Chapter Sixteen
http://www.dearaubrey.com
Dear Aubrey,
I keep fighting with my mom. Is that normal for a teenage girl? I don’t like it and I know she doesn’t either but we don’t seem to know how to talk to each other without one of us getting mad. Any advice?
Rebellious Daughter
Dear Rebellious Daughter,
Now this is a problem I know other teens can relate to because I’m one of them. My advice on your situation? You’re fighting but you’re not winning. Life isn’t a spectator sport. Get in there and talk to your mom about how you feel. Also, tell her you love her even when you don’t see eye to eye. She deserves to hear that. Daughters do, too.
Stay real,
Aubrey
HYPOTHESIS: Moms and daughters battle.
PURPOSE OF EXPERIMENT: See if talking it out and saying “I love you” helps.
CONCLUSION: Gonna have to take my own advice on this one.
The next morning, I posted my response on Dear Aubrey, and then put my laptop away. I went down the hall to my mom’s room and poked my head through the doorway to her bedroom. “Good morning. May I come in?”
She nodded while she rubbing her eyes. “I was just getting up.”
I sat down on the edge of her bed. “I want to talk to you and I want you to hear me.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Okay . . .”
I sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry for what I said the other day. I said all of those things and—”
“Don’t be sorry.” She held up a hand. “I’m glad you talked to me. The things you said made me step back and take a look. You were right that I’ve been pushing you too hard. Everything has been harder for me since the divorce, including financially.”
“I know money’s been tight. I appreciate that you’ve been trying to find a way to pay for Stanford for me. But I have to tell you something because I don’t know if I’m going to get a scholarship after all.” My eyes teared up because I knew I’d let her down. But I had to open up and tell her anyway. “I-I got a progress report in P.E. that I didn’t tell you about. Mr. Santiago’s giving me a C,” I said, waiting for the impending lecture.
“I know.”
“You . . . what?”
“I know, Poppy.” She let out a sigh and patted the spot next to her. So I scooted closer. “The school sent me a copy of your progress report in the mail. I’ve known about the C for weeks but I felt that you should tell me yourself. I’ve been trying to get you to open up to me. Why do you think I keep asking how school is?”
My jaw dropped to the floor. “That’s why you kept asking about school.”
She nodded. “But I’m not worried. You’ll bring the grade up.”
I shook my head. “You don’t understand. Mr. Santiago is relentless. He keeps saying I need to participate and I am, but it’s never good enough for him.”
“You’ll figure it out.” She caught me up into a hug. A hard and tight hug. My head rested so close to her heart that I could hear the beating of it below my ear. “I have faith in you.”
“I can’t believe you’re not mad.”
“I’m mad at myself. I want you to know that I was pushing you because I wanted more for you two than what I got. I’m not just talking about material things either. You and Stephen deserve to have a dad around.”
A tightness formed in my chest. “It’s not your fault that Dad left. It was his choice. You can’t make someone stay who wants to go.”
She laughed but it was shaky and thin. “How’d you get to be so smart anyway?”
I wiggled my brows. “I learned from the best.”
She let out a long sigh. “You kids were shorted a dad in the divorce, which is my fault. I robbed you of a complete family.
“Mom . . .” I gazed up at her, the tightness in my chest threatening to explode. “You don’t seem to realize that we have a complete family. You, Stephen, and me. We just want you to smile a little more often. What do you think?”
A tear slid down her cheek. “I know I haven’t been the greatest with that. I’m going to work on it. I just want you to know that I want the best for you. That’s all. I just want the very best for my kids and I get frustrated and sad because I can’t always give you that.”
“Nobody expects you to give us the very best, Mom.”
She hugged me even harder. “I expect that. You’d have to be a parent to understand I guess. Anyway, we’d better get ready. I have work and you have school. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I invited Suzanne and Daniel over for dinner tonight. I like Suzanne and, honestly, I know how she feels right now.”
