Real

by Carol Cujec

  The ref blew the whistle again. Grace grabbed my hand.

  Run. Run. Run. Turn. Run. Run. Turn. Run. Run. Run.

  In front of the basket, Grace got the ball and handed it to me. “Shoot, Charity.”

  Do not screw this up.

  Throw and a miss.

  Darcy caught the rebound and aimed for a shot. She tossed the ball toward the net.

  I cannot explain why, but all of Dad’s lessons on lay-ups popped into my head at that moment.

  Page 17: Bison can jump six feet high.

  Run. Jump. Reach.

  I charged the net and jumped, right as Darcy’s ball floated above it—perfectly timed to knock her shot away.

  The other team grabbed the ball and scored a three-pointer in less than five seconds.

  Darcy’s mom howled. “Get that girl off the court!”

  Thank goodness Coach let me return to the bench. My three minutes of play felt like three hours.

  I sat next to Dad for the final minutes of the game chewing my knuckles and avoiding the evil stare of Mrs. Bling-Bling.

  We lost by two points.

  Least valuable player—Charity-Case Wood.

  Darcy wiped her wet face then flung her towel on the floor. “We had this game till she came out and wrecked it for us.”

  “Hey!” shouted Coach. “You need to work on your sportsmanship, young lady, or I will be happy to bench you for an entire game.”

  Jaz rolled up to me. “Don’t stress about it, Charity. I mean, you did score two baskets in your first game.”

  “Yeah, it’s just game one,” Grace said. “We have a whole season to get into our groove.”

  Dad helped me respond.

  Will try not to score for other team next time.

  A bald man in a dark suit charged up to Coach George, his whole face inflated with anger. Darcy’s mom stood next to him with folded arms. She nodded at everything the man said.

  Grace whispered, “Darcy’s parents are pretty extreme. They shelled out some serious coin to the school. Sometimes they act as if they own us.”

  Watching her parents have a meltdown over a basketball game, I felt sorry for Darcy.

  From Coach’s expression—kind of like my dog, Hero, when Mom catches him chewing her shoe—I could tell he was losing the argument.

  Would I get to play in another game?

  Probability: low.

  Hornet Sting to the Head

  “To deny education to any people is one of the greatest crimes against human nature.” These words, written by Frederick Douglass, filled me with courage as I sat in English class waiting to begin our weekly reading quiz.

  Frederick Douglass was the subject of the quiz, and I had been preparing all week. I did not tell Mom about my dream of reaching the honor roll. I kept it my secret wish.

  Facts from the readings floated in my head.

  Douglass was born a slave in 1818. He was not allowed to learn to read, so he had to learn in secret. After years of abuse, he escaped and then fought hard to gain freedom for other slaves. He understood how important education was to freedom.

  Frederick Douglass was officially my new hero.

  I jumped a little when Mason slipped into the chair beside me. He pointed to his phone, which he held in his lap so no one could see.

  “It’s that dumb gossip app again,” he whispered. “Something’s going down, so watch your back.”

  How could I watch my back when I could barely walk a straight line?

  He angled his screen so I could see. Sassygirl72 wrote, “No retards playing basketball” in one post. In another, Sassygirl wrote, “11 am fetch rover.”

  “I have no idea what that second one means, but it’s almost 11.”

  I glanced up at the clock—10:50. What was coming?

  Mason returned to his seat. I stared down at my puzzle pieces, my hands too shaky to pick one up.

  Ana sat next to me. “Are you okay, Charity?” She held up the keyboard, but I sat frozen. “Do not be nervous about the quiz. You know this material.”

  Sassygirl had to be Darcy. I glanced over at her. She sat at her desk, skimming the textbook.

  Was she messing with me so I would fail?

  What would happen at eleven? I scanned the room. No one was looking at me, no one whispering. A few students were sneaking texts as usual.

  My body rocked back and forth, back and forth as Ms. Beckett passed back last week’s homework.

