by Cari Simmons
“I’m glad the law isn’t the same here, or my family would be locked away for a long time.” She pointed to a large green yard that sloped back from the street. Behind a deep red maple tree sat a white clapboard house surrounded by marigolds and other autumn flowers. Two sprinklers were on in full force, wetting the stone pathway leading to the house.
“It’s beautiful,” I said from the sidewalk.
“Can you believe my dad grew up here too?” Roseann stepped onto the pathway and let out an ear-piercing shriek. Clutching her book bag, she froze. Her lips trembled as she gazed down. Slithering by her navy loafers was a tiny green snake.
“Sn-sn-sna—” Roseann couldn’t get the word out.
“Snake,” I said. I reached out with my white Converse and nudged the little guy back into the flowers.
“How can you do that?” Roseann stared at me with wonder. “You weren’t scared?”
“Of a snake smaller than my foot?” I laughed. “Compared with the snakes back where I lived, that guy looks like an earthworm. You should see the big snakes we have.”
Roseann shuddered. “Never. I’m such a scaredy-cat.”
The Bleeker house smelled like a mixture of vanilla and jasmine. All the walls were covered in dainty flowered wallpaper. The overstuffed furniture was a mossy sage green. White curtains fluttered at the open windows.
“That’s so cool.” A vase filled with dozens of red licorice straws sat in the middle of the white wooden kitchen table. Glass jars, the kind that hold cotton balls in bathrooms, were filled with pastel jelly beans and positioned around the house on side tables.
“We’re big on candy . . . and salad.” Roseann poked her head into the fridge. One shelf was packed with nail polish. “Mom thinks it stays fresher in here,” she explained when she saw my questioning look. “Do you like Shirley Temples? Mom mixes them up every afternoon.”
Roseann poured us each a glass of bubbly pink soda and tossed in two maraschino cherries. She peeled back the foil on a mixing bowl in the fridge to reveal chocolate-chip cookie dough. “We could bake cookies.”
“We could eat it with spoons,” I suggested.
“Even better!” Roseann grabbed two spoons, and we sat at the table. She opened a pink notebook. “Ready to do the interview?”
“We should eat first. I need energy,” I said.
We dug our spoons into the raw cookie dough.
“Whoa!” A taller Roseann look-alike with fairer skin swept into the kitchen. “That’s mine. I’m making cookies for a bake sale.”
“Sorry, Lauren. It’s yummy,” Roseann apologized to her sister.
“One more spoonful, you goon, and that’s all.” Lauren grinned.
Roseann and I each took a tiny spoonful, then Lauren pulled the bowl away. Her hair fanned out the same way Roseann’s did.
Lauren invited us to help her bake. She pulled out three cute miniscoopers that made the cookies perfectly round.
“I can out-circle you,” Lauren challenged.
“Game on!” Roseann cried. “Ready, set, scoop!”
We each tried to make the most circular cookie. I was disqualified because I kept poking my fingers into the dough. Roseann won.
“Your sister’s so nice. My brother would’ve gone nuts if I’d eaten his cookie dough.” I told Roseann about the time when Alex discovered that I’d cut his comic books into strips to weave a basket. For revenge, he’d given all my Barbies buzz cuts.
After the cookies had cooled and Lauren left, Roseann tried to get back to the interview. “When did you first start gymnastics?”
I told her all about Daria and her gym. I told her about Eden. I gave a lot of descriptions about learning moves when I was young. I started to relax. If I can keep the article about this beginning stuff, I thought, everything will be all right. Maybe I won’t have to fess up at all.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Kate wandered in and grabbed two licorice straws. She tossed one to me. “Good catch, gymnastics girl.”
“Thanks. It’s Molly.” I’d noticed how Roseann and all her sisters had the same way of holding your gaze when they talked.
“I love your necklace,” Kate said. “I have dangly earrings that would match. You should try them later.”
“For sure!” One sister was nicer than the next. Forget being friends, I was ready to move in. A little dark brown hair dye, and I could be the sixth Bleeker sister.
“Are you asking her the hard questions?” Kate peered at Roseann’s notes.
