Love Double Dutch!

by Doreen Spicer-Dannelly

  “You don’t get it?” Sally explains, “These girls eat, drink, and sleep double Dutch. That’s all they do, that’s all they ever dream about.” So they’re kind of like me. “And I made their team because I did too.”

  “And what about now?” I ask.

  “I mean, I miss it, of course,” Sally admits. “But…”

  “But what? Jump!” I insist. “Who cares what they think?”

  “But you don’t know these girls. They can really jump.” Sally is trying to convince herself that she’s not good enough. She has got to stop this!

  “They can’t be that good,” I say. “They live in the South.” She stares at me.

  “You have so much to learn,” she says, shaking her head. What? Do I sound ignorant again?

  “Come on!” Sally leaves the room, expecting me to follow. I don’t know what she’s up to, but she sure is going to every end to show me why she’s scared of these girls. Suddenly Cameron and my little cousins yell and run past us in the hall and down the stairs.

  “Cameron!” I call. He stops for a second and looks at me, then continues running. “Are you behaving yourself or do I have to call Mommy?”

  “Yes!” He runs off, giggling. “Uncle Larry called us to pick weeds. If we find worms, he’s going to take us fishing!” This from a boy who couldn’t find his socks if they were snakes. Well, he must be having a good time if he’s giddy over picking weeds and worms. And his tablet is nowhere in sight. I’m glad one of us is having fun. I catch up with Sally, hoping I can still convince her to jump again.

  Before we can get completely out the door, Aunt Jeanie calls to us to be back in for dinner in a half hour. I’m tempted to see what she’s cooking, but Sally pulls me out the door. What is this girl up to?

  * * *

  —

  Next thing I know, Sally’s got me crossing streets, running through people’s backyards, and climbing a fence full of bushes. Bugs! I feel like they’re attacking me from every direction. I hate bugs! I might have even swallowed a few gnats. Yuck! Finally we are peeking through the bushes in front of a huge, beautiful house, kind of like my cousin’s, but this one is a little more countrified.

  “What are we doing?” I whisper, and swat away flies.

  “I want you to see what I’m talking about. Look!” Sally whispers back, pointing through the bushes to the backyard. I look and am amazed. She’s right. These girls can jump! They are doing gymnastics in the ropes, backflips, double team dancing—tricks I’ve never seen before. This is crazy! Never in a million years would I have thought Southern girls could jump double Dutch like that. I’ve heard rumors about some kids trying, but not like this! I guess because I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. But my friends were right: there are double Dutch teams that can be just as good as New York teams. My mind is shattered right now.

  Buzz! A bee!

  “Aaaaah!” I scream, and swat at it wildly.

  One of the girls hears me and looks up suspiciously. We try to hurry and get off the fence and out of the bushes, but we can’t move fast enough. Sally and I roll out of the bushes and onto the ground. In seconds, we’re surrounded by Bouncing Belles.

  Ivy laughs. “Well, if it isn’t loser Sally Walker and her tomboy cousin.”

  “Who are you calling a loser?” I say, getting to my feet. And did she call me a tomboy?

  “Were you guys spying on us?” the Asian girl, even smaller than Ivy, asks. “That’s just creepy.”

  “I was just showing my cousin, uh, how…,” Sally tries to explain.

  “How great we are?” Ivy says, smiling at the Belles. “We know we are, and without you on our team we’re even better.”

  “No. My cousin was showing me how lame you are.” I get in her face. “And for your information, I’m from Brooklyn, and some of the best double Dutch jumpers are from Brooklyn. So as far as I can see, you ain’t got nothing on me.” What was I supposed to say? You guys are, like, so good. I want to be on your team. Not happening.

  “Well, where’s your team?” Ivy folds her arms, looking around. “Last I checked, there’s only the two of you, and you need four for a team in Charlotte, ‘Brooklyn.’ ” This girl is cruising for a bruising.

  “Don’t worry about what we’re doing,” I cover. “You just keep working on your little weak tricks, Southern Belle. You’ll get to New York someday.” I walk away, tugging Sally, who seems to be stuck in a trance.

