Dear Isaac Newton, You're Ruining My Life

by Rachel Hruza

  “Whoops,” Harold said, looking up at me with wide eyes.

  “That’s how we learn, buddy,” I said, ruffling his hair.

  He let me pour the vanilla into the spoon and dump it in the bowl. Then we cleaned up the mess. Brendan pretended to pass out from the strong smell. Harold doubled over with laughter as Brendan’s face playfully turned red, his limbs convulsed, and he collapsed on the kitchen floor. Harold copied his motions, and ended up jumping onto Brendan’s stomach.

  “Oomph,” Brendan rolled Harold onto the floor and laughed. “You’ve got strong nostrils, Trendon. Nice evasive action with that smelly stuff.”

  Harold frowned. “If anyone asks, I put the vanilla in. Capisce?”

  “Capisce,” I said. “Now come here and let’s mix it all up.” I demonstrated how to turn on the mixer and then watched as he carefully did it himself. The batter mixed nicely, the chocolaty mixture flowing over and in on itself.

  “I’ve never seen anyone make anything from scratch before,” Brendan said.

  “It’s not much more difficult than using a box recipe,” I said.

  “You just have to be smart enough to read the recipe,” Harold teased.

  Brendan didn’t smile right away, but then he ran at Harold and said “Oh yeah?” and he tickled my brother until Harold dropped to his knees in giggling screams.

  I laughed as I poured the batter into the paper cups Harold had haphazardly placed in the two cupcake pans.

  “You think it’s funny too, Trendon?”

  Brendan came up behind me and put his fingers on my sides. I screamed, not happily, and nearly dropped the bowl.

  “No!” I said.

  I turned around and looked at the two boys staring at my batter-spattered frilly apron.

  “What was that?” Brendan asked. He was rubbing his fingers together; he’d hit his hands on my brace.

  “N-nothing,” I said. “Excuse me.”

  I pulled the apron over my head and let it fall to the ground. I ran to the bathroom and shut myself in, leaning against the door as huge, inescapable tears began to fall out of my eyes.

  “Truth!” Harold said. He knocked rapidly on the door.

  “Just go away,” I said, trying not to sob.

  He kept knocking. It got annoying and started to make my ears ring, so finally I let him in.

  “How come Brendan doesn’t know about your brace?”

  He sounded so motherly, or counselor-like, and I wanted to kiss him for being so cute.

  “I don’t want people to know about it,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Because they might notice that I look different, and it might change the way they think about me.”

  “That’s stupid,” Harold said. “You’re still Truth Trendon. You look nice. You know, for a girl.”

  I wiped my eyes, and then I did kiss him.

  “Yuck, Tru!” He wiped his cheek and ran out of the bathroom.

  I looked in the mirror. If my six-year-old brother could accept my body for how it looked, why couldn’t I?

  I splashed water on my face, took a deep breath, and walked out of the bathroom, into the hallway. It felt like the walk down the cell block before my death sentence; I felt my heart beat uncontrollably in my chest, and before I turned the corner into the kitchen, I closed my eyes and gave myself a pep talk.

  Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. My subconscious rolled its eyes. Okay, you may look weird to yourself now, but someday, you’ll be able to have a rockin’ bod without a back brace. I opened my eyes and faced my executioner. He stood up from his spot at the table where he had his worksheet out next to mine.

  “I finished the worksheet. It was easier than I thought.”

  I nodded. He’d obviously looked at my answers, because he’d moved my paper next to his, but at the moment, I didn’t really care.

  “I also put the cupcakes in the oven. Harry went upstairs to his room to get a timer. I told him the oven has one, but he said his is better,” Brendan said. He watched me carefully, as if anything he did might cause me to erupt into a crazy, tweenage monster that would rip him apart, limb from extraordinary limb.

  “I should apologize,” I said.

  “For what,” Brendan replied. It wasn’t stated as a question. He knew full well what I was talking about.

