The Real Us

by Tommy Greenwald

  Who is that?

  Believe it or not, that’s the first thought that pops into my head when I look at myself in the mirror. It’s my face, my almost-regular face, but I feel like I’m looking at a stranger.

  I can start to see the real me in there, but it’s almost like the person who had that face isn’t who I am anymore.

  I trace my finger along the small scab that’s formed on my nose. I rub my cheeks and my neck, which still have a few blotchy spots, if you really look for them. I touch my nose, which is still a little tender, still a little swollen, but definitely within human proportions.

  I smile to myself. I feel relieved. I feel better. I feel almost happy.

  But mainly, I feel different.

  In homeroom, Ellie and Ella wave as soon as they see me.

  “Laura! Laura!”

  Oh, wonderful.

  I sigh and walk over.

  “Did you pick out a dress for tomorrow night?” That’s Ellie.

  “Are you excited?” That’s Ella.

  “I’m pretty excited,” I say, unexcitedly. “How about you guys?”

  “Can’t wait!” That’s both of them.

  “Awesome,” I say, turning to go. But Ellie grabs my arm.

  “Is Calista mad at us?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “Why would she be mad at you guys? Just because you dropped her like a hot potato when she had a rough few days, then went behind her back and convinced the guy she likes to not ask her to the dance, but to ask you instead?” I laugh sarcastically. “Not to mention the fact that you were both too busy to bring her backpack to the nurse’s office when she practically broke her nose? Who would be mad at that? That’s crazy.”

  “That’s not how it happened,” Ellie sniffs.

  “That’s not how it happened at all,” Ella adds, in case I missed it the first time.

  “Whatever. I need to go sit down now.”

  I head to my seat, feeling pretty good about things, when I see Calista walk in. I go up to her.

  “I got your text. You wanted to talk?”

  “I did.” Calista looks around the room, and then pulls me into a corner. “I have a question for you: Do you have a date to the dance?”

  I blink. “Huh? Uh, no. Why?”

  “I think I have someone for you.”

  I have been friends with Calista for six years, and never once have we talked about boys. She’s always had other friends for that. I wish I didn’t care, but I do.

  I can feel my heart beat faster. “Really? Who?”

  Her gaze shifts over to the left, and she nods her head, just a tiny bit. I follow her eyes right to the front row, third desk in.

  “Damian?” I say. “Why Damian?”

  “He’s really nice,” Calista says.

  “How do you know?”

  “We’re friends.”

  “Really?” I have a hard time believing that someone like Calista could be friends with someone like Damian. I know that makes me sound like a terrible person, but hey—I’m just being honest.

  “Wait a second—did you guys bond when he punched you in the nose?” I ask. “Jeez, I gotta try that sometime.”

  “Haha,” Calista says. “You know that was an accident. So, should I tell him to ask you?”

  “Wait a second,” I say, feeling a little offended. “It kind of feels like you’re trying to do me some sort of favor. How would you know if he even likes me?”

  “I don’t. I’m just saying, give it a chance. We’ve had a few conversations and he just seems pretty cool, that’s all. So how about it?”

  I start to get annoyed at Calista’s pushiness. “If he’s so cool, why don’t you go with him?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “I guess maybe because he seems more like your type.”

  “Why’s that? Because he’s a little weird and a little weird-looking?”

  Calista’s eyes widen in protest. “Not at all!”

  By now, my insecurity is kicking into overdrive. “I’m not your pet project, Callie, and he’s not a charity case. To be honest, it’s a little demeaning that you would assume I would want to go to the dance with some gawky guy I barely know.”

  Calista shrinks back a few steps, like I actually physically pushed her. “Wow. You know something? You’re no better than Ellie and Ella. You can’t see beyond what Damian looks like, or seems like, to actually consider the fact that he might be an awesome guy. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were too good for him.”

  “I never said that!”

  “Well, it sure felt like it.” Calista’s face is getting red, and I see a few splotches around her neck and cheeks where her rash is still hanging on. “Just forget it.”

  “I will.”

  We both take our seats. A few seconds later, I hear giggling and I turn around. Ella and Ellie are sitting there, waving at me.

  “Poor baby get her feelings hurt?” says Ella, and they both crack up.

  “Mind your own business,” I tell them, but the most aggravating thing is, they’re right.

  That’s exactly what happened.

  I sit at my desk, trying to calm myself down, but it doesn’t work. I can’t figure people out. I thought I was doing a nice thing. The last thing I would do is try to hurt Laura’s feelings.

  I see a bunch of hands go up around the room, and I realize Ms. Harnick must have just asked a question.

  “What about you, Calista?”

  I sit, frozen.

  “Do you want me to put you down for set-up or clean-up tomorrow night?”

  “Yes.”

  The class giggles.

  “Sorry?” Ms. Harnick says. “For the dance? Set-up or clean-up?”

  “Oh. Sorry. Um, set-up, I guess.”

  “Terrific,” says Ms. Harnick.

  The bell rings, and we all head off to our first class. Laura brushes by me without saying anything. Ellie and Ella don’t even look at me. People are whirling by all around me, and I feel invisible, until finally I hear, “Calista! How’s it going?”

