by Rachel Hruza
He came through the door and looked at me, his expression about as irritated as mine was shocked. His dark brown eyes hovered below a dark mop of hair that curled at the ends.
“Hey,” he said, pushing his way toward me.
“H-hello?” I said, posing it as a question to my mother.
“Hello, Truth,” Mrs. Nelson said. She smiled kindly, and then turned to Oliver. “We’ll only be thirty minutes or so.”
“Take your time.” He shrugged.
I pressed myself deeper into the recliner and glanced down to make sure my shirt was still covering the front of my brace. While I was leaning back, the brace didn’t bite into my pelvis or the tops of my thighs. However, my butt was already falling asleep. I wanted to sit up, but if I moved, I feared the white plastic would show. I remained where I was.
“What are you watching?” Oliver asked.
I’d kept the channel on the show about the nerdy girl and her dream crush. Together, Oliver and I watched the end of the show about the oddly matched couple. They ended up together, despite their friends’ and families’ doubts about their relationship, and they sang a song together while she played her guitar. I liked it.
“That was stupid,” Oliver said.
“Totally stupid,” I agreed.
“Liar,” he said, grinning at me. “You loved it. I could tell by your goofy grin.”
I scowled. I did not like having my face labeled as “goofy.”
“You girls are all the same,” he said. “Dreaming about some guy that you think is so cool, but really he’s just a big jerk. That girl is going to dump that loser as soon as she gets some confidence.”
I stared at him. Here he was, a guest in my home, and he was criticizing me for something he knew nothing about. (Okay, so he was exactly right about me dreaming about a cool guy, but he didn’t need to know that.) “We can’t all be as confident as you are,” I said.
“Oh, so you do fight back!” He leaned forward slightly on the right armrest of his chair. “I was just teasing.”
“That was teasing? It’s difficult to tell. But no, I don’t fight. I peacefully protest,” I said, recalling something Charity had once said about arguing with teachers.
He snorted. “Okay.” He shifted his weight and stared at the television again. “So my mom said you might be going through a tough time right now.”
I sat up involuntarily. “What? What are you talking about?”
He sat up slightly straighter, taken aback by my sudden anger. “Never mind. Sheesh. She just mentioned you might bring something up and to be nice about it. Forget it.”
“Yeah, I will.” We watched television for a few more minutes, Oliver looking bored and me fuming in my plastic case like a hot popcorn kernel about to pop.
“You kids have fun?” Mrs. Nelson asked as she entered the living room.
“A real blast,” Oliver said. “I learned I have so much to look forward to as a teenager.”
My rear end had fallen asleep, but I said nothing. I stared at my mother with my jaw set firm. One glance and I knew she understood. Talking behind my back—about my back—was betrayal.
As soon as the Nelsons left, she apologized and added, “I just think that talking about it might be more beneficial than trying to hide it from everyone.”
“It’s not your job to ‘think about it,’ Mother,” I said, my voice as haughty as I could muster. “This is my problem. Let me deal with it as I want to.”
She watched me storm out of the living room. I didn’t speak to her again until dinner, and even then, I avoided eye contact.
On Monday at school, the intercom in my fourth-period study hall classroom buzzed. “Truth Trendon, please come to the principal’s office.”
Thankfully, people were always being called to the office because of forgotten homework assignments, lunches, sports bras, and everything else under the sun, so no one called out, “Oooohh, what did she do?” or “Somebody’s in trouble!” I did, however, realize that everyone would be watching me leave the room, so before I stood up, I attempted to physically and mentally prepare myself for the upcoming assault of staring eyes. Then I smiled nicely, slid out of my desk, and moved purposefully down the aisle and out of the classroom without a backward glance.
Feeling proud of myself, I walked past the commons, where study hall was held on long lunch tables, across from the steps leading up to the office. Apparently my pride took over my motor skills, though, because when I lifted my leg for the first step, I didn’t lift it high enough. I tripped, nearly nose-diving into the staircase, but regained my composure. A few snickers chased me up the rest of the stairs, and I died a bit inside, but embarrassment unfortunately doesn’t kill you completely.
I opened the office door and was surprised to see the school counselor, Mr. Umland, leaning against the desk, waiting for me. The year before during the last week of classes, he’d come around to each homeroom and introduced himself to us. According to Charity, he always wore a sweater vest over any shirt, be it polo, dress, or tee, and for him, “counselor” was a loose term. He was all about helping the juniors and seniors apply to college and find scholarships, but when it came to providing emotional and mental support, he shied away from students like a bleating calf running away from a hot brand. It was rumored he spent most of the day surfing the internet for cheap antiques to sell at flea markets.
“Truth?” he asked excitedly.
“Hi, Mr. Umland,” I said.
“I’m glad to see you. Will you please come with me to my office?”
I looked at the secretary to see if there was some other, much more important message I was supposed to take instead, but she just smiled politely. I felt my chin drop and my lip curl involuntarily as I considered what this meant.
“Sure,” I said.
I followed Mr. Umland into his stale-smelling office and reviewed my options. Either he was really eager to help me start applying to college, or—
“So your mother tells me you have a back brace.”
