Love Double Dutch!

by Doreen Spicer-Dannelly

  “Really?” Sally looks at me. I don’t have an answer, so I shrug and run after Melissa and Tina.

  “Let’s go! We have to sign up before it’s too late!” I say as I motion for my cousin to hurry.

  We haul back to the gym to put our names in. As we enter, I see the scratchy-voice lady closing the registration window, and we call for her to wait. Melissa and Tina sign their names under our double Dutch list, but then I realize…

  “We need a name for our team,” I say as I look to them for suggestions.

  “How about Best Damn Double Dutch Crew Ever?” Melissa says.

  “We can’t have curses in the title,” Sally says.

  “What about All That Double Dutch Team?” Tina adds.

  “Not bad,” I answer. “All that” is so outdated, but I don’t want to crush her enthusiasm.

  “How about Mixed Nuts?” Sally says sarcastically. The scratchy-voice lady behind the window is getting impatient as she looks at her watch, then back at us.

  “Forget it, we’ll come up with one later,” I say as I write “TBD” and hand in the sheet. It’s official. We have a team and we’re in!

  Afterward we celebrate. Well, everyone but Sally. We turn around to see other girls already in the gym jumping double Dutch, including the Bouncing Belles. Lucky for us, we missed the exhibition to show our skills. Right now I don’t even know if we all actually have any skills as a team. Coach Kirsten sees us watching and trots over.

  “So did you guys find a team?” she asks.

  “You’re looking at it,” I say with pride. She gives us an odd look. Our clothes are all dusty from the soccer field, and the heat and humidity have wreaked havoc on our hair. We are a mess, and to make matters worse Melissa stares at the double Dutch teams with her jaw dropped; Tina has gone back to rocking out to a Spanish song on her phone. As for Sally, she just stares at the floor, embarrassed.

  “Okay then,” Coach Kirsten says. “Since there’s only a few more minutes left, why don’t you guys come on over and show us what you’ve got?”

  I try to cover smoothly. “Uh, my cousin and I just got here, so we kind of need some time to work on our routine with our new team.”

  “Yeah, a lot of time, ’cause that stuff looks complicated,” Melissa blurts out.

  “That’s double Dutch, right?” Tina yells, not realizing how loud she is with her earbuds in. The counselor gives us the side-eye as Sally and I look at each other, not knowing how to save face.

  “Sure, take your time,” Coach Kirsten says. “Uh, tomorrow is group activities with the camp. So make sure you’re ready to go on Monday, all right?”

  We all agree as she saunters away. Thank goodness! We may look like an oddball crew, but we’re a team. And we have three days to literally show Melissa and Tina the ropes. But before I can grab a pair of ropes, the bell sounds. Camp is over!

  I figure if we don’t get started now, we’re doomed. So instead of going home after camp, Sally and I call Aunt Jeanie on Tina’s phone to ask if she’ll let us hang out with Melissa and Tina for practice. She says yes but to be home before sunset. Cool! The stuffy camp won’t let us borrow double Dutch ropes, so we decide to go buy one. Melissa and Tina agree to take us on their bikes to the nearest hardware store, where I am sure we can find some kind of rope to turn with.

  Tina gives me her bike, then jumps on the two pegs on the back wheel of Melissa’s bike, placing her hands on Melissa’s shoulders. She’s going to ride like that?

  “I’ve never ridden a bike like that before,” I say apprehensively.

  “And I thought you city girls knew how to do everything.” Sally grabs the handlebars and hops on, gesturing for me to do the same as Tina. I get on and grab Sally’s shoulders for dear life.

  Finally we’re off.