  “I freaked out because you touched me, and I don’t want people to touch me.”

  “Ooookay. I won’t do it again.” He frowned.

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I—I have this …”

  I considered Oliver’s warning and then took a deep breath. “I have scoliosis and I have to wear a back brace for it, and it’s gross and I hate it, and I didn’t want you to know because I like you.”

  I covered my face.

  He didn’t say anything. I peeked between my fingers.

  “What?” he asked.

  I reached underneath my shirt and pulled my brace’s three Velcro straps apart. Thank goodness for elastic pants, I thought, as I lifted the brace away from my body and pulled it out from under my shirt.

  I watched Brendan’s face. He was clearly intrigued. I felt like Iron Man revealing my true identity. So much for trying to be like everyone else.

  “I have to wear this. For my back,” I said.

  “All the time?”

  “During the day. For two years or until I stop growing.”

  He took a step forward, then stopped. “Can I … touch it?”

  “Yes,” I laughed. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you. I just didn’t know you were behind me and then I didn’t know what to do.”

  Brendan lifted my brace. “How do you fit in here? The middle is tiny!”

  “It’s nothing short of a miracle,” I said, rubbing my skin where the brace pushed against my ribs.

  “Why were you afraid to tell me?” He tried to put it on himself, but he couldn’t stretch it enough.

  “Because everyone laughed at the chubby nurse.”

  Brendan’s dark blond eyebrows drew together in confusion.

  I started to blush, but then I just told the truth, the same story I’d told Oliver.

  “It was devastating,” I said.

  “I remember that.” He eyed me carefully. “I don’t think I laughed.”

  I smiled gratefully.

  “But you shouldn’t be so nervous. Everyone has their problems,” Brendan said. He handed the brace back to me.

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” I pleaded.

  My face must have contributed to my petition of sworn secrecy, for Brendan immediately looked serious and sad.

  “I won’t.”

  “So you don’t think I’m disgusting?”

  “Are you serious? What kind of a person do you think I am?”

  A very handsome person, I thought. Instead, I said, “I was just self-conscious. That’s all.”

  “Well, I’m glad you told me. I won’t try to tickle you again.”

  He held up his fingers as if they were broken.

  I laughed and pushed Brendan’s shoulder. “Now you know not to just tickle random girls. We have deterrents to keep pests like you away.” I shook my brace at him.

  Brendan smiled. “I’ve learned my lesson, believe me. The next time I want to tickle you, I’ll ask first.”

  Next time. That time I couldn’t stop myself. I blushed.

  CHAPTER 6

  BFF Duty

  The week after Brendan learned my secret, Megan and I started volleyball. In junior high, anyone could join volleyball. The junior high teams only played for a few weeks out of the year, and we really only scrimmaged each other, but it was fun nonetheless. I’d played with a lot of the other girls on city league teams in fifth and sixth grade, so we were already familiar with the positions and rules. We were stationed in the “old” gym, which hadn’t been updated since the seventies and carried an aroma of body odor and bleach, while the high school team got to use the new and larger gym.

  With Megan’s help, I was
able to get out of and into my brace after practice without any of the other girls finding out. We were late to practice a few times—once when Jennifer was smoothing lotion all over her legs and going on and on about how her older sister said moisturizing was the most important aspect of lasting skin care, and another time when Michelle Arlington was discussing a school project with Megan. She just kept talking, and I couldn’t change into my practice clothes without her seeing everything. Eventually I mumbled something about having to use the bathroom and changed in the stall. Megan headed upstairs and Michelle followed, giving me privacy to stash the brace into my locker.

  I loved volleyball practice. I could move without the anchor of my brace tying me down. It was different from Gym class because in Gym, I spent so much time worrying about how I would hide my brace and then get it back on. With Megan there, I had almost no fear. As soon as the brace came off, I imagined my body as a light bulb, my torso shining brightly and illuminating every inch of the ways I could move. I was basically giddy. My classmates even commented on the noticeable change.