  The clock ticked forward . . . 55 . . . 56 . . . 57.

  Finally, Ms. Beckett handed out the quiz—five simple multiple-choice questions. Easy-peasy, as Dad would say.

  Ana steadied my arm to begin typing. The clock ticked to eleven, and I held my breath.

  Nothing happened. I was jittery for nothing.

  Then it hit.

  EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

  A hornet sting to my head. The same piercing noise I heard before. This time twice as loud! I slapped my ears.

  Smack, smack, smack, smack.

  I screamed.

  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

  Ms. Beckett ran over. Ana knelt beside me.

  I hit my forehead on the table.

  Bang. Bang.

  Someone gripped my shoulders. I wiggled away.

  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

  Then silence. It stopped.

  I opened my eyes to see Ana’s worried face. I could not hear her voice. Her lips asked, “Are you okay, Charity?”

  The class had gathered around me.

  I could predict what was coming next as clearly as if I had a crystal ball. Ms. Beckett would send me to the nurse’s office. Mom would take me to the doctor to get examined. Celia would call to say that someone complained about the disruption. And on and on until Jergen pulled me out of regular classes for interfering with learning.

  Ana supported me to stand.

  “Come, Charity. Let’s get you to the nurse’s office,” she said.

  And so it begins.

  “Wait a minute.” Mason stood up. His face was red and stretched as if he was in pain. Then I realized . . . these were the first words he ever spoke in front of the class.

  His voice cracked a little. “I think someone’s got an app on their phone that plays a dog whistle. Really high-pitched so we can’t hear it. But I think Charity can.”

  I could hardly believe it. Mason was breaking his keep-your-head-low rule.

  “Someone is doing this to her on purpose.”

  Mason was risking lifelong outcast status . . . for me?

  Ms. Beckett wrinkled her eyebrows. “Such a thing exists?”

  “Yeah. I just looked it up. It’s a dog whistle app called Fetch Rover.” Mason pulled out his phone and showed her.

  “What makes you think this, Mason?” she asked.

  He looked down at the floor and shrugged his shoulders.

  Ms. Beckett nodded with determination. “Class, we will postpone the quiz until tomorrow. Right now, I want all of you to place your phones on my desk,” she ordered. “Mason, can you check them for this application?”

  “Hey, don’t you need a search warrant for that?” demanded Rachel.

  “No, I do not. If you’d like to wait for Mr. Jergen to confirm that for you, you’re welcome to. I will not put up with bullying. At our school, bullying is an offense resulting in suspension and possible expulsion. And if I find out that someone has been purposely bullying Charity, I will personally recommend expulsion unless everyone cooperates here.”

  One by one, cell phones were placed on desks and Mason checked them as Ms. Beckett launched into a lecture on Frederick Douglass and the thirteenth amendment.

  Before Mason got to her, Rachel broke down and confessed. Teary-eyed, she went to Ms. Beckett and spoke in fast whispers. Two
other boys I hardly knew had the app on their phone too. All three made a trip to Jergen’s office.

  Darcy’s phone was innocent.

  How could that be?

  At the end of class, Ms. Beckett came over to check on me. “I’m so sorry, Charity. The students claimed to have no idea the sound would hurt you. They said it was a prank. Rumor had it that the noise would cause the windows in the classroom to crack. Why anyone would believe that is beyond me, but junior high students are full of surprises.”

  Ana helped me respond.

  I believe them. I am glad it was not in my head.

  I typed to Mason—Mason, who risked total school humiliation to protect me:

  Your heart is full of courage.

  He shrugged. “I was bullied at my last school. It’s rough out there if no one’s got your back.”

  “Who started this ridiculous rumor?” asked Ana.

  Mason shrugged again.

  I am sure he had a hypothesis. And so did I.

  Basketball Savant

  “We got the ball, get outta the way. C’mon, Charity, let’s score today!” My whole cheering section chanted for me during warm-ups.