“I’m doing background information first,” Roseann explained.
“You need to dig deep for a good article.” Kate gave her a few pointers as I waited in dread. If I didn’t tell soon, Roseann might piece it together herself. What would she do when she found out? Would she make me leave?
“Let’s have the article show what it’s like to be a top gymnast training for the big time,” Roseann said when Kate went upstairs.
“Ew, look, a snake!” I widened my eyes.
Roseann dropped her pen and jumped up. “Where?”
“Gotcha!” I cried.
“Be serious, Molly. I need to do this interview.” Roseann picked up her pen. “What does it feel like to do the hardest moves?”
I tried to describe soaring through the air when I do an aerial or back tuck. “For a few seconds, I’m weightless. I’m flying! I get a thrill when I twist in the air and land solidly. I feel fearless.”
Roseann scribbled notes as I spoke. I answered questions about our practice routine at the gym. I talked more about Kelsey Wyant and how she trained than I did about myself.
“So you and this girl Kelsey train together?”
“No, not exactly.” I hesitated.
“Right, I get it. You’re at the same gym, but you’re against each other too. Rivals.”
“Not rivals. We’re not on the same level.”
Roseann knocked her head with her pen. “That was silly. You don’t have to be modest. I know you’re on a higher level. You told me you’re at the top.”
My mouth felt dry and swallowing suddenly became painful. “Have you ever said something and then wished you hadn’t?”
Roseann crossed something off her notes. “Wait. I messed up or I can’t read what I wrote. Do you have one coach or two?”
“Two. Andre and Nastia.” I tried again. “It’s funny how, sometimes, you can be making a joke and no one gets it, you know?”
“What do you mean? Do your coaches have trouble understanding English? Are they from another country?”
“Kind of. I don’t know. That wasn’t what I was—”
“Can I meet them?” Roseann asked. “Can I come to the gym and get a quote from them for the article? That way it’s someone official telling us how amazing you are.”
“Andre’s not going to say what you think he’ll say.” I sighed. Time to come clean. “Here’s the thing—”
“Do you know what time it is, Roseann?” Another sister with the same silky hair and dark blue eyes as the others walked into the kitchen. By process of elimination, I figured she was Chrissy, the oldest. She wore the cutest short plaid miniskirt, a navy tank top, and sneakers.
“A few more minutes, Chrissy. I was just getting to the good questions. Molly’s the new girl I told you about.”
“Roseann, there’s something funny I need to tell you,” I said urgently. “I mean, it’s so ridiculous. You’ll totally laugh.”
“Practice starts in ten minutes in the park. I have to be on time, or they’ll fire me as assistant coach.” Chrissy grabbed an apple from the refrigerator. Her eyes were highlighted by jet-black mascara that exaggerated the curl of her lashes. “I’m leaving now. You too, Roseann.”
“I’m sorry,” Roseann said to me as she stood. “I have to go to practice. Can I ask you more questions later?”
“Sure, but . . .” Why couldn’t I spit it out?
“Are you coming too?” Chrissy asked me.
“She doesn’t play field hockey.” Roseann wa
ved away the offer. “She’s a gold-medal gymnastics star. Isn’t that cool?”
I cringed. It wasn’t cool, because it wasn’t true. Besides, I didn’t want to be only that to Roseann. I wanted to be her friend.
“Yes. I’ll come,” I announced.
“You will?” Roseann tilted her head.
“If it’s okay. I don’t know how to play, but I’d like to learn.”
“I can teach anyone,” Chrissy bragged. “I’m captain of the high school team. We’re going all the way to state this year.”
“What about gymnastics? Don’t you have practice every night?” Roseann asked.
Sitting in Roseann’s beautiful house that smelled of freshbaked cookies and flowers and surrounded by her super-nice sisters, one of whom wanted to teach me the sport Roseann and her friends were crazy about, I realized that the last place I wanted to be was the cold and serious gym, where I’d only hear that I looked like a wet noodle again and again.
“No problem. My coach is going to . . . to a meeting tonight. He said practice was optional.” I couldn’t believe how easily I’d added another untrue story to the first. “Can I come along?”
