by Lexi Ryals
Okay. Not so natural.
Mom walks in through the door with groceries.
I hope she doesn’t lift the cereal bowl off the kitchen table.
“Oh, hi, boys,” Mom says sweetly. “Listen, Maddie’s basketball team is going to be here all weekend.” She places her grocery bags on the island.
The cereal bowl moves across the kitchen table. Parker and I stare at it.
“Hey, hey, hey! Eyes on me,” says Mom, not seeming to notice it. “So this weekend, don’t cause any trouble, okay?”
“Trouble?” Parker scoffs. “Who do you think you’re talking to, lady?” When Mom glares at him, he gives a flourish of his hand and says, “Milady.”
After school, Maddie and I head up to our bedroom to do our homework.
Homework, oh, how I haven’t missed you. Sigh.
I put it away, hop onto my bed, and start applying this killer new mascara that makes my eyes seem twice as big. I have this super-cute pink glittery compact mirror that makes applying makeup on the fly totally easy.
Maddie starts exercising with resistance bands and venting to me about basketball. Basketball. It’s such a cute sport, with adorable matching tanks and shorts. It’s a shame Maddie’s team doesn’t have any cutesy uniforms. The principal really pulled a number on her and her team. I feel bad for her, mostly because she dribbles a ball for hours at a time and thinks it’s actually fun.
Maddie is so flustered she’s having trouble stringing words together.
“No one on the team had my back,” she says. “It’s so...”
“Frust-a-pointing,” I finish for her, pressing on more mascara.
Maddie pauses. “That’s not a real word, yet somehow I know exactly what it means.” She goes back to using her resistance bands. “How do you do that?”
I smile. “It’s a gift.”
Maddie sighs. “Maybe I’m just not cut out to be captain. I have no idea what to do.”
“I do,” I say confidently, shutting my compact mirror.
Maddie snort-laughs. “Please! You don’t have a clue about basketball.” She folds up her resistance bands.
I smile and say, “Maddie, this is about leadership. On Sing It Loud!”—I sing it, per usual—“my cast was a team and I led them through four critically acclaimed seasons of television.” I feel pride swelling within me. I sit up straight on the bed and grin at Maddie, who’s now on her bed. “Want to know how I did it?”
“No,” Maddie says sarcastically.
I ignore her. “Okay, there are five steps of leadership. One: grab their attention. Two: get them on the same page. Three: identify your goal. Four: lead them into battle. And five: look great doing it.” I smile and let out a dreamy sigh.
Maddie thinks for a moment, then says, “Okay, if I imagine those words not coming out of your mouth, they actually kind of make sense.”
I clap, smile, and try not to be offended by that last part, especially since she’s had such a rough day. I continue. “Okay, step one: grab their attention.” I stand and give jazz hands. “In Hollywood, they always say the best way to do that is by firing someone on your first day of work.”
“Liv, I’m not firing any of my friends,” Maddie says adamantly.
I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Do I have to connect all the dots for you? I will join the team and you can fire me for being terrible. The team will know you mean business if you’re ruthless enough to crush your twin’s fake dream!”
“Liv, that’s actually kind of brilliant,” Maddie says, standing up. Then her face breaks into a huge grin. “And I do love the idea of firing you!”
This morning, the entire girls’ basketball team—my team—convenes at my house for our weekend retreat. We’re standing in the driveway in the backyard with Dad. I’m really excited to implement Liv’s plan and get the team behind me.
Dad is definitely in full-on coaching mode. He blows his whistle and booms, “Listen up, Lady Porcupines, we have the tournament in Chicago in three weeks. This retreat is about coming together and becoming a real team.”
I step forward and say, “Yeah, that means if a girl puts herself out on the line, like, say, in front of the principal, you better back her up! So to get us started, I got us all team bracelets!” I hold up blue rubber bracelets with “Got Your Back” printed on them. I hand one to each of my teammates and slip one onto my own wrist.
“‘Got Your Back,’” Cassie reads. She smiles.