Son-of-a—
“I can’t even tell, to be honest, Truth.” I figured that was his way of saying it couldn’t be that bad.
“It’s pretty hot.”
“Now that’s a good attitude to have! Keep that up.”
“No, I mean temperature-wise. I sweat a lot.”
“Oh,” he said, clearly embarrassed. I smiled.
“Okay. Well, I think it’s sometimes difficult for us when we realize we’re different from everyone else.”
Really? This was his pep talk?
“I just wanted to check in and see how things are going.”
“Well, it’s been hard wanting to get up some mornings—”
“And I also thought it might be good for you to visit with another student who is going through a similar problem.”
I paused. I was somewhat unnerved that Mr. Umland had just ignored what could have been the start of a very serious admission on my part, but mostly because I was surprised to hear someone else at school had scoliosis. I figured I would know.
“I spoke with Oliver Nelson, and he would love to chat with you.”
“Oliver? But he—”
“He just finished physical therapy for the morning and will talk with you before his next class. I thought you could meet with him twice a week for a while, just for fifteen minutes at the end of your study hall, until you become comfortable with your … situation.”
I was aghast. Not only did I not want to see Oliver after our forced interaction over the weekend, but I also couldn’t understand how Mr. Umland thought I could compare myself to him. How could Mr. Umland think wearing a back brace was as bad as being in a wheelchair and losing muscle strength in your whole body? Plus, Mr. Umland had taken it upon himself to tell Oliver my secret, something I’d been trying to keep from him and everyone else.
Oliver was going to think I was a whiner who couldn’t deal with a few setbacks. I couldn’t talk to him, not about this.
My stoma
ch began to pound against my brace; if I’d already eaten lunch, I’m pretty sure it would have been back to visit us on Mr. Umland’s desk.
“Follow me,” Mr. Umland said.
We walked to what was known as the Resource Room, where some people went for special education, and others for extra help on a subject in which they struggled. Everyone basically viewed anyone who used the Resource Room as totally “not normal.” I’m not saying that’s fair; that’s just how it was. Fear filled my heart as we neared the doorway. If people found out I was going there, they’d begin to wonder why. I couldn’t let them find out it was because I wore a brace, but I also didn’t want them thinking I was different for another reason. Labels were difficult to overcome, and that last thing I needed was to be guilty by association. Maybe if anyone asked, I could say I was tutoring someone else.
I could practically hear Isaac Newton laughing at me while I tried to come up with excuses for being there. I also fumed with rage at the fact that my mother had a hand in this deal.
I walked in, and Oliver was the only one there, besides the Special Education teacher, Mrs. Werth. He sat at a long table surrounded by plastic chairs. The wall behind him was lined with physical therapy equipment, including crutches, an exercise ball, and three long, blue mats that were folded up and set against a filing cabinet. The room looked like the storage area of a failed exercise instructor.
Mr. Umland sidled up to Mrs. Werth and spoke quietly. She nodded and then stepped out of the room with him. Neither of them spoke to Oliver or me.
Oliver just stared at me. He wore a t-shirt with the name of a band that I vaguely recognized, though I’d never heard their music.
“Hi,” I said, glancing at the table.
“Hey, liar. Long time, no see.”
“I’m not a liar,” I said, instantly defensive.
“Fine. Poser. Fake. Whatever.”
“I didn’t ask to talk to you. This is embarrassing enough,” I said. “I’m going to go.”
“No, wait,” he said in a sincere tone. It made me pause. “Sorry. I was teasing. I’ve heard it’s difficult to tell.” He grinned. He’d quoted me from the day before.
“Oh. Okay.” I wasn’t sure if I believed him. I wanted to, but as he said, it was hard to tell.
“So, I’m supposed to encourage you to keep going in life, huh?” Oliver said.
I hesitated. Was he?
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I didn’t ask for this.”
He grinned again. “The deformity or having to talk to me?”
I liked his grin. It was sincere. “Both?”
He laughed. “Sit down before the stupid matchmakers come back.”
I sat down across the table from him, uncertain.
“Here’s the deal,” Oliver said. “I don’t have any suggestions for you. You know as well as I do that I’m not like anyone else in this school and Mr. Umdouche and Mrs. No-werth don’t give a crap about you or me fitting in. They just want to get through the eight o’clock to three-thirty bell with no surprises.”
I nodded. There was enough evidence to support this hypothesis.
“We’re supposed to meet twice a week. That’s fine; but don’t expect me to tell you what to do to get people to see you as normal. Just be glad you can hide your brace. Once they know something’s wrong with you, you’re different, and that’s that.”
I nodded again. He was right.
“You’re quiet,” he said. It wasn’t an accusation or a judgement, but an observation.
I didn’t want to admit I was scared to say anything and risk offending him.
Oliver wheeled himself around to my side of the table. We were face to face. I’d never been this close to him. His arms weren’t bulky by any means, but to be honest, I was surprised to see he had muscle tone.
“I like that. Most people talk too much.”