“Great! The more the merrier!” Chrissy pumped her fist.
Exactly, I thought. Field hockey was a team sport. If a whole bunch of us moved a ball down a field together, we’d bond and have fun. Gymnastics was an individual sport. I wasn’t making friends working on a beam routine by myself.
“Roseann can lend you shorts and a stick,” Chrissy said. “Practice runs until six at Dunham Park. If you like it, maybe we can squeeze you onto the team or give you a proper tryout.”
I pulled out my phone and texted Alex while Roseann ran to her room.
no gym 4 me tonite. Going 2 field hockey w/ Roseann & her big sis. pick up @ 6 @ the park???
I held my breath. He had grumbled this morning when Mom told him to drive me to the gym so she could go to a work dinner with the paper-towel client. Would he ask why I wasn’t going?
For sure. Play hard, he texted back.
I grinned. So unlike Alex. I wondered what was going on with him.
Roseann returned with an extra pair of mesh shorts and a heavy wooden stick that curved at the end. “This is my old one, but you’re shorter than I am. Are you ready?”
“Ready!” I followed Roseann and her sister to the car. Off to practice. Together.
Join in. Share the same interests. Eden would totally agree with my choice to ditch gymnastics for field hockey.
I looked down at the stick. It can’t be too hard to whack a ball with this thing, I thought. My heart soared. I had a feeling that I’d be good at it.
CHAPTER 10
“Molly? What are you doing here?” Miranda ran over to Roseann and me as we walked onto the field together.
“Trying to learn field hockey.” I bowed comically.
“That’s awesome!” Miranda laughed and seemed truly glad to see me. So did all the other girls, most of whom I recognized from the lunch table. “It’s not too hard.”
“I’m thinking: see ball, swing stick”—I gave my stick a wild swing high above my head—“and whack ball into the goal!” I made a roaring-crowd noise.
“Whoa, there, champ!” A muscular woman in a black baseball cap grabbed my wrist and gently lowered it. “Rule one. The stick is never raised higher than your waist. It’s dangerous.”
“And you’ll get a foul,” Grace added. Her pale hair was pulled into tight French braids.
“Good to know,” I said. “Stick on the ground.”
“I’m Coach Nicki. Chrissy told me it’s your first time, so welcome to the Eagles.” She tilted the visor of her cap to better see me. “You look like you have strong arms and legs. What about those sneakers?”
Grace, Miranda, Roseann, and I stared down at my white Converses. Everyone else wore rubber-soled cleats. “I didn’t know I was coming,” I explained.
Coach Nicki nodded. “For today, it’s okay.” She tossed me a pair of long green athletic socks and shin guards. “Pull these on to protect your legs.”
“I need protection? Does the stick hurt?” I’d never considered being hit by it.
“Only when it connects with your leg,” Coach Nicki said. “Run fast, keep your eyes on the ball, and you’ll be fine.”
“I have tons of bruises,” Miranda confided. She pointed out all her black-and-blues as I pulled on the thick socks.
“Grace is bruise-free, because she runs so fast,” Roseann put in.
“You got to keep up with me, Roe. That’s how we score.” Grace tapped her stick against Roseann’s.
Roseann tapped hers back. “You and me. The Dynamic Duo in action.”
“They always score the goals,” Miranda explained to me.
“Do I look ridiculous?” I wore my rose-colored, lace-trimmed tank with Roseann’s baggy black mesh shorts, high green socks, and my new white Converses.
“You look cute,” Roseann assured me. She tossed me a pair of goggles. “Put these on too.”
“Are we snorkeling?”
“If the ball hits your eye, you can go blind,” Miranda put in.
“I see.” I slipped the plastic goggles over my head. “Get it? I see?”
Roseann and Miranda groaned at my pun.
“Huddle up!” Coach Nicki called.
The twelve of us gathered around. She introduced me, then we placed our hands into the circle. “Eagles on three. One, two, three—”
“Eagles! Eagles! Eagles!” they all cheered. I joined the group roar, feeling the power of being part of a team.