“Cool,” Stains says, fiddling with her bracelet. It snaps. “Mine broke.”
“You know what, it’s okay,” I tell her. “I have plenty extra. I had to buy, like, five hundred to get the discount.”
Dad clears his throat.
“I mean, my dad had to buy five hundred,” I say, correcting myself.
“Thank you,” Dad says. “Now how ‘bout some passing drills?”
“Hold up, Dad,” I say. “One more thing. We have a new teammate.”
“Great!” Dad says. “Can she play center? We got no D if Willow goes down.”
“Willow doesn’t go down!” Willow shouts, giving me a high five.
I press on. “Please, everybody, welcome, all the way from Hollywood...Livvvvv Rooney!”
Liv walks out of the house, waving at us. She’s dressed in a skirt, a red blouse, and three-inch-high heels. She clasps her hands together and bows. “Thank you! It is an honor to be nominated in the same category as these other very talented women.” She gives us all her made-for-TV twinkly-eyed smile.
The whole team breaks into a light smattering of applause, although they look like they aren’t sure why they’re clapping.
“Well, okayyyy,” Dad says, sounding confused. “Welcome aboard, Liv!” He throws the basketball he’s been holding to Liv, who shrieks and jumps out of the ball’s path instead of catching it.
I bite my lip and hang my head. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.
“Well, at least we’ll have someone who can sing the national anthem,” Dad says cheerfully.
“So, Hollywood big shot, what position do you play?” Willow asks her.
Liv laughs like the answer is obvious. “I’m usually the lead,” she says.
After an hour of not-so-amazing practice in the driveway, I feel like Maddie and I have kept up this adorable little charade for long enough. I’ve been lying in a lounge chair watching the girls doing drills. It’s such a snooze. But at least I’m helping out Maddie. Dad blows his whistle as they finish another drill and all high-five each other.
“Great job, team!” Dad says. “Anybody need water?”
Everyone looks at the watercooler. It’s the same cooler Willow stuck her stinky feet in yesterday—yeah, Maddie told me all about it during her venting session earlier—so there is no way anyone here is going to drink that nasty water.
“Dad, we seriously need a new watercooler,” Maddie tells him.
“Not in the budget,” Dad says. Then he grimaces, looking at the foot cooler. “We’ve got some juice boxes in the garage. I’ll go find them. Captain’s in charge.”
As Dad heads off, Maddie takes control. “Okay, everybody, let’s start with some layups. Liv, you first. Catch.” She’s about to throw the basketball to me.
I hold up a hand, wrinkle my nose, and shake my head dramatically. “No, sorry. I’m not touching that ball. It’s heavy and it’s just such a boring color.”
“Liv, being on this team requires hard work! And if you’re not up for that, then maybe you’re not cut out for this,” Maddie says confidently, just like we practiced. Everyone on the team holds her breath.
“Wait. Are you”—I stand and face her and the girls—“kicking me off the team?”
All the girls look at each other like they’re shocked this is happening.
Now I really lay it on thick. “I’m devastated,” I say. “Devastated!”
“Liv, I’m the captain. I’ve made my decision. Now go,” Maddie says firmly, pointing to the house.
The whole team gasps. They’ve been wat
ching our back-and-forth intently. I don’t think they thought she’d really cut me from the team. Attention officially grabbed! Step one complete. I am so proud of her! Her acting is excellent—almost as good as mine! Almost.
“I see,” I say, sniffling like I am going to cry. “Don’t cry for me, Lady Porcupines. I’ll be all right....” I sigh and walk toward the house. “Somehow.”
“You can’t kick Liv off the team!” Willow tells Maddie.
I stop walking. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
“I can’t?” Maddie asks.
“She can’t?” I echo.
Cassie nods. “Willow’s right. Liv is terrible, but she’ll learn. We all had to.”
“Yeah, she’s our teammate now,” Stains says. “We have to back her up. Just like you said, man,” she says to Maddie, pointing to the “Got Your Back” bracelets.