  “You better not steal any of our moves,” Ivy calls as we walk away.

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” I call back. I have to put up a front. There’s no way I can let these girls think that I’m threatened by their skills. Especially with my cousin watching, who looks riddled with fear. Even if I have to fake my courage, they will never know I am the slightest bit impressed. It’s just another little thing I learned growing up in Brooklyn. We New Yorkers are hard to impress.

  “Thanks,” Sally says softly.

  “For what?” I ask.

  “For standing up to them,” she replies.

  “Sally, the only reason why they bully you is because you let them.” I stop her in the middle of the empty street. “I know it might be hard to stand up for yourself, but as long as I’m here, I’ve got your back.” I can tell by the look on her face that she isn’t sure she can trust what I’m saying, but I mean it. “They’re probably afraid of you because you’re as good as or even better than they are. Why do you think they checked to see if your name was on the list?” Sally seems to ponder this. “It’s up to you now. Are you going to back down, or are you going to prove to yourself that you deserve to be respected?”

  Sally doesn’t answer, but I can tell she’s thinking about it. I hope she pulls it together, because I am not losing to some “Belles” who think they can jump better than I can. I run ahead—Auntie’s cooking is waiting.

  Something must have clicked in Sally’s mind, because she’s up early banging on my door to make sure I’m getting ready for camp. Once we’re there, announcements are made that teams must be submitted by the end of the day, and if there aren’t enough names to make a team, then “those individuals will be placed in large group sports like baseball, soccer, and so forth.” Panic sets in, and Sally and I run to check our list to see if anyone signed up for our team. Nobody did.

  “Man! Isn’t there anybody else who can jump double Dutch around here?” I ask.

  “Hi, girls,” a Barbie-type counselor interrupts. “I’m Kirsten, the head coach for double Dutch.” Really? She’s so, um, perky, more like a cheerleader, but I’m totally judging. “Are you guys looking for girls for your double Dutch team?”

  “Yes.” Sally steps up. “Do you know anybody?”

  “No, and as far as I know, the girls who can jump already have their teams made up—you know what I mean?” Uh, no. “I just thought I’d suggest hurrying to get into one of the other group sports or you might be out of luck.” Well, that’s kind of rude. If she was anything like my coach, Ms. Jackson, she would’ve figured something out. I’ve never seen her turn anybody away.

  “We have until the end of the day, right?” I ask.

  “Well, yeah, but it might be hard finding someone at this point, so, yeah?” Kirsten says doubtfully. Who is this lady, Negative Nancy?

  Just then, the Belles enter the gym. Gesturing to Sally, they all pantomime like they’re going to jump a double Dutch rope, then freeze. Suddenly they laugh, then run to Coach Kirsten. Hmm, I see she has her favorites.

  “We’ll submit a team before the end of the day,” Sally says to Kirsten through gritted teeth, staring at the Belles. Okay, Sally’s really in now. The counselor shrugs and just walks away. Oh yeah, it’s on! But where are we going to find jumpers in such a short time?

  Sally and I devise a plan to find the best candidates for our soon-to-be team. First we check the list of available kids wil
ling to be a part of any team. They are probably kids whose parents made them go to camp, whether they wanted to or not. I’m not judging, but what kid is not interested in sports—artsy theater lovers, maybe? In any case, all those kids are crossed off, meaning they found a team to take them in. Ugh!

  “What do we do now?” says Sally, concerned. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s left.” I think for a second, then…

  “What happens if someone doesn’t work out?” I wonder.

  “What do you mean?” Sally asks.

  “Come on, follow me,” I order, then run out of the gym. “I have an idea.”

  We search around the camp, one sport after another. Counselors or coaches are testing their players to place them in the right positions on the teams.

  “Just because kids are put on teams doesn’t mean they’re going to work out,” I tell Sally as we scout the fields. “Look for anyone, boy or girl, who doesn’t seem like they’re going to be even put in the game for their team.”

  “Why would we want that person on our team?” Sally asks.

  “Because we’re desperate,” I say emphatically.

