by Megan Shull
“I miss her too, bud,” I hear Stryker whisper into the quiet. “Not a day goes by where I don’t miss her too.”
26
JACK
AFTER SOCCER, I SLIP INTO the front seat of Freckles’s mom’s car and try to say as little as humanly possible. To help me achieve this, I move the seat as far back as I can, fold my arms, and stare out the window.
Red Hair with Yoga Pants is barraging me with questions, and in my dad’s words, I have not been “acceptably demonstrating that I am listening.” I am breaking all of The Captain’s rules. I am not squarely facing the speaker, I have not been replying promptly or respectfully, and considering that I’m turned away looking out the window, it’s safe to say I am avoiding eye contact—a big no-no with The Captain. But I didn’t say I wasn’t listening. More, I am half listening. And by the time we pull out of the Sportsplex, something Freckles’s mom says sort of registers. And it’s not good.
“Hon, I know you’re tired, but Dr. Swenson is doing me a major favor fitting you in.”
“Dr. Swenson?” I repeat. This is what I do now, by the way. I just repeat the last thing anyone says. Not exactly a champion strategy, but—
I glance toward Red Hair with Yoga Pants. She turns and looks at me too. “It’s totally my fault, hon,” she says, taking one hand off the wheel and placing it on my leg. At first I jerk away, but then—I feel the warmth of her hand. I just let it happen. I feel so tired.
“It’s my fault, I completely spaced on your medical forms,” she goes on, returning her hand to the wheel. “I know this is the last thing in the world you want to do, but you can’t even take part in the last tryout on Sunday unless you have a physical.”
My throat tightens. “A physical? No!”
“Honestly, Ellie, we’re lucky Dr. Swenson squeezed us in on this short notice. We’ll get in and out quickly, honey. It will be painless.”
I walk into the waiting room. The whole time—every bony, freckle-kneed step—I’m trying to think of some way I can get out of this. I mean, I’m sure you would agree, right? A checkup! A checkup as a girl! This is just wrong on so many levels. Freckles’s mom stops in front of the row of bright green plastic chairs lining the wall.
“Why don’t you sit down, honey, I’ll sign us in.”
I stay standing. “Please, let’s just go,” I try.
“Don’t be silly, sweetheart, everything is going to be okay.” She smiles at me and pushes the sweaty hair out of my eyes. We’re standing close. “Take a deep breath.”
I drop down hard into a chair.
Oh my gosh. This is—
This is so crazy! I stare at the floor. I’m still wearing Freckles’s turf shoes, two pairs of shorts, two shirts, her ridiculous pink-and-white-striped socks, and yes, okay? A bra! (Even though, as far as I can tell, Freckles doesn’t exactly need one.) I breathe in slowly, lift my head, and look around. The waiting room is packed, and it kind of smells like throw up. I count three crying babies, one snotty two-year-old, and one little girl crying her eyes out and shaking, she’s screaming so loud. “I want to go home!” she is sobbing. “I want to go home!”
Yeah, I think, and look right at her.
Me. Too.
Twenty minutes later I am following a short, wide nurse dressed in green polka-dot scrubs down a rainbow-striped hallway. She stops in front of an open door and points into a small room with one of those examining tables that has the white crunchy paper over it.
“Dr. Swenson will be here in a few minutes,” she tells us.
Yes, us. Not to sound like a total soft freaking baby, but I can’t tell you how relieved I am that Freckles’s mom got up and walked with me down the hallway too. That doesn’t mean I am enjoying this. It just means . . .
God. I don’t even know what it means.
Breathe, Jack. Breathe.
I stand against the wall, arms folded, and stare across the room at a huge glossy poster of a gigantic ear. Freckles’s mom sits down in the chair by the sink and settles right into a magazine she brought from the waiting room. We are together in complete silence for the longest time until finally I just can’t take it.
“I am not taking my clothes off!” I blurt out.
She looks up, smiling, eyebrows raised. “Sweetheart, I hardly think you have to take your clothes off. Relax, it’s just a well visit.”
I let out a long breath.