“She’ll get through it. Just like you did.”
She let me go and stood up. “I love you, Poppy.”
I stood up and hugged her so hard I was sure I heard a rib crack. “I love you, Mom.”
I walked out of the room and went to get ready for school. I’d done it. I’d finally talked to my mom. Rebellious Daughter would be so proud of me. I hoped she’d built up the courage to talk to her mom, too. My mom really had gotten through her hard times. And if she could do it, then so could I. So today, Mr. Santiago would see a whole new level of participation from me.
****
I grimaced as I stared at the shining hardwood floors of the gym and gave myself a pep talk. This was the playoffs. . . Pinkleton versus Santiago. Or was it the Super Bowl? Whatever. I may not be into sports terms but I sported a cool professional basketball jersey and shorts set I’d seen on sale and bought with my allowance, and I was ready to play. If you want something then you had to dress the part, so that was what I was doing.
“Pinkleton.” The word hung in the air, ominous and resounding. I turned and looked at Mr. Santiago, who flexed his thickly corded arms and tilted his head. “Haven’t we had a lot of discussions about why you need to participate?”
I glanced at the kids in my class who were already playing basketball. “Mr. Santiago, it isn’t that I don’t want to play. It’s that they play around me. Nobody ever passes me the ball. If I try to run next to them they ignore me. I can’t play if they shut me out and down. I’ve been practicing with a private tutor, too. Really hard. I have, but it doesn’t matter if nobody gives me a shot.”
Mr. Santiago lifted a hand to his head and scratched it. “Well, if you do not get in there and play, right now this period, you’re getting that C.”
My heart gave a violent spasm. I couldn’t afford a C if I wanted a scholarship. Not at all. Desperate and terrified I swallowed. “But I can’t force them to give me a shot.”
“Then go take one.”
What was he talking about? I stared at the bodies shifting and running up the court. So many things could go wrong if I joined in. I could get knocked down again. I could break my glasses. I gulped. “Mr. Santiago, isn’t there anything else I can do?”
“You can take a C, or you can participate, Pinkleton. Those are your options.”
“I’ll participate.” I had no choice. I stood there watching the players on the court. My heart thudded and the Dear Aubrey post I’d written that morning came back to haunt me. Life isn’t a spectator sport. Isn’t that what I’d written?
Yes, I’d written that, not Aubrey. Because Aubrey didn’t exist. I was great at handing out advice and today I was taking it. Oh, yes. I took a deep breath. Mr. Santiago stood there, his eyes watching the action on the court. Participate, or else. Okay then. Play ball! Or, yeah, whatever the basketball term was. . . .
I ran into the fray. I held my breath as I nearly collided with a bunch of running and leaping bodies and then I started running, too. My shorts flopped around my legs and my feet slapped against the boards. And someone threw me the ball! I was doing it, participating.
Just then Trish ran up next to me. Her hand came out of nowhere and slapped the ball out of my hands. It jerked away from under my palm and then spun away from me. Trish grabbed it and started racing toward the other side of the court. No way. I ran beside her,
desperate to get it back. I reached for it and she twisted hard to the left.
My feet went out from under me. I landed flat on my back. Mr. Santiago blew his whistle and everyone stopped. Mr. Santiago’s head hung high above my face. “Pinkleton, you can’t play if you’re lying prone on the floor.”
Well, duh. I sat up gingerly. “I know, sir.”
He tapped a foot against the boards. I managed to get up, and none too gracefully.
Trish gave me a catty smile, dribbling the ball easily from hand to hand.
I ran toward her and she passed the ball to Karen. I headed for Karen. Now the three of us were slightly ahead of the rest of the kids playing. Karen shot the ball way over my head and Trish got to it and ran for the hoop again. Ugh.
I dashed alongside her, doing my best to get the ball but just when it looked like I might claim it, she passed it to Karen again. I headed for Karen and she tossed it back to Trish.