  I turn around and see a girl standing there with short hair and blue glasses. I panic for a second, not remembering her name, but then it comes to me. “Shelby! Hi! Nice to see you!”

  “You, too,” says Shelby. She stands there for a second, then adds, “Are you okay? You seem a little frazzled.”

  “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just a little—some stuff on my mind, that’s all.”

  Shelby nods. “We can talk about it at lunch, if you want.”

  “That’d be great.”

  “Cool. See you later.”

  Shelby smiles and walks away.

  I feel a little better.

  Amazing what a ten-second conversation can do.

  Mr. Decker blows the whistle, and the game begins.

  We’re playing three-on-three again, and as usual, I’m the tallest one on the court. I score two quick baskets against Will Hanson, who’s guarding me. Then I block Will’s shot and grab the rebound.

  “Let me take him,” growls Patrick, pushing Will out of the way.

  I pass the ball to Jeffrey, who’s on my team. Jeffrey catches it like it’s covered with snakes, then quickly throws it back to me, except he throws it at my feet. The ball bounces off my shins; Patrick grabs it and scores an easy basket.

  “Good try, Jeffrey,” I say. “Just pass it back to me nice and easy.”

  “I would if I could,” Jeffrey whines. I know what he means. I was scared of basketball, too, until a few years ago, when my growth spurt made it much easier.

  The third kid on our team, Steven, tosses the ball inbounds to Jeffrey. He quickly throws it to me, and this time I catch it. I back down the lane, with Patrick furiously swiping at the ball. He’s quick and strong, but I’m about three inches taller than him. I pick up my dribble and hold the ball high, where he can’t come close to reaching it. Then I fake a shot, and he jumps high in the air. I wait until he goes by, then put in a lay-up.

  “Game!” hollers Mr. Decke
r. “Two-minute break!” We only play to three, so everyone gets a chance to rotate in and out quickly.

  I run to the sidelines. Patrick comes over and smacks me in the back. “Good game,” he says. “You should think about coming out for travel. You’ve got a sweet touch for a tall guy.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m serious, dude.”

  “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

  Will walks by and grunts, “Not bad,” on his way to the water fountain.

  That’s never happened before.

  I look down at my shirt. It’s covered with sweat. My shorts are damp. I walk over to the sideline to grab the towel that I always leave under the basket.

  “Nice game,” a voice says. A girl’s voice.

  I look up and see Laura standing there. “You were watching?” I ask.

  “Yup,” she says. “You were beating the cocky school jocks. How could I not watch? It was awesome, by the way.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re a really good basketball player.”

  “So are you.”

  “You’ve never seen me play!” she says, laughing.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  We both laugh. Then we both stop laughing and look at each other. It’s weird, in a good way. Then it starts to get weird, in an awkward way.

  Mr. Decker comes over, just in the nick of time.

  “Good playing today, Damian,” he says. “You’re starting to put your game together and show some real skill. See you tomorrow.”

  I don’t move.

  “Damian?” Coach says. “You’re good for today. You got a real workout in.”

  “I think I’ll stay.”

  Mr. Decker’s eyes go wide with surprise. “You want to stay for the whole gym class? Are you sure?”

  I nod. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Excellent!” He smacks me on the back, right where Patrick smacked me, so it actually hurts a little.

  But not really.

  I play six more games, and win five.

  Mr. Decker blows the whistle, and the game begins.

  We’re in the middle of a one-on-one tournament, and I’m playing against Camille. I’m a little nervous, still thinking about what happened the last time I played basketball in gym—sweat, hives, nightmare. Camille scores a quick basket on me, while I miss my first four shots.

  She scores another basket and looks at me. “Whoa,” she says. “You look like you’re playing scared.”

  “I’m not,” I insist. But she’s right, I am.

  I glance down to the other end of the court, where the boys are playing three-on-three. Patrick is guarding Damian and they have a good battle going on, but Damian puts on a good move and scores. I look up at the clock, surprised to see him still playing. Usually he’s at the nurse’s office by now.

  “You ready?” Camille says.

  “Yeah.”

  It’s 2-0. We’re playing to three, so if she scores again I lose. It’s my ball. I shoot and miss. We both jump for the rebound, and the ball deflects toward the sideline. Without thinking, I dive on the floor to try and save it. The ball goes out of bounds anyway.

  “You’re bleeding,” Camille tells me. I look down and see I’ve skinned my knee. It starts to hurt a little bit. It feels good.

  “Do you want me to get Mr. Decker?” she asks.

  “No,” I say. “Let’s keep playing.”

  I feel like a light has switched on. I start to play hard. It feels like something or someone has set me free. I beat Camille, 3-2, then beat Rachel, 3-1. After two more games, I make it to the finals of the tournament, where I play Laura. It makes sense that we’re in the finals. We used to shoot baskets at her house for hours.

  We eye each other warily as the game starts. The score is close. I know all her moves, so I can anticipate where she’s going before she gets there. But she does the same to me. It’s a defensive battle. The game lasts forever, but eventually it’s 2-2. The other games are over and gym class is about to end, so the rest of the kids come over to watch—girls and boys. Laura drives, but I block her shot. The ball goes flying out of bounds, where it smacks Ellie in the shoulder.