She gives me a look. “Hey, what’s going on?” she asks. Her voice is gentle. “Are you okay, honey?”
“I’m fine,” I answer.
“It’s been a long day,” she says, and smiles softly. “When we get home, you can take a nice bath. How does that sound?”
Bath? I haven’t taken a bath since . . . since a long time. I stay standing, staring blankly at the giant ear.
Freckles’s mom goes back to reading.
At least there isn’t a giant poster of a penis, I think, and I let out a quiet laugh.
She looks up, grinning. “What’s gotten into you?” Her eyes widen. “You have some big secret?”
After ten long minutes Dr. Swenson breezes in, smiling like this is the happiest day of her life. “Ellie!” she says. “Please don’t tell me you are in seventh grade!”
“I’m in eighth—” I almost say, then catch myself. “Yes, ma’am,” I answer.
Dr. Swenson looks a little startled, and it occurs to me only right at this moment that I should probably lose The Captain’s required rules of conduct.
“Uh, I mean, yeah,” I awkwardly mumble, trying to sound more normal. I throw in a shrug and look back at the doctor. She has smooth chocolate-brown skin and the brightest smile I have ever seen. She’s wearing one of those white doctor coats and a stethoscope, which reminds me of the nurse at school, which reminds me of—
“How are you, Ellie?” Dr. Swenson asks.
I shrug again. “Fine.”
She glances down at a folder she has open in her hands. “I see you’re here for a sports physical. Are you playing soccer this year?”
I nod.
“I hear you are really good,” she says.
“I’m pretty decent, I guess,” I answer.
The doctor pulls out a stool from under the desk and sits facing me. “Have you been staying healthy this year?”
Beats me! I hesitate and look over at Freckles’s mom.
“She sure has,” she answers for me, thank goodness. “Healthy as a horse!”
“Good.” Dr. Swenson nods her head. “Any aches and pains bothering you?”
You could say that, I think, but shake my head no.
Dr. Swenson turns to Red Hair with Yoga Pants. “Summer, do you have any questions or concerns?”
Wait, Summer? Her name is Summer? Like, fall, winter, spring, summer. That’s kind of awesome. . . .
“Hmmm. Any questions? Let’s see.” Summer breaks into a big smile. “Could you get her to clean her room?”
There’s a little bit of laughter, then—
“Well, listen,” starts Dr. Swenson, sounding suddenly very serious. “When my patients get to be this age, I think they deserve the right to talk to the doctor by themselves—”
Oh, no.
No. Nooooo. Nooooooooooooooo.
“And so, Mom.” Dr. Swenson stands. “We’re going to kick you out now. Is that okay with you?”
Freckles’s mom, or Summer, or Red Hair with Yoga Pants. I watch her stand up. I watch her stand up and smile at me. “Absolutely!” she says.
Alone with Dr. Swenson, it’s like time stops. I can hear everything. The buzz of the lights overhead, the ticking of the clock. My heart. Ellie’s heart. Thumping like crazy.
“So how have you been doing?” asks the doctor. “Is everything going okay at home?”
“Sure,” I answer. I look at my feet.
“It’s just you and your mom living at home now, right?”
Beats me. I go with a nod. A nod is safe.
“How’s that been?” she asks.
“Um, fine, I guess?�
��
“I know the divorce was rough. Remind me where your dad moved to?”
I keep my mouth shut.
“Seattle?” she asks.
I shrug.
“You don’t feel like talking about it, huh?”
“Not really,” I answer quickly.
“Oh, Ellie.” Dr. Swenson takes a big breath. “I can understand that it must be really tough.”
She closes the folder and puts it on the desk. “Today was your first day at Thatcher, right?”
I nod.
“How’s that working out? Do you have a lot of friends? Do you have a best friend?”
I picture Owen and Sammy and actually grin when I answer, “Yeah.”
“Good! So—” She pauses to flash me a smile and leans forward. “Is there anything you want to talk about with your mom not here?”
I shake my head.
“Sharing your feelings can really help, Ellie.”
“I’m fine,” I say. Please, let’s just get this over with.