  “True,” Sally says, resigned. “Boys too?”

  “Boys in Japan, China, and Denmark jump double Dutch…more than girls, so I’ve heard,” I state.

  “Really?” Sally says incredulously.

  “It’s actually making American boys step up to the plate,” I inform her.

  We’re even searching the skateboard ramps. As far as I can see, I doubt there’s any guy who would remotely be interested in double Dutch. Then—

  Wham! This boy on a skateboard knocks me off my feet!

  “Did you not see me?” I yell at him.

  “I’m sorry.” He helps me up. Really? “I thought you were going to move out of the way.”

  “Eeng!” I make the sound of a buzzer. “Wrong! Watch where you’re going next time,” I say, dusting myself off.

  The boy smirks, then skates off.

  “That. Was. Charlie. Davis.” Sally is mesmerized.

  “Who?” I take it she knows him.

  “Only the cutest guy in Charlotte,” she says.

  “Whatever,” I say. He is kind of cute, though. The boy looks back again and smiles.

  “Uh!” Sally gasps. “I think he likes you.”

  “What?”

  “It figures.” Sally sulks a little. “It baffles me that boys from here like girls who are, um…have New York style.” Did she just diss me?

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. First some double Dutch bully calls me a tomboy, and now my cousin thinks there’s something different about my swagger. Okay, so I’m not dressed like some girlie-girl or prima donna. Not that that’s a bad thing; it’s just not my style.

  “Nothing. Forget it,” Sally insists. “Let’s just keep looking.”

  Although she waves it off, I suddenly feel funny about how I’m dressed. Are my Mets jersey and jeans giving people the wrong impression? In my neighborhood, you have to always appear tough and have a strong attitude. If you don’t, people will think you’re weak and pick on you, plain and simple.

  Sally and I check every track-and-field player for potential double Dutch jumpers, but it’s getting late in the day, and everyone seems to be pretty set on teams. I begin to worry.

  “What about the baseball fields?” Sally asks.

  “Let’s go!” At this point, beggars can’t be choosers.

  We run to the baseball diamonds, and even the outfielders who can’t catch a pop fly don’t want to join us. Some guys laugh at us for even asking. We get rejected by some kids who couldn’t hit a tennis ball if it was the size of a basketball. I think at least the swim teams will have somebody who can’t swim, but no. They look at us like we have six heads, and like double Dutch is the name of some yucky ice cream.

  * * *

  —

  That’s it, we’re done. Sally looks kind of sad, but I can tell by the way she is swinging her arms and almost skipping that she is trying to play it off like she’s not. Maybe she is relieved that she won’t have to compete against those Bouncing Belles. I keep looking around, hoping we’ll find someone, so she can stand up to them. Just then we hear a girl cursing up a storm as we pass the soccer field. Sally and I stop to check it out. A burly girl who is supposed to be playing goalie on a soccer team is being outworked by every soccer ball she misses. They whiz past her hands every time. She’s cursing as if it’s the ball’s fault for slipping through her hands. The coach reprimands her for cursing, but she curses him out too. He blows a whistle and orders her off the field.

  “Looks like we found our first teammate,” I say, and take off toward the girl.

  “But she’s—she’s…big…and angry!” Sally says fearfully.

  “All the better!” I yell back to Sally.

  Once I reach the girl, she kicks dirt unknowingly right in our direction. After I fan the cloud of dust out of my face, I can tell she’s freckle-faced, with thick, curly sandy-blond hair, and she looks like she can knock down anyone who gets in her way. I bet she would make a better catcher on a softball team, but her muscular arms just might make her a great turner. She’s perfect for our double Dutch team. I let her cool off for a second. As my daddy would say, “You don’t want to poke a snake when it’s rattling its tail.” I never really understood what he meant until now. Sally catches up.

  “Seriously?” Sally asks. The girl overhears and turns around.

  “What the hell you looking at?” she says. Sally starts to walk away. I pull her back.

  “Um, hi, I’m Kayla, and this is my cousin Sally.” I fake a smile. “We’re looking for a couple of girls who’d like to be on our double Dutch team.”