  “Ow!” she hollers. “Watch it!”

  Everyone laughs, which makes her mad, which makes it even more hilarious.

  Laura tries to dribble around me but I poke the ball away, and it hits her knee before going out. My ball. I throw it to Laura to check it, she throws it back, and I immediately drive to the basket. I’m about to go up for a layup when Laura bumps me from behind. It sends me sprawling, but just before I hit the floor, I throw the ball up toward the basket. Miraculously, it goes in. Everyone gasps in disbelief.

  “That’s the game!” cries Mr. Decker. “One-on-one girls champion, Calista Getz!”

  I glance over at the crowd and see Patrick and Damian standing next to each other, cheering.

  For some reason, that makes me feel even better than the shot going in.

  You gotta be kidding me.

  I stare at the ball as it flies through the air. Even though there’s no possible way it should go in, I know that it will.

  And it does.

  The game is over. Calista wins, 3-2, which means she wins the whole tournament. My first reaction is disbelief. My second reaction is crushing disappointment. And my third reaction is, hey, wait a second. This could be a good thing.

  I wait for everyone to congratulate Calista before going up to her. She is sweaty, and her face is red, and you can see the last gasps of her rash just below her chin. Her nose is slightly purple but otherwise looks normal. The scab on her nose is tiny. Her Calistian perfection is almost completely back. Order in the world has been restored.

  “Good game,” I say.

  She nods, still breathing hard. “You, too.”

  “You’re a somewhat decent athlete, did you know that?”

  Calista laughs. “I guess so.”

  Mr. Decker comes up to us. “Terrific game, both of you,” he says. “You’re teammates on the travel soccer team, correct? The team must be pretty darn good.”

  I look at Calista. She looks at me. I decide to take the leap.

  “We’ve been known to dominate a game or two,” I say. “Right, Callie?”

  She hesitates, then nods. “Yup,” she says. “We sure have.”

  My knee is throbbing a little bit as I head to English class. I stop in to the nurse’s office to see if I can get some aspirin. The first thing I see is Damian, sitting up on his usual table.

  “Hey,” we say to each other.

  “Amazing shot,” he says. “I couldn’t believe that went in.”

  “Neither could I,” I tell him. “So, uh, I noticed you stayed for the whole gym class?”

  “I decided to stay.”

  “What about your—you know—sweating thing?”

  “I think the medicine is working a little better,” Damian says. “And everyone sweats when they play basketball, right?”

  I laugh. “I guess so.”

  “Hello!” says Nurse Kline. “If it isn’t my two favorite customers!”

  “Yup,” I say. “That’s us.”

  It’s Damian’s turn to laugh.

  “Not for long,” he tells Nurse Kline. “Not for long.”

  After I change my shirt and Calista gets her aspirin, we walk together to English class.

  “So,” she says, “I’ll make you a deal.”

  We keep walking.

  “What kind of deal?”

  When we get to the door of the classroom, neither one of us makes a move to open it.

  “What kind of deal?” I repeat.

  “I know I agreed to pose for the poster,” Calista says. “But in return, you have to agree to stay at the dance. You can’t just drop your poster off and leave.”

  This is not something I’m used to talking about—ever—so my heart starts to pound. “Oh,” I say, hopefully sounding way calmer than I actually am. “I don’t usually go to da
nces or stuff like that.”

  “Well, maybe it’s time.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I say.

  “Don’t think about it too much,” Calista says. “Just come.”

  As we’re about to go into class, she stops me for a second. “But think about losing the jacket, okay?” she says. “Just, you know—think about it.”

  “Fine,” I say. A couple of seconds later, I add, “Okay, I thought about it. No.”

  She laughs. “You’re funny, Damian White,” she says.

  I walk to my desk, thinking that one over.

  I’ve been called a lot of things, but “funny” was never one of them.

  Mr. Cody claps his hands together to get our attention.

  “First of all, I’m looking forward to seeing all my readers again today after school.”

  I raise my hand.

  “Sorry, but I have to go to the art room to pose for a poster. It’s for the First Week Dance.”

  Mr. Cody frowns. “That’s great, and you can certainly do that, after you spend forty minutes finishing your summer reading with your fellow students.”

  I raise my hand again. He looks annoyed. “What is it, Calista?”

  “One more thing I forgot to say.”

  “And that is?”

  I can’t help but grin. “I finished the book.”

  “Well.” Mr. Cody leans back on his desk. “That’s a horse of a different color.”

  “I finished it last night,” I tell him. “It was good. I really liked it.”

  “Well, I’m impressed. And I’m glad you liked it.” He looks around the class. “Did any of the rest of you stragglers manage to pull off that miraculous feat last night?”

  No hands go up.

  “Okay then,” Mr. Cody says. “I’ll see the rest of you after school.”

  He looks at me. “Calista, congratulations. You’re the proud owner of one get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  I notice Laura looking at me. “Seriously?” she whispers. “You finished the book?” she says.

  “Seriously, I did,” I whisper back. “Why are you so shocked? It’s the new me!”

  She laughs. “More like the old you.”