Dr. Swenson stands and steps toward me. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. Let me take a quick listen to your heart and lungs and make sure everything is healthy.”
As long as you don’t make me turn my head and cough, we’re good.
Dr. Swenson moves really close, right beside me, and somehow smoothly snakes her stethoscope under my double layer of shirts. I jump at the touch.
“Sorry, hon, I know it’s cold.”
“Yeah,” I agree, in a small voice, almost a whisper.
“Wow, Ellie. Your heart is beating pretty fast. It’s not like you to get this nervous.” Dr. Swenson steps back and looks directly into my eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” I repeat again. I sound impatient and kind of rude, even though I don’t mean to.
Dr. Swenson moves behind me and puts the stethoscope against my back. This time I man up and don’t jump.
“Take a few deep breaths,” she tells me. “Okay, good, good,” she adds, after I exhale.
She looks in my ears. “Nice!”
She looks in my mouth. “Still no cavities, Ellie. Impressive!”
She feels my neck. “Good.”
She looks in my eyes. “I’m just going to shine this light real quick and—” She pauses as she’s looking. “You have some absolutely gorgeous green eyes!”
She hits my knee with that little rubber hammer. “Wow! Excellent reflexes, Ellie!”
Dr. Swenson sits back down on the stool. She wheels it a little bit closer. “Well, you look as beautiful and healthy as usual, Ellie. Nothing to keep you from having fun at soccer.” She pauses to sign the form in her folder. “You are officially medically cleared to compete,” she says, looking up at me.
I immediately leap down off the table. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Whoa, hold up, not so fast.” Dr. Swenson calls me back. “I’d like to spend a little more time with you.”
I don’t even really bother sitting down on the crinkly paper. I just kind of lean my butt against it and fold my arms tight and wait for whatever we’re not done talking about.
“So, Ellie.” Dr. Swenson pauses to smile. “I’ve noticed you’ve gotten a little bit taller this year. Have you started your period yet?”
Oh. Boy.
Do you know how little kids put their hands over their ears and start singing, “I’m not listening, I can’t hear you!” This is kind of what I’m considering trying at this point. I mean, could this get any worse?!!! Yes. Yes, it can.
Dr. Swenson sits in front of me, waiting for me to answer. I realize I’m not getting out of here if I don’t say something. I have a fifty-fifty chance. “Um, no,” I stammer. “I guess not?”
“Okay, so has anyone talked to you about getting your period?”
I can feel the heat charging up into my cheeks. I am literally sweating. I straighten up and look at her like, you know, please don’t do this to me. Please.
But she just smiles again. “Ellie, listen, you don’t need to feel embarrassed. It’s a totally normal part of being a girl.” She pauses, then goes on. “Puberty is starting for you, so you are going to want to be prepared.”
“Prepared?” I repeat.
“I’m sure you are wondering when it’s going to happen, right? And maybe what it’s going to feel like and what you need to do when it arrives . . .” She stops for a second. “Are you okay? You look terrified.”
I don’t say anything.
Not a word.
“It seems like this might be a little scary for you.” She smiles. “Let me see if I can help you feel more comfortable. The first time is usually proceeded by cramps, a little lower back or abdominal discomfort. Then you see some blood. Sometimes it’s not bright red initially. It’s like a dark brown, and that’s all good, but it can be scary to see blood coming out—”
“Okay, that’s cool.” I cut her off. “I’m good, really. You can stop.”
Dr. Swenson grabs on to the edge of the desk, pushes off, and rolls the wheels of her stool closer to me. “Ellie, I know it can be a little bit uncomfortable to talk about, but really it is just a beautiful part of your journey to womanhood. It’s amazing, when you really think about it! Right?” She gives me a genuinely happy look. “Ellie, every single girl in the entire world has a time where she gets her first period. It’s just a way of showing that everything is working right, from your brain to your ovaries to your uterus. It’s like a miraculous clock! It’s incredible, really, and totally normal.”
I take a big breath and just stare back at her.
She’s still smiling.
“Are you sure you are okay?” she asks. “Nothing you want to tell me?”
“I’m good,” I insist, and hope this is over.