“I did say that, didn’t I?” Maddie says slowly. She gives me a look and shrugs. “Uh, okay. Liv, I guess you are...back on the team.”
“Yay!” I say weakly, raising an arm halfheartedly. It is time to think of a plan B, because there is no way I am actually going to play basketball all season.
Or at all, let’s be honest.
Tonight the whole team has crashed in sleeping bags on our living room floor. It has been really cool having this retreat, but I can’t sleep. I’m too worried about how Liv and I are going to get her off the team. Liv promised she had an idea, but we haven’t had a chance to talk alone, so here I am, tossing and turning.
A light catches my eye. I see Parker and Joey wearing headlamps and holding butterfly nets. They are crawling across the floor and looking for something. “The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout,” they sing softly.
I sit up. Whatever they are doing seems pretty funny, but I can’t let them pull any pranks with my team if that’s what this is about. “Crashing a girls’ sleepover? Not cool, brahs,” I whisper to them.
Joey laughs nervously. “Ah, you caught us. We were trying to cause mischief.”
I can tell he’s lying, but he can’t do anything now that he knows I’m awake, so I’ll let it go. “Great. Now I’m awake. I need a snack,” I say, and stand up.
“Is it cool if we look through your sleeping bag while you’re gone?” Parker asks me.
“I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I do know you look stupid doing it,” I say. I shake my head, walk into the kitchen, and find Liv making tea.
“Liv, what are you doing in here?” I ask.
“Oh, I don’t sleep in bags,” Liv says.
Typical Liv.
“So listen,” she says, “I’m sorry my plan kind of backfired and blew up in our faces today.”
I shake my head. “Liv, what are you talking about? I mean, I know it didn’t go the way we thought it would, but...when I saw the team rally around you, I saw passion for the first time.”
Liv looks relieved. She sets down her mug of tea and claps. “Faboosh! We are now officially ready for step two.”
“Remind me what step two is again,” I say.
“Getting the team on the same page,” Liv says.
“Perfect,” I say. “First thing in the morning, we—”
A scream from the living room cuts me off. “TARANTULA!”
All the girls thunder into the kitchen, screaming and brushing off their pajamas, then race into the backyard. Parker and Joey enter the kitchen. Parker has a tarantula caught in his butterfly net. “Yes! Caught another one: Joan, the troubled ringmaster from a broken home,” he says, admiring his catch.
“A broken home?” Joey asks. “Was it divorce?”
Parker shakes his head. “No, I literally stepped on her home.”
Ugh, brother. I’ll have to make this up to my team.
I’ll compliment them on their hustle. That’ll do the trick.
This morning, Maddie and I are going to put our plan into action. I wait until the girls are out on the court and ready to warm up, and I watch and listen for my cue.
“Okay, guys,” Maddie says. Then she sees them stretching and nearly falling over doing so. “Guys! Come on! You call these warm-ups?” she says. “The first thing any opposing team is going to see from us is how we warm up, right? They need to know that we think as one, play as one, and win as one.”
Think as one, play as one, win as one—that’s my cue!
“We’ll still go to the bathroom on our own, though, right?” Cassie asks.
I walk out onto the deck dressed in a leotard and tights and carrying a heavy carved walking stick. I thump my stick on the deck a few times to get the team’s attention. “I want you all to reach deep into your soul and find your inner warrior,” I call loudly. “Who is she?” I point my cane at Cassie. “What makes her so fierce?” I point it at Willow, then at Maddie, then at the rest of the team. “What accessories can we use to highlight...that fierceness?”
The girls begin to nod.
“I have no clue what she’s saying, but I’m listening because she seems confident and she carries a big stick,” Stains tells Willow.
I walk theatrically down the steps of the deck so that I’m standing right in front of the girls. I press my cane onto the pavement. “Take a moment,” I say.
The girls stare at me, clearly confused. Okay, they’re not getting it.
“Close your eyes!” I tell them. They do. Maddie sneaks over to me.
“I thought we were just doing new warm-ups...” Maddie whispers to me, sounding puzzled.