“Break it out.” Coach Nicki divided our group in half. “Stick skills with Chrissy. Running with me.”
While Roseann, Grace, Miranda, Anna, and their friend Fiona dribbled the ball in and out of cones, Chrissy had a private session with me.
“Meet Myrtle.” She held up her battered stick. “Myrtle is my best friend.”
“Your best friend is your field hockey stick?”
“Totally. She’s like another body part. Where you go on the field, your stick goes.”
“Does everyone name their hockey sticks?”
“The good players do.” Chrissy showed me how to grip my stick and use only the flat side.
“What do you think about Stanley Stick? Or Peppermint Stick?” I asked. “How about Captain Hook?”
Chrissy shook her head. “It’s a little early for you to be picking out names.”
I crouched low and moved the flat side of the stick back and forth to dribble the small, hard ball. My arms twisted like a pretzel.
“Eyes on the ball!” Coach Nicki walked over.
“I’m watching it. I watch it go over here. I watch it go over there,” I joked.
“Make it go straight,” Coach Nicki instructed.
“This ball has a mind of its own,” I told Chrissy.
“It’s a special trick ball we give first timers,” she whispered.
“Seriously?” That would explain a lot.
“Not seriously.” Chrissy fixed my grip. “You’re in good athletic shape. No huffing or puffing, but you need to get the feel of the stick. Remember, it’s your friend.”
I tried again. One ball shot to the far left. The next ball flew off to the right. “My friend doesn’t like me.”
“Try a flick,” Chrissy suggested.
Roseann and Grace stopped dribbling to watch me. My stomach fluttered. I didn’t want to mess up again.
“Flip? Did you say a flip?” I called out. Then I dropped my stick and did three back handsprings, landing next to one of my many off-course balls. “Ta-da! A flip!” I cried.
Roseann and Grace clapped.
“Enough funny business,” Coach Nicki said. I tried not to blush. I just thought I’d crack a joke.
Chrissy lined us up for offense-defense drills.
“Ow!” My partner, Miranda, cringed after my stick whacked my own shins for the fifth time. “Molly, you can’t stand in one place like that. You
need to keep moving.”
“No pain, no gain,” I joked. My legs throbbed. I’d be black and blue tomorrow. “I’m too busy trying to slap the ball to move my body.”
“You’ve got to do both!” Grace called. She and Roseann performed the drill perfectly next to us.
“Scrimmage time!” Coach Nicki called after I’d messed up the drill several more times.
“What about me?” I asked.
“You’re far from ready, but get on the field and see what you can learn. Stay out of the action and over by the sidelines. Try to pick up on what the others are doing,” she suggested.
I watched Roseann high-five Grace even though they were on opposite scrimmage teams. I longed to be the other half of Roseann’s Dynamic Duo.
Forget staying on the sidelines, I decided. I was going to play—and play hard.
Fifteen minutes later, I was sweating. Not from the running. Jump roping and conditioning had me in good shape. I sweated from trying to get my stick on the ball. These girls were like magicians. The ball would be clearly in front of me. I’d swing my stick back, readying to hit it, and wham! Someone would magically scoop the ball out of my path. Some girls shouldered me away. Hard! Twice, I tripped over my own feet and face-planted on the grass.
“You okay, Molly?” Roseann called from across the field. How could she talk to me while blocking a shot and stealing the ball away from Anna? I couldn’t even stop hitting myself in the shins with my own stick!
“Perfect,” I called back. I stopped running and stood, watching the action.
I hated this game, I decided. I hated the tiny ball. And I hated my nameless hooked stick. We were never going to be friends.
Just as I was about to tell Coach Nicki I was done, I heard Roseann call. “Molly! It’s coming to you!”
The ball rolled right in front of me. No one blocked me. Why would they?
This is it, I realized. My chance to shine.
I lined up my stick and began to move the ball forwards.
“Go, Molly!” I heard Chrissy yell.
“Molly! Molly!” Roseann cried.
The goal stood in the distance, and Grace, in her yellow scrimmage pinny, stood in between, ready to block. I’m getting by her, I promised myself. I can do this!