Dr. Swenson finally stands and hands me a bunch of pink pamphlets. “Tuck these away for when you want to read more,” she tells me. “We can talk again about this at your next visit, okay?”
I nod. We’re standing together now with the door open and my foot half out in the rainbow hallway.
“You can call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay, thanks.” I smile politely and take one step back.
“Ellie?”
I turn.
“Sometimes life is so tough. Missing a parent is—” Dr. Swenson pauses, reaches out, and rests her hand on my shoulder. “I just want to say I’m really sorry you are going through this. I know it’s hard. And if you ever want to talk or anything, just come see me, okay?”
27
ELLIE
“IT’S GO TIME, BIG BOY!”
“Wakey wakey!”
“Rise and shine, it’s butt-whoopin’ time!”
“Pitter-patter, let’s get at ’er!”
Someone is talking very loudly, and for a second I completely forget where I am. Then I open my eyes and stare up at Stryker Malloy, smiling down at me.
“Rise and grind, Jackie Chan!” he says. His shirt is still off.
It hurts to close my eyes, but I do. I feel like I got hit by a bus in the middle of the night.
“Good news is, you have five minutes before The Captain considers you late. Bad news is—” Stryker stops and begins laughing uncontrollably.
I open my eyes again, and somehow one brother has multiplied. Gunner’s looking down at me too, with his super-short marine haircut and big toothy smile. He’s laughing too. “I see you’re pitchin’ a tent, big dog!”
Huh?
I look past them. Clark Kent, with his glasses and his chiseled biceps and his sleepy dark bed-head hair, appears behind them. “’Sup boys!” he says.
“Here’s what’s up!” Stryker says, laughing his head off as he rips the sheet off me. “Jack’s got a woody!”
I am completely slow. Slow to move. Slow to breathe. Slow to understand what they’re talking about. I look at Clark Kent for help.
“That-a-boy.” He grins. “Don’t worry, little man, morning wood happens to all of us.”
By t
his point Stryker has fallen back onto his bed laughing, and I still don’t get it until I go to sit up and—
Oh. My. Gosh.
Sorry, Jack. I do. I let out a little bit of a squeal.
Gunner winks. “Best way to start the day, eh, bud?”
Clark Kent extends his hand and I take it, letting him easily pull me to my feet. “Don’t think about it, big guy,” he tells me. “Just push it down, adjust, and let’s get at ’er!”
Gunner digs through the dresser and fishes out a pair of sweats and a black hoodie, tossing them both at me from across the room. “How’s your mug, you mutant?”
“Fine,” I say. A total lie.
Gunner looks at me funny. “Seriously, you okay? You’re acting like a Froot Loop.”
I nod and hug the sweats tight to my chest like a security blanket. “Um, I just need to go to the bathroom,” I try and explain.
Stryker’s back on his feet. “Go take a dump, bro, but make it fast. You still have to make your bed, you’re running out of time.” He nods toward the clock on Jack’s desk.
“Five a.m.!” I sort of let it slip. It’s so early. My stomach starts to have the worst nervous feeling. My heart is pounding. I swear I nearly start crying.
Stryker and the boys just look at me.
“Are you kidding me, bud? We wake up at the same time every day!” Clark Kent grabs me by the shoulder and shakes me. “Little man, it’s the butt crack of dawn, we’ve got to hustle, no time for shenanigans!”
He gives me a little shove and I go flying into Stryker, who promptly puts me in a headlock, and I get a mouthful of underarm hair and deodorant.
“For the boys, with the boys, Butter Baby. Say it!”
“You’re strangling me!” I cry out.
He tightens his grip. “Say it, Jacko!”
“Say what?” I plead.
“For the boys, with the boys!” he tells me.
“For the boys, with the boys!” I repeat.
“That’s not good enough, Jackie Chan.” Stryker tightens his grip. “Look at this Nancy, so soft. Say it louder, hombre!”
“For the boys, with the boys!” I scream it, muffled by his hairy armpit, until his grip loosens. I fall to the floor and feel around my neck, clasping the tiny pendant on the chain.