I came to a stop, one hand held against the stitch in my side. No way was I going to play monkey in the middle. It was high school, not third grade.
Trish made it to the end of the court. Everyone else was running while I stood there watching. Trish handed the ball off and it went into the hoop.
Mr. Santiago blew the whistle. “Pinkleton!”
My heart sank. “I was playing.”
“No, you’re standing. I know you can do better.”
Trish got the ball again and I headed toward her. I stayed up close as she started to dribble, deliberately keeping the ball close to her body. “I love that outfit, Poppy-corn. This is P.E. You’re supposed to dress down, not up like it’s a costume party.”
I watched the ball go from one of her hands to the other. “I’m a basketball player.”
“Then why can’t you take this ball?”
I grabbed for it. Trish turned, one of her shoulders hit me square in the chest. But I was undeterred. My legs pedaled along the floor as I tried to run then I shot forward and lurched toward the ball just as she yanked it away and passed it. I went down on the floor.
“Pinkleton!”
I was flat on my back. My knees ached. My glasses were at a bad angle and I was out of breath. The last thing I needed was Mr. Santiago yelling at me. “Yes, Mr. Santiago?”
“What are you doing?”
“I fell.”
“Get up.”
“Okay.” I was close to tears but my mom must’ve felt this way after the divorce. So I got up and got back in the game. Trish came closer. I saw she was too busy gloating to pay attention so I stuck a hand out and grabbed the ball away from her. Trish let out a yelp and chased after me as I made my way back toward my basket.
Karen came up alongside me. I managed to pass the ball to Denise just before Karen snatched it from me. My feet quit moving as I watched the ball go into her hands. She was quickly surrounded. I thought ‘that can’t be good’ right around the time the ball arced up over the heads of all the people around her.
“Pinkleton!”
I turned my head to see Mr. Santiago glaring at me. I opened my mouth to ask him if he’d been watching when I’d gotten the ball from Trish—successful participation, thank you very much—but before I could get the words out the ball hit me right in the head. It smacked me so hard my glasses flew off. I let out a little cry and went after them.
Mom would kill me if I broke my glasses! No way could she afford to buy me new ones.
The boy who’d tossed the ball made his way through the teams and grabbed my arm just as my hand closed on my glasses. He hauled me upright. “You okay?”
I shook my head. “No. Not at all.”
“Maybe you should have bought the jersey of a guy who’s actually a good player. That dude whose jersey you’re wearing got benched after his first season, you know.”
No. I hadn’t known. Oops.
Mr. Santiago gave me a look that said quite clearly he was not giving me an A with this kind of participation. There were exactly two minutes left in class, and I had to do something fast. So I took off running, thinking about Daniel and all the things he had taught me. He had managed to ace his U.S. History test so how could I do any less than ace P.E. after all the tutoring he’d given me?
I saw the ball and darted in to grab it. I took it right from under someone’s palm and then I ran down the court just like Daniel had taught me, sprinting toward the opposite side, the ball bouncing up and down with every step. What if I dropped it? What if I fell down? What if someone ran right into me and I fell again?
Trust your instincts. That had been Daniel’s advice and I took it. I headed for the basket, hoping I’d make it there and hoping I wouldn’t end up flat on my face or—worse—that I’d take the shot and miss. The ball didn’t feel like my enemy anymore. It felt like it wanted me to get it in that basket, like it wanted to win as much as I did.
Panting and sweaty, with a stitch growing in my side and a shaking set of legs I finally made it to the end of the court. I jumped as high as I could.
My feet left the boards and the ball flew from my hands. “Go,” I told that ball silently. “Please just go in that basket, okay?”
The ball hit the backboard and dropped down, then the ball circled the rim lazily. My heart flopped and everyone jostled around me, every head tilted up to watch. I knew if the ball didn’t go in then someone would grab it and take it away. But after what felt like an eternity that ball made one last slow circle around the metal rim and then dropped neatly into the net and then came tumbling out the bottom.
