by Annie Bryant
“I almost beat both Nick and Dillon,” Katani said. “Can you believe that? Can they believe that?” She laughed while sucking in great quantities of air.
“It’s those long legs of yours, Katani,” huffed Isabel. “You should take up running. You’re pretty good.”
“No way, Isabel,” Katani admonished in a mock serious tone, but inside she was thinking, this running isn’t too bad.
“Is class over? This is the longest fifty minutes of my life,” Maeve complained. Suddenly, the music went off.
“I’ve saved just enough time for the rope climb.” Coach McCarthy grinned, looking rather pleased with himself. “Half of you,” the coach divided the class with a swing of his hand, “climb those ropes to the top, ring the bell, and come down. No rope burns, please. The other half, to the wall. Kaplan, you’re first.”
Charlotte really thought the coach was over-the-top hard on Maeve today. She squeezed Maeve’s arm in a show of support. “You’ll make it, Maeve.”
Half of one wall in the gym was covered with a grid of ropes. You needed to be a spider to climb them clear to the top of the gym. If you were afraid of heights, the climb was hard. Maeve was nervous and she didn’t like heights. But she didn’t want anyone thinking she was wimpy, so she put on her “I’m not afraid of anything” face, and started climbing.
Charlotte had never quite made it all the way to the top. Would Maeve be able to do it? she questioned.
“Yurt, you and Johnson spot. Montoya, pull over the mats.”
“Coach, we always have four people spotting. And a fifth spotter who doesn’t take their eyes off the climber the whole time. When did you change the rules?” Katani spoke up for Maeve. She wondered if she should speak to her grandmother about Coach McCarthy. He wasn’t being very careful, she thought.
Coach didn’t answer the question, but he sent Betsy, Billy, and Nick over to join the spotters.
Maeve flashed Katani a grateful look from the fifth rung up. She looked graceful at first, her long red hair in a ponytail, legs and arms reaching, pulling. But her fists were white, grasping the rope, hanging on for dear life.
She was maybe ten, twelve rungs up the wall when her foot slipped. Her hair came loose, and she couldn’t see. In seconds she was hanging from her hands and scrambling to get her footing. Her feet were flailing in the air, trying to find a place to land. Then she smashed her knee into the wall. Her scream, right out of the old movies, echoed off the walls and wooden floor, and in one instant stopped all activity in the gym.
All the BSG gasped and stood up. Katani grabbed Charlotte’s arm. “She’s really freaked.”
“Someone do something.” Isabel bit her lip.
Coach McCarthy headed for the ropes. But Dillon and the student teacher who had just entered the gym, Ms. Meadows, were there first. They climbed like spiders, hand over hand, legs following, until they reached Maeve.
Dillon stabilized the bottom rung so Maeve could get her foot back in. At the same time Ms. Meadows spoke softly to Maeve, encouraging her to breathe deeply and reach for the rope with her right hand.
All eyes were on Maeve as she struggled to regain her control of the ropes. Finally, with a little help from Ms. Meadows, Maeve regained her grip and gingerly made her way down. When she hit the ground she looked as if she would faint.
The gym was silent until Coach McCarthy directed everyone back to their activities.
“Good show, Dillon.” Avery patted Dillon on the back. “You’re a real hero, that was such a good move; you were really fast…” Avery talked too much when she was scared, and Maeve had scared them all.
Maeve’s face was still pale, and she wouldn’t loosen her grip on the ropes, even though she was now on the ground. She was also clearly embarrassed. Pink spots were beginning to appear on her face.
Charlotte moved to one side of her, Katani to the other. “We’re going to the locker room, Mr. McCarthy.” Charlotte dared him to say no. She was so furious at the thought of a teacher making a student do something they weren’t ready for, that Charlotte spoke with a courage that she hadn’t realized she possessed. But this was Maeve…her friend. Somehow it felt easier sticking up for a friend than for yourself. But Maeve wouldn’t look at any of the BSG and ran right for the locker room.