  “Do I look like a girl who plays double Dutch? What the hell is that, anyway?” she says with a thick Southern accent. I take it by the way this girl talks that she’s allowed to curse in her house.

  “It’s like jump rope, but with two ropes,” Sally chimes in. “It’s fun. Maybe it’ll help you with your…uh, situation?” Is Sally trying to tell this girl she’s fat? I elbow her and give her a look.

  “I think you’d be good for double Dutch.” I smile again. “What’s your name?”

  “Melissa,” she answers. “What’s it to ya?”

  “Well, I think you’d make a great turner. I mean, you have some big guns.” I do a muscle pose.

  “Sure, you’re right.” Melissa flexes her muscles. “I’ve got four brothers who make me pump iron with them. I can even do ten straight push-ups. Wanna see?” Before we can answer, Melissa drops and gives us ten. Sally’s eyes squint like she’s seeing something gross. I think it’s great a girl her size can do at least one push-up.

  “Well, that’s—” Sally starts.

  “Nice!” I interrupt whatever dumb thing is going to fly out of Sally’s mouth.

  “Hey, in this double Dutch thing, will I have to catch or kick anything? Because this soccer crap is for the birds.”

  “No, but we’ll have to find one more person for us to have a team,” I tell her. “If we don’t, the camp is going to place us wherever they want.” Melissa looks around and thinks for a moment, then throws down the catching gloves.

  “To hell with this. Come on!” Melissa says.

  “Great!” I’m so excited I could hug her. Then Melissa runs off.

  “Let’s go kick some double Dutch butt!” Melissa yells back.

  “Her? Really?” Sally asks me with an incredulous look on her face. “She knows nothing about double Dutch.”

  “Do you have a better choice?”

  “I say we keep looking.”

  “Come on, let’s go get my friend Tina. She’ll join our team!” Melissa calls back.

  “Cool!” I yell. “Sally, let’s just go with it and see. All she’l
l have to do is turn the ropes.” I try to kill the pessimism. “We’ll do the rest. Let’s just try. Come on!” I run to catch up with Melissa. Sally finally trots along.

  * * *

  —

  We head over to the outdoor basketball courts, where girls are practicing for the basketball team. Melissa points to a girl on the court. This girl is shorter and skinnier than Melissa, with brown skin and long dark hair. I think she’s Latina, but I know one thing—that girl couldn’t dribble a ball if her life depended on it. She bounces it too low, then too high, then the ball finally hits her in the face. She also has earbuds in that are attached to her phone. She must be listening to music, because she surely isn’t listening to the coaches as they direct her for a layup. The ball doesn’t even come close to the hoop. Not even halfway up the pole. Wow! She’s bad. Sally smacks herself in the head.

  “Please don’t say that’s her,” Sally groans. “That girl has no coordination. Introducing her to double Dutch is going to be like asking for a train wreck.”

  “Well, she’s fearless. I’ll give her that.” I smirk.

  Melissa skips onto the court and pulls her friend aside. The Latina takes out her earbuds, then quickly drops the ball and runs off the court with Melissa. The coach acts like she’s upset but wipes her forehead in relief and quickly turns back to the others doing the exercise.

  Melissa introduces the short girl with butterfingers. “Hey, you guys, this is my best friend, Tina. Tina, this is Kayla and Sally.”

  “Hi,” Sally and I say simultaneously.

  “¡Hola!” Tina says. “¿Que pasa?” Okay, this might be difficult if she only speaks Spanish.

  “We need another member for our double Dutch team,” Melissa says, all in.

  “That sounds way more fun than this basketball stuff,” Tina says. Relieved she speaks English, I smile at her.

  “I think you’re going to like it,” I add. Suddenly the coach does her duty and calls to Tina to rejoin the group.

  “I’m outta here!” Tina and Melissa run off, laughing. Oh my gosh! Did she just flip the bird to the coach? My impression of Southern girls has just been completely shattered. Now I am learning why my mother tells me not to be so quick to judge people before I know the whole story.