  “Did you eat too much sugar today?” Ruth asked.

  “Yeah, calm down, Truth,” Jennifer said, after diving out of the way of the ball she was supposed to pass with her arms. “You nearly hit me with that last serve.”

  I smiled. “Yeah. You’re supposed to pass the ball, not be afraid of it.”

  She glowered, and I continued to smile, happy that even if it was crooked, my body could still do something I loved. And if I do say so myself, I was pretty good at volleyball.

  Having that outlet changed my outlook for the days I had practice. If I could make it to the end of the day, I could have fun. I could sit through seven hours of class, deal with the excruciating pinching of my skin against various bones, and if I got a bit sweaty, it didn’t matter because we all sweated at practice anyway.

  As the weeks went by, I also found myself hanging around Brendan more and more. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to him now that he knew my secret. Between classes, he’d come talk to me at my locker, and once, he squeezed my arm after I loaned him a pen.

  Now that we were growing closer, he and Megan were growing chummier as well. They joked and talked through Algebra as if they were old friends. She practically ignored me during class and focused entirely on him. Her chair was always turned around, facing our table. Miss Peters had to ask them to quiet down at least once a class period, and she’d threatened to move them twice. She’d look at me, and I’d shrug and turn back to my homework, trying to appear studious while also keeping tabs on Brendan and Megan’s conversation.

  Besides class, Brendan was in football practice while I was at volleyball, and sometimes we’d pass each other in the hallway afterward as we headed back to our locker rooms. Twice he winked at me, and I waved back. Twice my teammates cooed at my blushing reaction, and twice Jennifer made jealous eyes at me before grabbing her two closest friends and pulling them into the locker room first.

  I mentioned Brendan so many times to my mother that she finally demanded I invite him over for dinner. My parents knew of him from his various athletic events—which were sometimes written about in the local newspaper—and after the cupcake escapade, Harold declared him “an enjoyable person.” Charity was impressed with me because she thought he was cute.

  “I didn’t know you could snag a buck like that, lil’ sis,” she said, spying Brendan sending me a smile after practice the day he was coming to dinner. She was waiting for me outside the locker room. Mom picked up Charity, Megan, and me now that we couldn’t ride the bus after practice, and we’d take turns waiting for each other to finish up.

  “I didn’t either,” I said. I rapped my knuckles against my stomach armor. The tap, tap, tap said it all. “He did say he likes The Terminator. Maybe he just sees me as a way to live out his dream of killing an unstoppable cyborg.”

  “Knock it off. You’re a good catch yourself.”

  “You’re biased. We look alike.”

  “Liking someone shouldn’t be based off looks, Truth,” Charity said, her older-sisterliness shining through. Her attention shifted as the varsity football team appeared at the end of the hallway. A slight grin played across her lips and she nudged me. “Though it doesn’t hurt.”

  Megan finally emerged from the locker room, her face ashen.

  “Cool,” Charity said, oblivious to Megan’s demeanor. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait, Char,” I said. “What’s wrong, Megan?”

  “I overheard a few girls. They’re—they’re planning something.”

  “Something what?” I asked.

  Megan stared at the floor. “Jennifer’s mad at you. She … she put sand in your locker.”

  “What?” I asked, alarmed.

  “She says you keep attacking her during practice, and she’s copying something her mother did when she was in school, dumping sand in the lockers of girls they wanted to quit the team. But Nora saw me sneaking out; she knows I saw.”

  “She did what?” Charity asked. “Let me in there. I’ll take care of this.”

  “No,” I said, stopping Charity with my arm. “This is my battle, Charity. I need to settle this. If you do it, I’ll just get made fun of.” I looked up at her, hoping she knew who I meant as I continued, “Maybe by everyone.”

  She hesitated, but then she relented for good. “Fine. But you have to do something. You can’t let bullies get their way.”

  “We need a ‘timely’ accident,” I said, pacing the hallway. “Nothing too damaging, but something that will show her what it feels like to have sand in her shoes.”

  “And in her bra and underwear,” Megan added.

  “Really?” I said, disappointed. “That’s gross on more than one level.”

  “Be glad I warned you,” Megan said, nodding in agreement.

  “Well, at least I only have my gym clothes in there. And now I can bring new ones with me tomorrow.”

  Charity nodded. “Yeah, imagine if your brace was in there. You’d probably be trailing sand behind you for days.”

  I immediately shushed her for using the b-word in public.

  “Sheesh, Charity,” Megan said, rolling her eyes. “You should know better.”

  I could tell Charity wanted to roll her eyes right back, but she didn’t.

  After a moment, I smiled. “If Jennifer wants a trip to the beach, we’ll bring her the ocean.”

  “Okay, Miss Metaphors,” Megan said, rolling her eyes. “But remember, she’ll know exactly who it was.”

  As we waited for my mother, a plan was hatched against my nemesis (okay, one of them. I haven’t forgotten about you, Mr. Newton)—a plan that involved warm, day-old tuna fish and a locker door.

  “So, Brendan,” my mom said, spooning peas onto his plate at dinner that night, “how’s football going?”

  “Yeah, how’s football going?” repeated Harold, energetically. Charity kicked me under the table and smiled. Harold hated all things sports, and he’d refused to even pick up a football when my dad tried to teach him how to throw a spiral last year. I’d learned instead.

  “It’s going good,” Brendan said. “I like my coach, and he thinks if I keep practicing I could be the team’s quarterback when I’m in high school.”

  “That’s impressive,” my mom said, though I could tell she wasn’t all that impressed. We Trendons enjoyed sports, but my parents thought too much pressure was put on kids to play and play well.

  Mom and Dad had agreed that if we wanted to play school sports, we could dedicate as much time to them as we wanted as long as we got our homework done. I thought that was a good philosophy. It was nice to have a foot in more than one pond, as long as that foot wasn’t buried in sand.

  “I hear Charity’s volleyball team is doing well,” Brendan said.

  “Yes, they won their last two tournaments these last two weekends,” my dad said.

  I glanced at Charity. I didn’t know if she’d be able to talk about volleyball withou
t disclosing my plan. My sister was known to crack under pressure. I had truly taken a risk trusting her with knowledge of my planned revenge. However, life in the trenches of the girls’ locker room seemed to have hardened her resolve.

  She smiled at Brendan and spoke with her usual poise and candor.

  I smiled. Mission “Something Smells Fishy” was still on.

  After dinner, I walked Brendan to the door. “Thanks for coming,” I said.

  “Thanks for the invite.”

  “I was worried you might say no after the last time you were here,” I said, surprising myself with my blatant honesty. I liked to conceal my feelings until I first knew how other people felt, a habit that had gotten worse after getting my brace. I wanted to fit in, no matter what.

  “I told you, it wasn’t a big deal. Besides, I haven’t told anybody about your brace. I promised I never will.”

  I don’t know why, but I blushed. His willingness to keep my secret was the same as him telling me I was the prettiest person in the world.

  “Thank you,” I said. “You have no idea what that means to me.”

  He turned his head as if glancing for strangers who might overhear, and then he shrugged. “I have an idea,” he said.

  The strains of a popular love song echoed out of my bedroom’s open window. Charity was probably doing her homework while she listened to music. “I like to stimulate both sides of my brain at the same time,” she always said. I was better just focusing on one thing and getting it done, so we had to find separate times to study.

  “That’s really loud,” Brendan said.

  “Yeah—I like it,” I said. Megan and I listened to it almost every day.

  “You like this song?”

  “Yeah. Why shouldn’t I?” I asked. I realized I had no idea what Brendan’s taste in music was.

  “It’s sappy and lame,” he said. “I hate this song, but every girl I know loves it. Even my sister does, and she’s sixteen years old.”