The bell rang. With a hint of a smile, Oliver pushed himself out of the room, merging into the stream of students already flowing down the hallway. People looked at him and moved out of his way, but it was as if they didn’t really see him—he was “different,” so he didn’t register.
Just be glad you can hide it. That was the secret to normalcy. I already didn’t want people to know about my back brace, but now I knew that keeping it a secret was even more important than I had thought.
I could hide what was different about me. Some people, like Oliver, weren’t so lucky.
At the end of the day, Brendan walked up to my locker after the final bell and smiled at me.
I nearly dropped the books I’d been picking up. Had he seen my brace when I was bent down?
“Hey, Trendon,” he said. He sounded so casual, like he had no idea what those words did to my heart. He had to know how I felt about him.
“Hi, Matthews,” I said.
He grinned. “I hear you’re going out for volleyball.”
“I am,” I said. I didn’t add that I couldn’t wait to have an extra hour or two where I didn’t have to wear the brace hidden underneath my extra-large t-shirt and denim shorts.
“Cool.”
“Yeah.” I could feel the awkward silence creeping up on us, so I continued, “My older sister Charity and I play together all the time. She just made varsity, actually.”
“Really? That’s cool. I bet you’re not far behind.”
I blushed and smiled, beaming as if he’d just declared me the prettiest person of all time.
“Well, good luck. I hope you do good.”
“Well,” I said, automatically copying my mother, the grammar corrector.
“What?”
“Do ‘well,’ not ‘good’—never mind. You do good too. We both do good.”
He laughed. I liked that I could make him laugh. “You’re funny, Trendon,” he said. “I like that.”
I felt like my heart was about to burst from my brace and make it explode into thousands of tiny white shards as he turned and walked down the hallway. (Now, that would be something for old Isaac Newton to see.)
I like that, he’d said.
I knew he hadn’t said “I like you,” but I was going to count it as a minor misuse of words—just as “well” and “good” could easily be confused, I figured “that” could sometimes mean “you.”
“I like that, too,” I said, and no one was there to correct me, which I decided was both well and good.
CHAPTER 5
The Discovery (Part 1)
“Oh, my gerunds! Did you touch him?” Megan cried. We were standing in front of our locker the next morning.
“Gerunds? Do you even know what a gerund is?”
“I’m gerunding right now!” Megan said.
I sighed, lowering my voice so anyone standing around wouldn’t overhear. “No, I didn’t touch him. But he talked to me. I corrected his grammar and he said I was funny.”
“Ooooh.” Megan bit her lip, and I knew she was trying to decide how she should word her next sentence.
“What?”
“Well, no offense, but you have different levels of funny. I mean, his grammar? Did he mean funny ‘ha ha’ or funny ‘weird’?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing. I think funny ‘ha ha.’”
“Good. That’s good.”
Then, as if on cue, Brendan walked up. “Ready for Band?” he asked.
“Always!” I said, too excitedly. “Go Team Trumpet!”
Megan’s eyes widened, and I immediately regretted my words. However, Brendan laughed. He lifted his hand, outstretched as he waited for a high five. I slapped my hand against his with glee. “Go Team Trumpet,” he said, and then he continued on his way, catching up with one of his friends.
“I can’t believe it,” Megan said, her voice hushed.
“I know. He thinks I’m funny ‘ha ha,’” I said.
“No,” Megan said, a smile spreading across her face. “We did it. The high five is cool again.”
It was my turn to laugh. I knew it was probably just in my head (
or my hormones), but my hand still tingled from touching Brendan’s. Cool or not, high fives were now one of my favorite things.
It may sound like I was actually climbing the social ladder. Brendan obviously wasn’t repulsed by me, even after I started wearing my brace to school, and I seemed to be keeping it hidden from everyone else, too. However, I still wasn’t sure what to do about Gym class.
The first day of Gym had just been an introduction, but this week, I’d already figured out a sort of routine. Each day, when the bell rang for class, I would sprint to the locker room to be the first one inside, slip off my brace, and stash it in a locker. It was a rather small, square locker room, with lockers along the walls and a row of them running up the middle and splitting the room in half, with a bench on either side of the row. I also had a stroke of luck. All the other girls chose lockers on one side of the dividing row, so I chose one on the other side. That way, I would have a few extra seconds to hide if I needed them.
If I wasn’t the first one there, I would hide in the single bathroom stall inside the locker room until everyone else headed up to the gym. Then I would take off my brace and stash it in a locker several down from mine because it didn’t fit with all my other stuff—plus, then if someone saw it, they wouldn’t automatically know it was mine. I changed clothes quickly before anyone noticed I was lagging behind. After class, I’d do it all over again, but in reverse. Once the brace was on under my shirt, un-Velcroed with my arm pressed tightly against it to keep it from rattling, I’d sneak out to the hallway bathroom, where Megan would meet me from her study hall to cinch me up. There was the risk of someone else taking the bathroom pass or Mr. Landers, the study hall supervisor for that period, being in a bad mood and telling Megan she could wait five minutes until the bell rang, but so far we’d been lucky.