  Riding through the neighborhoods with manicured lawns and colorful flowers, I see houses that remind me of the picture books I read to Cameron. Some houses make me think of the drawings in old social studies textbooks of Colonial homes built in the 1800s. Although back then only white folks lived in them. Here, it seems, there are all kinds of neighbors living harmoniously side by side. I don’t think I would’ve believed it if I wasn’t seeing it with my own eyes. It makes me wonder if people are stuck in the way things used to be in the South. Does racism really exist like I’ve seen in the news? Hmm, by the looks of this neighborhood, I’m not so sure. As the wind blows through my braids, I suddenly feel…calm, safe. It’s weird—the quietness doesn’t bother me anymore. It’s kind of nice. I guess living in New York City makes me feel like that’s all there is to life: concrete, honking horns, and the constant noise of everyone’s busyness. I’m not saying I’d live here or anything—there are way too many bugs with wings and things—but maybe that little old lady on the plane was right when she said, Charlotte is wonderful in the summertime.

  Finally we arrive at a local hardware store way across town. I guess those bigger lumberjack stores are probably off a highway or somewhere you can’t ride bikes to. This little place should have what we need. To my surprise, Sally and Melissa park the bikes outside without locks or anything.

  “Aren’t you guys afraid someone’s going to steal them?” I ask. “Where I come from, you can’t just leave your bike. Someone will snatch it up as soon as you turn your back. I’ll just go in and get the rope.”

  “They’ll be fine,” Sally reassures me. “You’re in the South, remember? We do things differently round these parts.” Is she mocking me?

  “I dare someone to take my bike,” Melissa grunts. “I’d hunt them down like a bloodhound.”

  “And she will too. Esta loca.” Tina laughs.

  “Well, all right,” I say. ’Nough said. I mean, a street with only two lanes, one stoplight, and trees up and down the block doesn’t seem like the sort of place where much of anything happens.

  The little store is so quiet you can hear the electricity in the old fluorescent lightbulbs, and the rickety wood floors smell like there’s mold lurking under them. It’s as if I’ve stepped back in time to the Civil War and all that’s missing is the Confederate flag. No, hold the phone, there’s one on the counter. Suddenly those safe feelings from earlier just disappear, and my New York senses kick in; or maybe I’m scared. I want to get the rope and get the heck out of here. No one’s at the register, but the rest of the girls, including Sally, don’t seem to be nervous.

  “Can I help you ladies?” a raspy voice says with a deep Southern accent. We all jump and turn around to find a white-bearded old man wearing a cap and talking out of the side of his mouth.

  “We’re just here to pick up some rope,” I say quickly, and stare back. I don’t know why I am so scared. I think it’s the flag. It’s like a big yellow traffic sign that says CAUTION—POSSIBLE RACIST AHEAD! I remember the news reports on how people in South Carolina were complaining about what it represents. One side thinks it says hatred of black people. The other side says it’s Southern pride. Either way, it doesn’t make me feel welcome in this creepy little store that smells like old, wet wood. I see the rope and grab one that looks about the right length.

  “What do you need with a clothesline? You girls plan on doing an awful lot of laundry?” he says, snatching the rope out of my hand to check the price. “Either that or tying somebody up.” He laughs, but no, that’s not funny.

  “Yeah, we plan on tying somebody up,” Tina snaps sarcastically. “People automatically think of laundry when they see girls buying rope. Like we don’t have dryers at home.” Whoa! I’m guessing she’s dealt with sarcastic old men before, or maybe the Confederate flag has put her on guard as well. Personally I thought the man would take her comment to be disrespectful, but he doesn’t. He just laughs.

  “Feisty little one, aintcha?” He laughs again.

  “Tina, we’re buying a clothesline, duh? What’s anyone to thin
k?” Melissa tries to cool Tina’s jets. Or maybe Melissa doesn’t have a dryer at home.

  “I’m just joshin’ with ya’z anyhow.” The old man peers over his reading glasses as he rings us up. “Y’all making a tree house or somethin’?” Now he’s just being nosy.

  “No, sir,” Melissa answers. “We fixin’a jump some double Dutch.” What the heck is fixin’a?

  “Double Dutch?” He seems amused. “I don’t know what that is, but it sure sounds fun.”

  “Yessir, it’s some fancier way of skipping rope is all,” Melissa responds, with a heavier Southern accent than I’ve heard from her. I’m wondering if that’s how you’re supposed to relate to old-timer Southern folk. I might be right, because now it seems Melissa is the only one the man sees.