The buzzer sounded. My arms went up in the air. Triumph hit. I’d done it!
I yelled and jumped up and down. Hands met my back. I stared at the ball lying on the floor near my feet. Everyone started heading for the locker rooms and my hip started aching from where I’d hit the floor earlier. I bent down and picked up the ball, sweat dripping down my temples. I walked over to Mr. Santiago and handed the ball to him. “Was that good enough?”
His lips twisted. “I just want to know why it took you so long to do it.”
I shrugged. “I guess I was scared, Mr. Santiago. Haven’t you ever been scared of anything?”
Probably not. I mean, he was built like a pro wrestler after all. If he’d ever been scared of anything he’d probably just knocked it down. He took the ball from my hands. “Hit the showers, Pinkleton. That’s what athletes do after a game.”
“Did you call me an athlete?” A feeling of pride washed over me. “Does that mean my grade is up? It’s super important that I get all As . . .” I wasn’t Aubrey but that didn’t mean I couldn’t speak up. “My family’s not rich and I want to go to a good college more than anything in the world. I can’t let a grade in P.E. stop me. I just can’t.”
Mr. Santiago said, “I told you if you started participating then I’d bring your grade up, and that’s what you’ve done. The whole point of P.E. isn’t just to make sure kids exercise, you know. It’s also to make sure kids participate, that they find their place, and know they belong. You keep this up, and I’ll give you an A.”
I would have hugged him if he hadn’t turned around and walked off. Just then Karen appeared. “Nice job, Poppy. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks,” I said, then headed for the showers. I was kind of impressed myself. I couldn’t wait to tell Daniel all that tutoring had paid off.
I’d participated in P.E.
I’d participated in my own life.
And it felt amazing.
Chapter Seventeen
http://www.dearaubrey.com
Dear Aubrey,
There’s someone I like and I let her down. I didn’t mean to but I haven’t had the courage to apologize. We’ve become good friends. I want to be more than that. She’s like no other girl I’ve met. We’ve both made mistakes. She used to be hot and cold with me, but now I’ve been that way with her. How do I tell her how I feel?
By the way, were you there in the gym that day when Trish went psycho on that pretty girl from the newspaper?
I think maybe we locked eyes in the crowd.
Yours,
Fallen For Her
Dear Fallen For Her,
Yes, I saw you in the gym. Yes, you should tell her how you feel. If it helps, she’s fallen for you, too.
Stay real,
Aubrey
HYPOTHESIS: He knows who she is and loves every part of her.
PURPOSE OF EXPERIMENT: She trusts him completely.
CONCLUSION: To be determined but I’m optimistic.
I closed the laptop, wearing a goofy smile. Hot and cold? Daniel was so adorably obvious. He knew I was Aubrey. Wow. If he could figure out my secret identity, then he really did know the real me. Swoon. He and his mom would be over for dinner at my house soon and I couldn’t wait to see him.
I approached my little brother, who stood at the kitchen counter, eyeing a sack of flour. “What are you doing, Cutie?”
For some reason, the nickname “Creep” had lost its appeal. Reminded me too much of Poppy-corn. Cutie suited him much better.
Stephen wore a look of concentration. “I want to bake something.”
I gave the bag of flour a doubtful look then turned to my mom.
She lifted a shoulder. “What do you want to make exactly?”
He gave his gap-toothed smile. “Cookies!”
I shook my head. “All that sugar? Mom will never say yes.”
“Yes.” Mom smiled and then reached for the salad bowl and some romaine. “He and I watched a baking show for kids earlier. Now he’s unstoppable. Have at it.”
Wow. Was she serious? Just a few days ago she would have had a fit at the very thought of making dinner by herself after she’d worked a full day. Times had changed.
“You want some help?” I asked him.
The Crush Dilemma (Dear Aubrey Book 1) Page 19