Definitely Daphne

by Tami Charles

  “My thoughts are… that I don’t need a therapist. No offense. Isn’t this where people go when they’re going crazy?”

  “No, not exactly,” Dr. Varma says. “Sometimes when there are big changes in a family, like your recent move to the United States, it’s good to meet with a therapist to help you understand and make a plan for your new life.”

  I’m not sure what she wants me to do with that, so I just sit there silently.

  “Tell me about life at McManus!” Dr. Varma says that like it’s the greatest thing ever.

  I chew on my bottom lip.

  “You know, we could sit here for the hour and do nothing, though I’m sure your mum won’t be happy about that. Consider this a place where you can empty out all of your feelings and nothing will ever leave this room. Now, go on, tell me about your new school. It can’t be that bad,” Dr. Varma says.

  You don’t know the half of it, lady, I think, and then I let it all fly. “I’ve been a student at McManus Middle School for one week and so far I’ve” —I tick them off on my fingers as I speak— “forgotten my locker combination twice. Thrown out my nasty lunch three times. