by Rachel Hruza
“Volleyball. And I play trumpet in Band.”
“Hmm,” Mrs. Matthews said.
She ignored me for the rest of the ride, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t say anything. I was trying not to shout with joy in the back seat of the Matthews’ car. Brendan talked about me at home! To his father! I held my hands in my lap and happily looked out of the window. I had a chance with this gorgeous guy!
As we passed shedding trees and piles of fallen leaves, I pictured my dream date with Brendan. But just before we could climb onto the horses on the beach in my daydream, Mrs. Matthews pulled into our driveway and the rear tire of the car caught the curb, jarring me back to real life.
“See you tomorrow, Tru,” Brendan said.
“Okay. Thanks for the ride, Mrs. Matthews!”
I climbed out of the car. Brendan rolled down his window.
“Thanks again,” he said.
A pang of guilt flashed through my gut. Because he hadn’t gotten in trouble, I still felt as if Brendan was cheating himself.
But staring at his smiling, appreciative face, I couldn’t stop myself.
“Anytime,” I said.
CHAPTER 12
Losers and Winners
“Are you going to be a dentist, then?” Mr. Borowitz stood on our front stoop, his arm around Megan. He’d obviously forced her to walk the block to my house to show me the gaping hole in her mouth. Mr. B was grinning from ear to ear. Apparently, Megan still had a few baby teeth left, and the one I’d extracted had an adult tooth behind it, itching to come out. “You were able to get it out of there with no pain and hardly any blood. Mrs. B and I have been trying to take her to have all those tiny teeth pulled, but this one is hard to persuade.” He patted Megan’s shoulder. “I’d say you’re destined for a career working with teeth, my dear!”
I smiled. Megan didn’t.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Mouths are gross.” To Megan, I said, “I didn’t mean to do it.”
“I know,” she said, stepping into the house while Mr. B talked to my mom. “But he keeps going on and on about what a miracle it was and how you’ve saved him money. Right now, I’m just hoping this tooth grows in straight. The last thing I need is braces.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Megan smiled. I couldn’t even see the hole I’d left, because her bottom lip covered it.
“I know. I forgive you,” Megan said. She took a deep breath. “So guess what my dad’s talking your mom into right now?”
“A motivational talk at the library about speed-reading?”
“No, but I’ll suggest it to him. The three people who go there every week will be excited.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, my two friends and I will be very excited. So, what is it?” I asked.
“Sa-leepover!”
I smiled, and in my mind I performed death-defying mental backflips; Megan was still my friend—despite my having drawn blood.
But just as I thought she was completely over it, she said, “Just don’t go anywhere near my face. I don’t want to end up wearing a neck brace or something hideously embarrassing like that.”
I frowned. That cut deep. Too deep. I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Megan said. “No one even knows you have a brace, Tru. Everyone can see I have a tooth missing.”
I didn’t say anything. She had a nice, brand new tooth coming in to replace the tiny baby one; I didn’t have a nice, sparkling new spine to replace my crooked one. And Oliver wouldn’t have strong muscles to replace his weak ones. Even though she said she understood what I was going through, I didn’t trust Megan’s empathy anymore.
Just like Oliver was apparently alone with muscular dystrophy, something in my gut told me I was on my own with scoliosis. I grimaced at the thought of the word. Scoliosis. Absently, I pulled the front of my brace away from my ribs, enjoying the brief rush of air that touched the sweaty cotton shirt under my oversized t-shirt.
We waited in silence until our parents finished talking.
“We’ve got clearance, Meg-pie!” Mr. B said. “Let’s go get your things!”
“See you in a bit,” Megan said, but I could tell neither of us was overly excited about our prospective evening.
“What a great night I’m going to have,” I said to my mom.
“I thought you’d be ecstatic,” Mom said. “Megan hasn’t spent the night since summer.”
“She’s mad at me.”
“Her tooth will grow back. It was an accident, and she knows that. Don’t worry about it.”
“Easier said than done.”
My mom smiled at me. “I know, but if anyone can handle a challenge, it’s you, my dear daughter.”
“Why do I have to have so many?”
“Challenges? I don’t think you do. You’re pretty lucky, Truth Trendon. You’re smart, talented, kindhearted, and you’re pretty.”
I rolled my eyes. My mother throwing vague, unoriginal adjectives at me didn’t do me any good. “You’ve just said what billions of other mothers tell their boring, less-than-average children.”
“I know,” my mom said, her eyes twinkling. “But unlike those poor children’s mothers, I have the Truth.”
My mother loved a good play on words with my name. I didn’t consider this a good play.
“Nice try, Mom,” I said, walking upstairs. “Still depressed. Better try a little harder if you’re going to win Mother of the Year.”
“I won last year!” she yelled after me. “I can take a year off. Even the best need a break once in a while.”
And the worst don’t get a break from the challenges, I thought.
With each thump of each foot on the stairs, I cursed Isaac Newton. As if it wasn’t hard enough trudging along through the muck of junior high. And I hadn’t even been in the thick of it yet.
We ate supper early because Charity had a volleyball game. It was important because it was a sub-district game, so if the team won, they’d go on to districts, and if they won that, state. If they lost, the season was done. The West River Lady Bucks weren’t favored to win over the Panthers, but we Lady Buck fans were prepared for a win anyway. (“Lady Bucks” doesn’t make sense at all, I know. I petitioned to have the name changed in third grade, but to no avail. No one wanted to be the Deer. I liked the fact we wouldn’t need to pluralize the name on t-shirts, but the Bucks stayed, and I declared as a nine-year-old that feminism was dead.)
As usual, I was excited to go and watch Charity play. I wasn’t quite as excited about sitting next to Megan. She was wearing a cute, tight blue t-shirt and straight-leg jeans that showed off her few curves, while I was stuck in my extra-large t-shirt, the front of it tucked into my elastic cargo pants and the rest of it draped around me like a curtain.
I picked at my salad and baked chicken. I wasn’t very hungry. Charity had already left to support the girls on the junior varsity team. As the season had progressed, Charity had become a major contributor to the Lady Bucks’ winning season. She had about seven kills a game and she passed like a maniac. I wished I could bump a ball directly to the setter like she did.
I tossed a cherry tomato in the air and pretended to serve it at Harold. He leapt out of his chair to avoid the failed missile, which I’d caught in my hand.
“That’s enough, Truth,” Harold said.
Megan and I laughed. Harold was going through a stage where he tried to imitate my dad. He lowered his voice, dipped his head forward, and frowned at me, his finger pointed straight into the air as he tried to correct my misbehavior.
“I agree with your miniature father figure,” my mother said. “Let’s not throw food.”
“We’re not cleaning up, anyway,” my dad said. “We’ll leave it to Captain Tooth Puller and her partner in victimless crime, the Walrus.”
My father thought the whole tooth incident was hilarious. Something about the way he played down my villainy and showed how Megan had participated in her own too
th’s demise made me feel better. Megan didn’t mind either. She had already demonstrated how she’d stuck the straws over her teeth, and laughed along with the rest of us at her own immaturity (one point to a Mr. Oliver Nelson).
Harold thought it was hilarious too, but when he snorted after drinking his milk and it purged out his nose like a sinus rinse, he cried. It wasn’t the cleanest of Trendon dinners, the milky snot mixing in with Harold’s peas and carrots, but then again, Harold ate his boogers—a habit unique to him within the Trendon clan, which my parents weren’t sure how to break—so he didn’t seem to mind.
Our arrival at the volleyball game coincided with the fifth and final set of the junior varsity match. It had clearly been a good match, and with the score tied at 13–13, the excitement was building. Usually, the gym was pretty empty for JV matches, but since it was going on so long, the crowd had already arrived to watch the varsity game and was in their seats, cheering on the younger girls.