  Grace and I had really improved our teamwork. She held my hand to lead me up and down the court. She handed me the ball and yelled, “Shoot.” Most times I swooshed it right in.

  Can I finally redeem myself in this game?

  Darcy’s mom, Mrs. Bling-Bling, paced the sidelines, her phone glued to her cheek. Today she was wearing a dark business suit and spiky heels, as if she had come straight from work. Her fingers fiddled with her diamond necklace. She marched up to Coach and handed him the phone with a big smile glued to her lips.

  I had a bad feeling about this.

  “By the way, Grace,” Darcy dribbled around us. “Don’t tell me to pass you the ball if you’re not going to shoot it yourself.”

  “Chill out, Darcy,” she said. “You’re still the superstar.”

  “Dang right I am, girl.” They high-fived.

  Coach blew his whistle and motioned us over for the opening huddle. The other team, in green, seemed a half foot taller than us.

  “The Green Giants look hungry tonight,” Grace said.

  Our huddle broke with “Go Hornets!” and Coach called out the girls’ positions.

  “Charity,” he cleared his throat and put a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, kid, but I think we’re gonna have you cheer us on tonight.”

  “C’mon, George,” Dad protested. “You saw her out there. She made eight baskets just in warm-ups.”

  “Sorry, Steve. It’s kind of outta my hands right now.”

  When was Mrs. Bling-Bling promoted to head coach?

  I sat on the bench, shuffling my feet and watching Darcy hog the ball while Dad fumed next to me.

  “There is no I in team,” he grumbled.

  I answered him in my head.

  But there is an I in win.

  Life is a party. And I am not invited.

  Pity filled my throat and made me feel like throwing up. I hate pity. I remembered Celia’s words: You have a voice now. Use it to lead.

  I tried to concentrate on the game. The Green Giants were squashing us like mashed potatoes. Most of Darcy’s shots were missing. She was off her game tonight. My mind went into deep focus. Bodies on the court became masses moving through space. I observed the thrust of the arms, the arc of the ball toward the net, the speed of the throw.

  I tugged on Dad’s arm for my iPad, and he helped me type. I observed and typed, observed and typed.

  At the end of the third quarter, the Hornets were down by twelve points. Dad called Coach over and showed him what I wrote.

  “Can you really see all this, kid?”

  “If she typed it, George, she saw it,” Dad said.

  Coach called the girls over for a huddle.

  “Listen up. Ella, you were called twice for fouls because you stick out your elbows. Sierra, you tend to miss short. We need to work on distance control. Darcy, you need to shoot at the top of your jump. You’re shooting late. You also twist when you shoot. Align your feet when you set up the shot. And this is for all of you—increase the arc of your shot to 45 degrees. That will give you a wider margin of error. Now get out there and fight!”

  “Thanks for the great tips, Coach,” Grace said. “You have a good eye.”

  “Not me,” he said. “Charity’s made some genius observations here from the bench.”

  Girls nodded and clapped. “Way to go, coach Charity!” “Cool bananas!” “Crush it, sister!”

  Dad helped me answer.

  I finally found a way to be included without giving points to the other team.

  A bunch of the girls patted me on the back or gave me a fist bump as they headed back on the court.

  The girls shot a lot better in the fourth quarter, including Darcy. We still ended up losing, but only by two points instead of twelve.

  Would my suggestions convince Darcy I was a valuable member of the team? My heart hoped for it. My sixth sense told me the truth.

  Probability: zero.

  A Place Pity-Free

  A big yellow bus pulled up to the front of the school, and we filed on. For my very first field trip, we were headed to a photography museum to see an exhibit celebrating Black History Month. I would finally look into the eyes of Frederick Douglass and tell him thank you.

  Celia and Ms. Beckett had to convince Jergen to let me go. I imagined his argument. “Her unpredictable behavior puts her and others at risk. What will happen if she acts out or runs away like she has done at school?”