  “Well, I’ll be darned. That means y’all will be playing outside like when I was a kid. That’s aw’right,” he says as he searches for and rustles a paper bag. “I can’t remember the last time I saw young girls skipping rope. Your generation is usually sittin’ in the house, playin’ them vidya games or something or other on them darn cellyur phones. And they wonder why they’re fat.” He laughs. Melissa’s smile turns upside down as she takes his comment personally. She snatches the rope off the counter and walks away.

  “Wait a minute now.” He stops. “Who’s paying for that there merchandise?”

  “I am.” I quickly dig into my pocket and pull out some of the money my dad gave me.

  “Well, ain’t you cute as a button,” he says. “I don’t remember seeing you round these parts.” I shoot Sally a look. I swear, I feel like I’m in an old Western movie. I don’t say anything. Sally moves in to get the change.

  “Thank you kindly, sir.” She throws on this heavy Southern accent that suits her all too well. “This is my cousin. She’s from New York. You know how those Yankees can be sometimes.” Is Sally selling me out? She whispers to me, without her accent, “Some Southerners are stuck in a time warp. Just smile and let’s get out of here.” I do as she says as we walk to the exit. I was right—there is some sort of code way of relating to the old-timers.

  “People are nosy and always trying to be so nice down here,” I say to Sally.

  “It’s called Southern hospitality,” Sally retorts.

  “Well, I think it’s phony,” I respond.

  “Of course you would—you’re from New York,” Sally sneers. Okay, touché, Princess.

  When we get outside, Melissa and Tina are in shock. Their bikes are gone. They check around the corner and reappear without them.

  “¡Ay dios mío! Somebody stole our bikes!” Tina cries.

  “I told y’all.” Did I just say “y’all”? “I knew it! Now what are we gonna do?” I am not asking that creepy man in the store to give us a ride home. Us, him, and all this rope—uh-uh, not happening.

  A loud whistle comes from across the street. When I look, I see it’s Skateboard Boy from day camp. The cute one. He and his friends are standing in a park with Melissa’s and Tina’s bikes.

  “Charlie,” Sally says breathlessly.

  “You know this guy?” Melissa is steaming. “He’s got our bikes!”

  “And if he doesn’t give ’em back, he’s going to have to answer to my papi,” Tina adds.

  “And my brothers,” Melissa says.

  Melissa and Tina take off running across the street. Sally and I shrug at each other and follow them.

  In seconds we are face to face with Charlie and three of his boys. The bikes are parked under a tree. Melissa is in Charlie’s face.

  “Those are our bikes, and we want them back!” Melissa charges.

  “Slow your roll, girl.” Charlie backs up.

  “That’s right, stop playing,” Tina demands.

  “Oh, I thought one of those bikes belonged to her.” Charlie points to me. Suddenly my stomach sinks. “If you want your bikes back, she needs to apologize for bumping into me today at camp.”

  “What are you talking about? You got in my way!” I press toward Charlie as Melissa moves out of the way.

  “How about it was both of our faults, but you never said you were sorry,” Charlie says as he invades my space. He tilts his chin up and stares down at me. I don’t know why I am thinking this right now, but this boy is sooooo cute! What the heck is that? I suddenly feel like someone is tickling my stomach, and I am very ticklish. Butterflies? I’ve only read stories about boys and butterflies in some teen magazine. I just thought they were making that stuff up. And he’s acting like a jerk right now, in a weird sort of curious way. I have to pull it together quickly. I don’t want my new friends to think I’m a punk, even though he’s the cutest boy I’ve seen in my life.

  “You better get out of my face,” I say. He moves in even closer. OMG! Is he going to kiss me? I can’t help but stare at his lips. They’re right in front of my eyes.

  “Go ahead, take ’em,” his lips say. I can’t think. I am mesmerized by his lips. They are so…close. What was I asking him, anyway? Suddenly I just push him away and go for the bikes. He quickly grabs the packaged rope out of my hand, which I completely forgot I even had. I reach for the rope, but he pulls back.

