia, drawing out the sound of his name and making the rest of the girls giggle.
Kelsey put the sketch down on the cafeteria table, and Lindsay leaned in to take a look.
“So this is Matt-who-never-texts-back, huh? He’s cute, I guess,” she said.
My face was burning up.
“He texts back. Just not… a lot.”
Kelsey sighed.
“He’s dreamy, Case,” she said. “Why aren’t there any guys who look like this around here?”
“We need to get them imported,” Michelle joked.
The rest of the girls exchanged high-fives and laughed.
“Hi, girls. What’s so funny over here?” asked an all-too-familiar voice.
I froze.
How long has she been spying?
“Hi, Assistant Principal Peters,” some of the girls said in unison.
“Hi, Mrs. Peters!” Lindsay perked up.
Funny, Lindsay hardly ever looked this excited to see me anymore.
“Casey, I was just sitting in my office, thinking that it’s been a while since we invited Lindsay over for my famous lasagna,” Mom said, looking at her with a smile.
Don’t assistant principals have other things to think about? I thought.
Mom waved a manicured hand.
“What do you say, Linds, would you like to come over for dinner tonight?”
“Ooh, that’s so nice,” said Sophia.
“Jealous!” Michelle half joked.
“I have to ask, of course, but I’d love to!” Lindsay said enthusiastically.
In a sudden movement of excitement, she knocked over a container of juice… all over my Matt drawing. The bottom half of my sketch got soaked.
All of the girls gasped in horror.
“Matt!” Kelsey cried out dramatically, as if he were really drowning.
“Wait? What?” Lindsay said, clearly embarrassed.
Thinking quickly, Michelle grabbed her camera and snapped a photo of the sketch.
“I’ll send this to you and you can print it out,” she told me. “Just lighten the part that’s darker because it got wet. Good as new.”
I didn’t say anything, just took a napkin and gently blotted the wet part of the sketch. I realized then that how much the sketch meant to me.
Kelsey looked at Lindsay. “Gosh, Lindsay. Can’t you at least say you’re sorry?”
Lindsay shot me a look, but I noticed she couldn’t hold my gaze for more than two seconds.
“She knows I’m sorry… don’t you, Case? Like Michelle said, you can print out a new copy. Or you can just whip up a new sketch.”
I fumed.
Whip up? This is not a kitchen and I’m no Betty Crocker!
“What do we have here?” Mom asked.
With all the commotion, I had forgotten that she was even there. She leaned down to look at the half-wet sketch and then looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Clearly this is your handiwork. Who’s the boy, Case?” she asked.
“Nobody, Assistant Principal Peters! It’s just a stupid drawing I
whipped up… right, Lindsay?” I shouted.
Tears stung my eyes, threatening to fall.
I quickly scooped up my sketch and sketchbook and rushed out of the cafeteria, leaving my lunch, and probably a lot of confused faces, behind.
Chapter Nine That’s the Tea
After school, I sat outside the closed door of Assistant Principal Peters’s office, as usual, waiting for a ride home.
If a stranger were to walk into our school at that moment, I would probably look like some troublemaker waiting to get detention. But the truth is, I’ve never gotten in trouble at school a day in my life, and there are no strangers in Bellgrove.
My science teacher, Mr. Sanders, smiled as he strolled to the school exit.
“Put on your game face, Casey,” he said, laughing at my frown. “She’ll be out any minute.”
I forced a smile until he disappeared out the door, not taking a mental picture, but making a mental note to find another place to wait for Mom.
How could I possibly cheer up after the most embarrassing day of my middle school existence? It was bad enough having the field hockey team gawking at my top secret drawing of Matt, but to have my assistant principal mom popping up whenever she felt like it? I sent up a silent prayer to please make it stop.
A few minutes later, the office door opened and a few teachers streamed out. They all greeted me before heading for the exit.
Assistant Principal Peters drifted out, looking pleased until her eyes fell on me. Maybe my stormy expression made her smile shrink just a tad.
“Ready, honey?” she asked.
“Ready,” I said, standing.
Mom grabbed her jacket and car keys.
“Okay, let’s jet,” she said.
On the slow drive home, the air inside Mom’s car was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. Mom tried to make small talk, about the beautiful fall weather, and the upcoming games, but like Matt, I could only manage one-word responses.
There was definitely an elephant in the car with us, something that was obviously important to talk about, but difficult to bring up. If I were Mom, I’d be trying to figure out the best way to bring up something uncomfortable, without getting the usual defensive response from me. She knew she was treading on thin ice as it was.