  My hope was to prove him wrong. If only my body would cooperate.

  Ana led me up the steps of the bus and sat me in the front seat. “Your friend has asked to sit next to you. I will sit in the next row if you need me.”

  A friend?

  At that moment, Grace stepped on board and slid in the seat beside me.

  She actually asked to sit with me?

  Breathe in: I belong.

  Breathe out: I belong.

  I tried to believe these words. Never mind what Sassygirl said.

  “Hey, Charity,” Grace said, “ready to have some fun today? The exhibit will be cool, but the picnic we get to have in the park afterward is even more fun. Say cheese!” She held up her phone and clicked a picture of me.

  At the museum, we saw so many hope-filled photos—there was Frederick Douglass with his haunting, dark eyes; also Martin Luther King, Jr. in front of the Lincoln Memorial; Rosa Parks with her kind smile; and Mae Jemison, the first African-American woman astronaut, who flew into space on the space shuttle.

  My favorite was a photo of a lunch counter sit-in. Grace took my picture standing next to it. The tour guide, a woman with glowing dark skin and eyes rimmed with what Gram calls “character lines,” described the scene. On February 1, 1960, four hopeful African-American college students, dressed in suits and ties, sat down at a lunch counter in Greensboro, North Carolina, and politely asked for a cup of coffee. Here’s the problem—the store said only white people were allowed to eat there.

  I thought about my own sit-ins on the Borden blacktop, my legs refusing to move.

  The tour guide’s voice was deep and musical. “When the students were denied service, they refused to leave, sitting there for hours until the store closed,” she said. “Over the next few days, they were joined by dozens of other people, who all sat peacefully while angry citizens cursed and threatened and spilled food on them.”

  I stared at the black-and-white photo. Three of the four young men stared back at me, all of them serious and maybe a little scared.

  Stuart raised his hand. “Did they ever get their orders?”

  The tour guide smiled. “Yes, after about five months of protests.”

  “Five mo
nths for a dumb cup of coffee?” Lilly said. “What for? Hashtag pointless.”

  Ana helped me type, and Ms. Beckett signaled the tour guide that I had something to say.

  They wanted to be included in society. People like me still fight for that.

  Lilly rolled her eyes.

  “You are so right, young lady,” the tour guide said. “Everyone deserves a seat at the table.”

  I smiled inside, thinking of our welcome table in the cafeteria.

  When the tour ended, we walked through a beautiful park with gushing fountains and a pond filled with blooming lily pads and giant fish called koi. I knelt down to feed them a crust of bread from my sandwich.

  “Don’t get too close, Charity,” Ana said. “It’s a little chilly for swimming.”

  “I’ll help her out.”

  I turned to see Stuart. Ever since we became science lab partners, he has been very patient when including me in assignments, giving me extra time to type my comments. He did not try to finish lab assignments as fast as possible, like other kids in the class. I could sense that he really enjoyed observing and learning, just like I did.

  Stuart knelt beside me. “Did you know that koi can grow up to three feet long?” We watched as a white-and-orange-spotted fish reached its lips out of the water to suck up my bread.

  “In Japan, people believe that koi bring good luck and wealth,” Stuart said.

  Stuart loved animal facts like me? I sat back on the grass and breathed in happiness.

  He pulled a package of sour gummy fish from his pocket and held it out to me. “Have one. I remember you like these.”

  He chuckled.

  “This is the first time I’ve talked to you without your aide listening in.”

  We sat quietly for a few seconds, watching kids take selfies in front of the pond.

  “Anyhow . . . I wanted to tell you that I really like being with you, you know, here and in class. I mean, the things you say, your ideas, they’re not what normal people would say.”

  He shook his head and ran a hand through his sandy hair.

  “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say you’re not normal. Or maybe yeah, you aren’t normal . . . but in a good way.”

  I stared at the water, blinking about a hundred times a minute. I wished I could type something to him, but I was glad Ana was not there listening.