“It’s a process!” I say, smiling. She should trust me. I’m a pro!
Mom opens the kitchen cabinet and screams when she finds the dishes inside it are covered in spiderwebs. “Why are these plates all covered with cobwebs?” she asks me and Parker as we walk into the kitchen. Uh-oh. Talk about a sticky situation!
I exchange panicked looks with Parker. “Ha! That’s, uh, so weird!” I say.
I hope I don’t sound too guilty.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t expect tarantulas here in Wisconsin,” Parker adds.
I pull Parker close and cover his mouth. “Ix-nay on the arantula-tay.”
Mom spins around and I quickly turn my choke hold into a friendly hug. Mom doesn’t notice a thing. She is too busy trying to get lunch ready for the basketball team. “I’m glad you guys are here. You can help me serve lunch,” she says, pulling a huge cloth off a six-foot-long turkey hoagie on the kitchen table.
“It’s beautiful!” I say, admiring the hoagie.
“I’m feeding athletes,” Mom says. “I went big. Here, help me take it outside. Parker, honey, could you open the door?”
Parker opens the back door and calls, “Come and get it!”
I help Mom pick up the hoagie on a sandwich board and we carry it outside.
“Now this is for the team, but don’t worry, you boys get leftovers,” Mom says. Before we make it outside, the girls grab the sandwich board.
“Ladies! Don’t grab at it!” Mom yells. But it’s too late. It’s all we can do to hold on to the sandwich board as the girls devour the hoagie like wild animals.
“At least let us set it down!” I shout.
A minute later the entire sandwich is gone. Mom sets the board back down on the table and shakes her head. “I’m so sorry you boys had to see that.”
I’m just sad I wasn’t able to try a bite of that beautiful bread.
Maddie and the team huddle around in the backyard. From the deck, I’m watching them. I’ve been teaching them to unleash their inner warriors all afternoon. Eventually, Dad wanders out to the court wearing his bathrobe. So humiliating.
“Oh...this was a two-day retreat?” Dad says, looking very surprised.
“Yeah,” Maddie says, grinning. “And we’ve been working on a new warm-up that we want to show you.”
New warm-up—right, that’s my cue!
I clap and call out to the team, “Places!”
The girls all make a straight line on the court.
“Now, re
member,” I say, “find your inner warrior. Five, six, seven, eight!”
While I stand behind the team, they perform a very intimidating martial arts–esque routine. I practice along with them. They look absolutely amazing: they are all totally in sync. They finally look and sound like a real team.
“Bam! What?!” Maddie yells as they finish.
Dad looks impressed. “Wow, that was ah-mazing.”
Maddie high-fives the teammates. We all cheer.
“If Fickman could see you now, he’d never say no,” says Dad.
I couldn’t agree more.
Dad’s right. We aren’t going to let Principal Fickman say no. We’re getting those new uniforms. So me and the team all head down to the school and find Principal Fickman outside it. He’s grilling steaks, wearing an apron and a chef’s hat.
I walk right up to him. “Principal Fickman, it’s not fair for you to give the boys’ team new uniforms and not the girls’ team. I am here to ask—no, to demand—that you give us new uniforms as well.” It’s a pretty good speech if I do say so myself.
“No,” he says flatly. He turns back to his grill and flips his steaks. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish barbecuing these exquisite steaks for the boys’ team. They are having their retreat inside.”
“Unacceptable,” I say firmly. “We can’t go to the Worciechowski tournament with those uniforms you gave us.”
Principal Fickman laughs meanly. “Oh, that is a problem. But I think I have a solution. You’re not going to the tournament.”
“W-what?” I stammer. “You can’t do that.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I think I just did.” He pulls the steaks off the grill and takes them inside just as Dad runs up.
“You couldn’t wait for me to get dressed?” Dad says, out of breath. “Come on! Let’s go get those uniforms!”
I just sigh and lead the girls back home. No uniforms. No tournament. I’m a total failure as a captain. I have to do something to fix it. I just don’t know what.
We all sit around in Liv’s and my room a few hours later.