Avery, Charlotte, Isabel, and Katani stared at Mr. McCarthy until his face was almost as white as Maeve’s. As he shooed them out with both hands, Isabel noticed that his hands were shaking.
In the locker room, all the BSG crowded around Maeve as she iced her knee.
“You showed him, Maeve,” Avery enthused. “Maybe McCarthy won’t pick on you so much any more.”
“Yeah, I think he felt bad.” Isabel looked wrung out, as if she’d just run a marathon.
“I bet he was thinking he was going to get fired,” Katani piped in, her voice thick with anger.
“Dillon’s the Spider Man of the seventh grade.” Charlotte laughed. “It was so, so…romantic.” She hoped Maeve would appreciate that.
Maeve suddenly exploded. “I totally nearly fell. My knee really hurts and I feel like a total idiot,” she shouted and leaned forward, burying her face in her hands.
The rest of the BSG stared at each other. They knew Maeve’s near fall had been frightening for her, but they didn’t know how to react.
Avery leaned over and gave Maeve a little pat on the shoulder. For Avery, that was tantamount to giving someone a bear hug. Maeve looked up at her with a half smile.
A very quiet huddle of Beacon Street Girls changed out of their gym uniforms. No one was coming in to check on them and all of the other girls had gone, so there was no one left to gossip about Maeve’s mini-breakdown.
Maeve looked sheepishly at her friends, wiping her face with her towel. “Sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to shout at you. But I really felt like I was going to fall and when I couldn’t find the rungs, I was so scared. I’m just not good at those ropes.”
“It’s okay, Maeve,” Charlotte whispered. “Nobody’s good at everything. Have you seen Avery dance?” Maeve started to giggle. “I say we all walk to Montoya’s…grab some hot chocolate. My treat,” offered Charlotte.
The last bell rang. Relieved, they all gathered up their backpacks, heading for their lockers and over to Beacon Street and their favorite bakery.
On the way, the girls grumbled about how unfair Coach McCarthy was. Katani really thought she should tell her grandmother. But Maeve completely forbade her.
“That’s all I need. He’ll think I’m a tattletale and he’ll be mad for the rest of my junior high career.”
None of the other BSG could convince Maeve that Katani was right.
“Chelsea, is that you? What are you doing in here? Why weren’t you in class?” Valerie Meadows was frowning as she sat down beside Chelsea on a bench that was almost hidden in the back corner of the locker room.
Chelsea Briggs had been hiding in the back of the room for the whole period. It was no big deal. She had done it before. Mr. McCarthy hardly ever took roll, and of course, he never looked into the girls’ locker room. But today…Chelsea was unlucky. How was she supposed to know the new student teacher for gym would come in and snoop around?
“How do you know my name?” Chelsea asked, avoiding the question.
“I plan to teach gym and coach girls’ basketball next year at Abigail Adams—I hope. So I tried to learn all the students’ names.”
“You aren’t tall enough to play basketball.” Chelsea had only glanced at Ms. Meadows, but she wasn’t that tall. Basketball players needed to be tall.
“That’s what the coach said when I came into ninth grade and went out for the team. I proved him wrong. Sometimes doing something well depends on attitude rather than size.” Size. Ms. Meadows had probably been wondering how she could introduce that word into the conversation, and Chelsea had just given her the perfect opportunity.
“So why are you here…have you been crying?” she inquired sympathetically.
�
�NO,” Chelsea answered a little too loudly. “I just hate gym. My doctor says I am supposed to lose thirty pounds–he said something about Type 2 diabetes. Whatever.”
Chelsea couldn’t believe that she blurted that out to a total stranger. The gym teacher could see that she needed to lose thirty pounds. Everyone could see Chelsea was “weight challenged.” Why did she have to broadcast it? At least no kids were around to hear how much weight she was supposed to lose, a relieved Chelsea thought. Then she looked up and added for good measure, “And Mr. McCarthy hates me.”
“I don’t think that is true, Chelsea. I think he only expects you to do your best, to at least try to participate,” the perky student teacher admonished. “Are there any games that you like in gym? How about volleyball?”