  “What’s wrong with you, boy? Give me the rope,” I demand. Melissa joins in and tries to grab it from the boys, who are now passing it away from us.

  “Stop acting like a dumbass and give it to me!” Melissa almost scares the pants off this one boy who is half her size, but he tosses the rope before she can get to him. Suddenly we girls are forced into a game of monkey in the middle. The boys taunt us with every throw. After a few rounds of them making us look like fools, I spot their football. I go for it.

  “You wanna play?” I taunt. They all turn and look at me like I’m crazy. Now I have their ball and their attention. “We win and you give us our rope and we’ll give you your ball back. We lose and you keep the rope. Deal?” I propose with attitude. The boys snicker. “Our ball.” I smile.

  “Charlie, what’s up with this, man? We can’t hit girls,” one of the boys says with a lisp.

  “Of course not,” Charlie says. “No worries, fellas, this is going to be a cakewalk.”

  “Mmm…cake,” one boy says.

  Sally runs over to me in a panic. I turn to face my team, who’re looking at me like I’m crazy.

  “What are you doing?” Sally whispers. “We don’t know how to play football.”

  “Hold on, let me think,” I say as I contemplate my plan.

  * * *

  —

  Even though my dad isn’t my favorite person right now, I do remember him giving me a lesson about boys over dinner one time when I was in fourth grade. This boy kept pulling my hair and tapping me on the shoulder and then hiding. My dad said that boys will do foolish things to get a girl’s attention. And that since boys have a hard time expressing themselves, it’s up to the girl to show that she’s a lady and that foolishness is unacceptable. My mother said that a girl can get a boy to do anything she wants if he really likes her. It’s part of our “girl power,” she explained.

  My dad said the trick for the girl is to see how far a boy is willing to keep making a fool of himself, because when she finally does give him the time of day, she will feel that he’s earned it.

  Well, I know that it was all Cute Boy Charlie’s idea to take our bikes, so this might be Charlie’s foolish thing.

  “If he wants my attention, he’s got it,” I say aloud.

  “What are you talking about?” Sally is clueless.

  “You’ll see,” I assure her. “Come on.” The boys look at me incredulously, as do Sally and Tina. But not Melissa; she looks like she’s ready to go.

  “I don’t know how to play football,” Tina insists.

  “Neither do I,” Sally says.

  “Neither do I,” I add. “But I’ve watched enough football with my
dad and little brother to know that all you gotta do is—”

  “Get the ball and put it in the end zone!” Melissa interrupts. “I have four brothers and a gridiron in my backyard.” Melissa is seriously ready to take some guys out. “Let’s do this!” She smashes her fist into her hand. Okay, she’s scaring me now. “Come on, huddle up!” We grab each other at the shoulders and huddle almost out of fear of Melissa.

  “So what are we going to do?” Sally asks.

  “All right, listen up,” I tell them. “Melissa, I want you to help me get the ball, and then I’ll get it to Sally.”

  “Why me?” asks Sally. “Why do I get the ball?”

  Melissa sizes Sally up. “Because you’re the smallest and you can probably run really fast.”

  “Well, I did run track in fifth grade,” Sally admits.

  “Be ready when I hike the ball,” Melissa says to me.

  “Gotcha!” I say. “And while Melissa and I block two of the boys, Tina, you do something to distract the other two.”

  “Like what?” asks Tina. “I don’t know what…wait, I know what to do. I got this!” Tina seems like she can figure her way in or out of anything.

  “Good,” I say, reassured.

  “And, Sally, as soon as you get the ball, run like hell! Capisce?” Melissa pats Sally on the back harder than she can stand. Sally squints in pain. I hold back from laughing.

  “Are you guys going to have a pajama party or are we going to play football?” Charlie yells from the other side of the field.

  “We can do this, you guys!” Melissa says with encouragement.

  “Girl power on three,” I say. “One-two-three!”

  “Girl power!” we exclaim.

  We hear the boys laughing at us as we get into formation—maybe not so neatly, but it is good enough. I look into Charlie’s big brown eyes as Melissa leans over for the ball.