I saw Brendan sitting with some other seventh graders on the student side of the bleachers. His sister Melissa was a sophomore and played mainly for the JV team. He waved, so after conferring with my parents and shoving Harold in their direction, Megan and I headed over to him. He scooted over and made room for us.
“Good game, huh?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Melissa and that giraffe on the other team have been going head to head the whole time. I think they’ve blocked each other about fifty times.”
I looked at the “giraffe” Brendan was referring to. The tall, pretty girl with a long braid hanging down her back spiked the ball past Melissa. The ball hit the floor as two Bucks splayed across the gym in their attempt to dig it up. The score was now tied 14–14.
“I think she’s pretty,” I said.
“She’s a monster,” Brendan said.
I knew he didn’t mean to sound so rude—he was clearly referring to the girl’s height, since she had to be around six feet tall—but it bothered me he’d be so quick to criticize a stranger. I had become particularly sensitive when people judged others for their looks.
The Panthers ended up winning, and the crowd clapped appreciatively for each team, but it was clear no one really cared. The atmosphere changed as the varsity teams walked onto the floor, though.
People were chanting and on their feet throughout warm-ups; as a sub-district game, there was definitely more significance to its result. It was fun to watch Charity. She was my older, more graceful (much more graceful!) sister, and from my seat on the bleachers a few rows up, I could see a fire in her eyes I usually saw there only when she was angry with me for using her perfume or nail polish or hair straightener without asking.
“Charity looks good,” Brendan said.
“You lookin’ at those tight shorts, Matthews?” Megan said, leaning across me to be heard in the loud gym. I raised my eyebrows at her, and then at him.
Brendan laughed. “I meant she looks like she’s warmed up.”
“She’s got fire in her feet,” I agreed.
Megan nodded as we watched Charity jump and spike a ball over the net, snapping her wrist around as she spanked the ball against the hardwood on the other side.
“Wow,” said Megan.
We watched without talking as the girls finished warming up. Then the high school pep bands for both teams played “The Star-Spangled Banner” together from opposite sides of the gym. It was the first time such a feat had been attempted in our school—rival bands playing together in unity and patriotism before each team’s fans jeered and swore at the opposing side. The final note echoed back and forth as the directors looked at each other for the cutoff.
The crowd cheered, and the referees blew their whistles.
“Game on,” I said.
Brendan put his arms up, trying to get a double high five. I started to lift my arms when Megan leaned around me and thrust herself toward him, slamming her palms against his. I fell against his chest, which was actually rather nice, though I didn’t want to violate his personal space.
“Go Bucks!” Megan shouted.
“Easy, Megs,” Brendan said, laughing.
Megs? I thought. When did he start calling her Megs?
“Sorry! I’m just pumped up,” Megan said, jumping eagerly with the rest of the crowd as the first Lady Buck prepared to serve the ball.
The up referee who stood on the ladder signaled for the serve. To the Bucks supporters’ horror, the girl tossed the ball and barely hit it with her fingertips. It didn’t sail through the air; it sank. It didn’t even reach the net. To my horror, in the silence of the ball toss, Brendan leaned across me and said, “You look nice tonight, Megan.”
From that second on, it was bad luck for the Bucks. And for me.
“Thanks,” Megan said, a chipper smile on her face. “It’s a new shirt.”
“Newton doesn’t understand fashion,” I mumbled.
“What?” Brendan asked me.
“I hate that I can’t wear cute clothes,” I said, tugging on my t-shirt.
“You don’t need cute clothes,” Brendan said quietly. “You’re already cute enough.”
I blushed and felt myself start to sweat. I looked at Megan. From the scowl on her face, I knew she had heard him.
Beads of perspiration dripped down my back. There was no way I was leaving the gym tonight without sweat marks all over my shirt. And the more I sweat, the more the Bucks let the Panthers pound them. I would have felt really depressed about the Bucks’ loss, for Charity’s sake, but Charity was playing out of her gourd. She dug every ball that came remotely close to her; she hit around and over the Panthers’ blocks; and she hit the ball so hard, the back row Panthers had red marks on their arms from digging her hits, which they usually shanked off into the crowd.