Chelsea raised one eyebrow. “I think I’ll pass on the volleyball. I’m not wild about the uniform, if you know what I mean.”
The student teacher bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I don’t know, Chelsea. You might like it. Lots of kids who hate other sports have fun with volleyball.”
Chelsea just shrugged her shoulders, and then…trouble. Ms. Meadows asked for her note from home.
Chelsea had begged and pleaded with her mother to please ask her pediatrician to give her a note so she wouldn’t have to take gym, but all her mother had said was, “You need the exercise.”
“Mom,” Chelsea had shouted. “Mr. McCarthy yells at me if I walk instead of jog. I hate to jog. And everyone looks at me funny. Why is everyone so obsessed about exercise anyway? I’d rather watch TV.”
Now Ms. Meadows was probably thinking the same thing as her mother. Gym teachers were so full of themselves, thought Chelsea somewhat angrily.
“I’m sorry, Chelsea, but I’m going to have to ask you to go talk to Mrs. Fields before you go home,” said Ms. Meadows.
“Go to the principal’s office? Just because I sat out gym class?”
Chelsea had never ever been sent to the principal’s office before. This was not good. In fact, things were getting grim. Mrs. Fields would call her mother (and she’d go home and get another lecture). Then her mother would make some low-cal boring dinner and tell Chelsea to take a bike ride. Yeah, that’d work, sighed Chelsea. Every time she did any walking or riding on the stationary bike (as if she was going to ride around the neighborhood all by herself), the activity only made her hungry, and eating seemed like the perfect reward for carrying out her mother’s wishes.
Reluctantly, Chelsea took the pink slip Ms. Meadows handed her and bit her lip as she headed down the hall.
At least maybe everyone would have gone home and wouldn’t see her reporting to Mrs. Fields’ office.
Whew! Luck was now on her side. The school secretary had gone home. Now, just maybe Mrs. Fields wouldn’t be there either….
Ruby Fields, cup of coffee in hand, walked up behind Chelsea.
“Chelsea, are you looking for me?”
How could Mrs. Fields remember every kid’s name in the entire school? Of course, Chelsea figured once anyone saw her, how could they forget “the big girl”? The boys used to tease her in elementary school a lot, but she had mastered the art of ignoring the junior high male. The occasional complete jerk still got to her every once in a while. But the girls…they were harder to ignore. The girls weren’t outright mean, but Chelsea knew they always talked about her behind her back. She had seen the looks, the whispering, and the pointing. And it had hurt…sometimes really badly.
Junior high was better than elementary school, even though it was lonely. Kids pretty much left her alone. The maturity thing, Chelsea thought without enthusiasm.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come into my office, and close the door behind you. I’m sure everyone but the custodian has gone home, but we’ll have some privacy. What’s the problem?”
Chelsea handed Mrs. Fields the pink slip, figuring she might as well get right to the point.
“I skipped gym. The new student teacher caught me. I tried to tell her that I had permission to sit out today, but—”
“And do you have a note to miss gym? From your mother? May I see it, please?”
Chelsea should have known Mrs. Fields was too smart for that lame excuse to work. “Well, I couldn’t find it. I guess—”
“Don’t you have an older brother, Chelsea? Seems like I remember him from a couple of years ago.”
“Yes. Ben. Big Ben.”
“He plays football at the high school, doesn’t he? Linebacker?”
“He’s a tackle. No one can get past him,” Chelsea said proudly. Because he’s so huge, Chelsea added to herself. It was all right to be huge if you wanted to fall on people and stop them from getting to your quarterback. She wondered if Mrs. Fields was going to ask her if she had plans to play football someday. “I’ve never been good at sports.”
“Why not?” Mrs Fields smiled, swung her chair around, opened a small fridge, and pulled out a bottle of water. She handed it to Chelsea without asking if she wanted it.
