by Rachel Hruza
I looked at Oliver again, who had a look of disbelief on his face. I knew he was thinking this was the corniest thing he’d ever seen. I agreed, but it was for me, so it was hard to dislike it. I liked it even more when he finally gave in and joined in the ovation.
I smiled and took a goofy bow. They clapped harder. I waved like I was a beauty queen in a pageant; they cheered wildly. Caught up in the growing anticipation in the room, I grabbed the mic, reeled my sweater above my head like a helicopter, and shouted, “YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!”
I was a rock star—the Lady Gaga of my junior high—wearing something ridiculous and new that they’d never seen before. They loved it. The principal did not. Ms. Eastin grabbed my arm and pulled me off the stage.
I exited the gym with a newfound respect for Megan’s dad, for Miss Peters, and also for myself. I’d beaten him—Isaac Newton, the villain of my story, who’d done his best to bring me down but still failed. I was finally free. Everyone knew my secret (except for the five or so kids who were sick from school that day), and most important, I realized it wasn’t as big a deal as I’d thought.
In fact, keeping the secret had been way worse than having to tell it. The truth of it all was that if I’d just been willing to not judge myself so much, the first semester of my seventh-grade year would have been a whole lot easier.
EPILOGUE
Happily Ever After (For Now)
“I hate to say I told you so,” my dad said. My parents had decided they would run into more parents of junior high students in the grocery store than they would at the nicest diner in town (and would have more explaining to do about their daughter de-clothing during a student assembly), so we’d gone out to eat to celebrate my newfound freedom.
“That’s right,” my mom agreed. “We knew no one would care that much. Everyone’s too busy worrying about themselves at that age.”
“Hey! I’m at that age!” I said.
“And you were worried about yourself, weren’t you?” Charity said.
“Thanks, Miss ‘I can’t be seen without makeup because Jacob will think I’m ugly.’”
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes.
“You got in trouble,” Harold said, before licking mashed potatoes off his spoon.
“No,” I said, shaking my head so my nose was right next to his. “I didn’t. I just got a little carried away. Ms. Eastin didn’t want a riot on her hands.”
“It’s Herman’s fault,” Harold said.
“Oh yeah? An inanimate object?” I said.
“Yes!”
Harold threw his spoon at my stomach, which left a few potatoes on my awful sweater as it bounced to the floor.
“Harold!” my mother said, surprised.
“I’m starting a riot!” Harold said.
“Well, I guess we all deserve a chance to have L.I.V.E.D.” My dad raised his eyebrows, and we all laughed.
When I went back to school the next day, not one person croaked at me. In fact, life was pretty similar to the way it was before I’d dated Brendan—except people were more helpful this time around. If I dropped a pencil, there were three people who would stoop to pick it up for me. It was rather nice. I’d suddenly become the princess, rather than the toad nobody wanted to kiss. Eventually though, that wore off too, and I was back to being the same old somewhat-well-liked seventh grader.
Brendan was back to being nice to me, as a friend, though his gravitational pull no longer existed as far as I was concerned. Miss Peters had discovered his inability to read, and he was set to stay after school for lessons and attend summer school until he caught up. Unlike mine, his secret never reached the student populace. I encouraged him to come to me for help, but he didn’t seem all that interested in my help anymore.
I no longer had to sneak around before and after Gym class, because Jenny Henderson helped me with my brace. With her family history, she was fascinated with the deformity and my brace and kept asking me which parts of it pressed against which bones in my body. I had no idea, other than where my skin hurt, but it was refreshing to have someone interested in it. She even said I’d inspired her to consider becoming an orthopedic surgeon. That sounded just fine, as long as she wasn’t operating on me.
Overall, though, I felt silly for thinking people would find me gross. Telling my secret had made Jenny and me friends, and with each passing day and every secured strap of Velcro, I realized she wasn’t the mean girl I’d thought she was at all. I had more friends now than ever before. I wouldn’t say Before-Brace Truth had been friendless, but now I was certainly less worried about myself and more interested in those around me, and that made junior high much more enjoyable.
The best (and most predictable) part of my story was that Megan and I were best friends again. She’d broken up with Brendan after I’d told her Brendan had claimed she wrote the note. Apparently she felt horrible enough already, and something hadn’t felt right when she was with him—she’d felt like she was always trying to impress him. I understood, but I didn’t tell Megan that.
I decided to let her feel a little bit of remorse for betraying me.
I went to Megan’s house for a sleepover not long after that fateful day in the auditorium. We watched an old horror movie, something about a werewolf that wasn’t especially scary, and Megan kept apologizing for dating Brendan.
“I’m such an idiot,” she said.
“Shut up already!” I said, throwing a pillow at her. Popcorn sailed everywhere.
“He told me he spray-tans abs onto his stomach.” She wrinkled her face. “I mean, he has abs already, but he wants them to ‘stand out more.’”
We laughed. It was nice to have Megan back by my side. My life finally felt somewhat back to normal; words couldn’t describe how nice it was to not keep secrets. Not even gravity—or anything else related to Isaac Newton—was going to bring me down.
Oliver and I continued to meet during study hall, even though I didn’t need his secret support anymore, and we also started meeting outside of our scheduled time. He’d come over and hang out with Megan and me, or just me, and we’d just sit and talk like we did at school—only we talked about things other than me complaining about my brace. He was becoming a real family friend, mine most of all.
One afternoon, Charity and I were rolling on the floor laughing after Oliver had Harold convinced aliens had abducted the two of them and returned them that same day. Harold went to bed that night assuring my parents that even though he now had extraterrestrial powers, he still loved them and would make sure they had a powerful position when he and Oliver planned their overthrow of Planet Earth.
On one particularly sunny winter’s day during the holiday break, when Oliver was leaving for the afternoon, I knew there was something I had to do.
I was just about to close the door and go back inside when I leaned down, and before he could stop me, I kissed Oliver on the cheek.
“Ribbit,” I said, and I went back inside, glancing over my shoulder only once.
Oliver’s laughter chased me through the door.
So much for toads.
On my third check-up with my orthopedist, he wanted two x-rays: one with my brace on and one without. I didn’t understand the need to zap me with extra radiation, but when he put the two films up against the examination light, I understood.
“Truth Trendon, age twelve. Curve holding at eighteen degrees when braced. Thirty-five degrees when freestanding,” Dr. Clarkson said into his recorder.
He left the room and the nurses packed up the films. I sat for a few moments while my mom followed the doctor out of the room, to ask questions he hadn’t hung around long enough to hear.
As I sat there, waiting for my mom to come back, I thought about how strange it was that my body was able to convert itself that quickly—with and without my brace. My body was so malleable. My bones, my whole spine for goodness’ sake, could be moved. Physically, I could be changed so easily to fit what I was supposed to be. Why had it been so difficult t
o conform to what Brendan had wanted me to be? Apparently I didn’t have the genetic makeup for that. Ol’ Truth Trendon, with or without a brace, would stick to her guns, no matter what. Plus, when the brace came off, Isaac Newton would pull my spine right down again. Maybe my body was just stubborn.
As I pondered what it would be like to store water (or even something else?) in my rib-hump, like a camel, my mom returned to the room. “I managed to sneak in a few questions,” she said, “but I think they’re on the recorder, and I think he’s mad.”
“Do you think he ever listens to it?” I said. “Do you think he goes home at night and listens to hours of his own talking, going ‘Yes, yes. Truth’s back is holding. Excellent,’ as he evilly taps his fingers together?”
“I think that’s exactly what he does,” my mom said.
She ruffled my hair and we left the hospital.
We stopped by Christopher’s Orthotic Design to have him tighten up my brace. He also had new under-brace shirts, with V-necks. I was excited, because now my big over-brace shirts could dip down and let in more air. I suggested Christopher create some kind of ventilation or even a self-air-conditioning brace, but he just laughed. I sighed as he cinched me up. I hadn’t been joking.
Mom bragged about my presentation at school, and Christopher became animated. He was sincerely excited for me. His enthusiasm was contagious. That’s one thing I can say about Christopher; no matter what mood I’m in when I see him, I always leave feeling somewhat better about my situation.
With every visit, I am reminded I won’t wear my brace forever. And no matter what happens with my back, I’ll still be Truth—not Truth who wears a back brace, or Truth who kind of dated Brendan Matthews, or even Charity’s little sister. Just Truth Trendon: friend, sister, daughter, and, yes, scoli-extraordinaire.
I still don’t like it, but my spine is a part of me, crooked or not.
And I can accept that.
How do you like them apples, Mr. Newton?
Acknowledgments
I would like to acknowledge that any disease or deformity is unique to the individual. I wore a back brace for two years (and later had corrective surgery), and though some of my experiences were similar to Truth’s—such as not wanting people to know I had a back brace—my experience was different than what occurs in this novel. With that in mind, I would like to thank my twin sister, Sarah, for going through the brace process with me with a much more confident attitude and joyful outlook, and my brother John, whose jokes made those two years more tolerable. Without them, life would not be life. Unwavering gratitude also goes to my parents, Dennis and Monica, who always have supported me, not just in terms of the scoliosis running rampant in our family, but also for encouraging me to write. Love you.
Thank you to my editor Becky Herrick for her guidance and expertise, and to the whole team at Sky Pony, including Alison Weiss, Emma Dubin, Joshua Barnaby, and Annie Lubinsky for their help in this exciting publishing process. A special thank you to my agent and second brain, Lisa Jane Weller, who has given me hope and served as a lighthouse when my thoughts have been lost at sea. And a huge shout out to the Nebraska Spine + Pain Center for their medical expertise and to Dr. John McClellan for providing a much more personable and pleasant experience than Truth has with her doctor.
Finally, thank you to my great love, Timothy Hruza, for always being at my side and never making me second guess my dreams. If gravity wasn’t keeping my feet on the ground, your love and our dog would.
About the Author
Rachel Hruza has always loved everything related to books. She received an MA in creative writing from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, and her short stories have been published in Scintilla and ScissorTale Review. This is her first novel, and was inspired by her own experience: Rachel was diagnosed with scoliosis at age eleven, she and her twin sister wore back braces through all of junior high, and Rachel had corrective surgery while in college. Rachel hails from the middle of the United States, where she teaches English at the local college, plays piano and guitar, and spends much of her spare time with her husband and their snaggle-toothed peekapoo. Visit her online at www.rachelhruza.com.