In fact, Charity was the only reason the Bucks even had a fighting chance. They lost the first set 14–25, the second 18–25, and finally won the third set 25–21. The crowd was raring and ready to go, cheering the Lady Bucks on; ready to follow them into a forest, leap over streams, and avoid getting hit by cars on the highway; but the volleyball players refused to lead us into a metaphorical or actual win. They sat back on their heels, looked tired, and moved ungracefully—very unlike the deer they were supposed to be. (Then again, a panther would obliterate a deer in the wild and never the other way around, so maybe this was nature’s way of showing us that our mascot was jinxing us).
Either way, halfway through the fourth set, with the Panthers ahead 12–4, most of the crowd was seated and not paying much attention to the game. Brendan had lost interest two sets ago, giving up hope after we’d lost the first set. He kept talking to the guys on his left, and Megan and I were left alone to talk to each other.
“I think they just need to take a time-out. Right, Brendan?” Megan asked.
Brendan had turned around and was talking to eighth grader Mave Johnson, whose shirt was even tighter than Megan’s. The problem with Mave was she always talked especially quietly, so you had to lean in to hear her. While maybe this technique worked to get guys closer to her, I, for one, did not like having another person so close to my face that I could see the individual pores on their nose.
“I don’t think he’s listening,” I said.
“What?” Brendan asked, finally responding.
“Do you think a time-out will help?” Megan nodded her head toward the court.
“I think a miracle would help,” Brendan said.
I sighed. I was tired of sitting in my sweat and losing feeling where my brace pinched pieces of my flesh. “I just want to get out of here,” I said.
“Sorry we’re such bad company,” Megan said, rolling her eyes.
“I’m not talking about you,” I said, restrained anger leaking through in my voice.
“Problems in BFF paradise?” Brendan asked.
I widened my eyes at him, hoping he got the message: shut up.
“Don’t get me started,” Megan said.
The Panther fans stood
up and clapped as their team served the final point. The ball went over the net directly to Charity. She passed it to the setter, who set it right back to her. She ran up for a quick set, where the ball isn’t set as high, and hit it over the net. A Panther barely splayed herself out in time to pick it up, but they hit it back over, past the block, and it landed with an assertive bounce. That was it. We’d lost. All the Bucks looked sweaty, beaten, and depressed, but Charity was clearly devastated. It wasn’t so much the losing that bothered her, but I knew she was sad the season had ended. Volleyball had been her life for nearly four months. Now it was over.
“Finally,” Brendan said.
I stood up and waited for people to filter out of the gym. I needed air; I wasn’t claustrophobic, but during that game, I’d found myself growing more and more agitated, needing space. Maybe it was from my brace; maybe it was from Megan’s coldness. It was an irrepressible feeling that made me want to run for days. Or punch a wall. I couldn’t decide. Instead, I walked across the gym and gave Charity a hug.
“Yeesh,” I said, wiping my hands on my shirt as she peeled her sweaty self away from me.
“You’re pretty clammy yourself,” she said.
“Well, you know us Trendons: the sweet, sweaty sisters!”
“Shut up, Tru,” my sister said, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “We’re in public.”
“So?” I turned and saw a cute older boy walking toward us. “Who’s that?”
Charity looked giddy. She jumped up slightly on her toes as she said, “Hi, Jacob.”
“Hey, volleyball star,” this Jacob character said.
I squinted my eyes at him, scrutinizing his initial demeanor. I’d never known Charity to be boy crazy, so I was hesitant to accept this new but attractive guy. I was worried Charity hadn’t done her research and conducted a thorough background check on him. Then again, I was interested in a guy who couldn’t read, cheated on tests and homework, and had basically ignored me for the last hour and a half. Besides, asking Jacob for a urine sample now would probably scare him off.
“Hello, Jacob?” I said, emphasizing his name as a question. I wanted him to be aware he was not to be trusted.