Chelsea’s throat felt as dry as the Sahara Desert. She opened the bottle and took a big swallow before she answered. “Thank you. I guess I was really thirsty. It’s not that I’m not good. I’m too slow.” Chelsea didn’t want to mention the weight word. Let Mrs. Fields figure that one out for herself.
“It’s hard always coming in last, or dropping the ball, or—”
“Yeah. It is,” Chelsea admitted.
“Do they laugh, or are you afraid they will?”
“Some of them laugh. They try to hide it sometimes, but they laugh.”
“What are you good at?”
Chelsea looked up at the principal. Mrs. Fields seemed to want to know. What the heck, thought Chelsea.
“Taking pictures. I’m a pretty good photographer. Sometimes I take pictures at parties in my neighborhood. You know, little kids’ parties, and pets. People’s pets. I get paid. Twenty dollars. That’s not much, but I like doing it,” she said emphatically.
Mrs. Fields rocked her office chair back and forth for a minute. Probably thinking up what punishment Chelsea should have. Double gym periods for a month, probably.
“Would you bring some photos in to show me? Your favorites, or a photo album if you have one. You should make a book of your best photos to show people when you’re trying to get jobs.”
Chelsea took a slow sip of water and looked at Mrs. Fields. The principal seemed sincere…interested in seeing some photos. But teachers and principals were supposed to be sincere. They kind of got paid for that. But Mrs. Fields was smiling at her. So maybe she really meant what she said.
“Okay. I can do that.”
Mrs. Fields stood up, suggesting that the meeting was over. No detention, no running laps (Coach McCarthy’s favorite punishment), no calling her mom.
Chelsea hurried to escape before Mrs. Fields could figure out some heinous thing for her to do to make up for skipping class. “Thanks. I’ll stop by on a free period or after lunch someday.”
Just before she walked out the door Mrs. Fields called to her. Shoot. Chelsea clenched her fists. I’m busted.
“Chelsea, I expect to see you in gym class from now on. And for your information, Chelsea, we don’t tolerate name-calling or bullying in this school. If you are ever uncomfortable here, I want to hear about it.”
Chelsea nodded. She would never be able to skip gym again. Everyone would be on the lookout now for Chelsea Briggs for sure. She’d have to go to gym for the rest of her junior high existence. And the name-calling. She’d have to think about that.
By the time Chelsea got outside, she had missed the bus. She fished her cell phone out of her backpack and called her mother to tell her that she was walking home. She didn’t live that far, and walking would give her time to think. Her mom felt safe letting Chelsea walk down Harvard and onto Beacon. The street was busy, the neighborhood friendly and safe, and all the shop owners, especially Yuri, who owned the fruit store, kept an eye out for the Abigail Adams students.
Tomorrow I’m going to take Mrs. Fields some of my pictures. I think she meant it when she asked to see some.
BTW—there is no way I want to go on this camping trip. Does “dread” ring a bell? Maybe I can get out of it somehow. The rules say we’ll have teams. Like anyone would want me on their team.
I don’t even really have a friend. If it’s like those survivor programs, I’ll get picked to go home first. But what if I don’t? What if I stick it out, swim every day, climb palm trees, and eat only coconuts and fish, and lose about a hundred pounds? I’ll get home and no one will know me. I can change schools and start over as the skinny girl with the tan. And besides, I’ll be famous, have a million dollars, and no one would ever give me weird looks again. Only one problem–I hate coconuts and I can’t climb trees—guess the “stuck on an island” thing is out.
I kind of like Charlotte Ramsey. We could be friends maybe, if I ever talked to her while I’m at The Sentinel office. But she has so many friends, why would she need me for a friend?
She was brand new at school this year and shazam, just like that, she ended up with four friends. They call themselves the Beacon Street Girls. I guess it’s a club they have, although they don’t call it a club.
I’m going to start my own magazine called “Leave Me ALONE.” Regular features to include:
-No fat talk—ever
-Boys are not the most important people in our lives
-Eat—you’ll live longer
-Cool clothes for every size and shape
-Name-callers need to get a life
-Exercise—forgetaboutit—try fun instead
-TV is interesting
Signed: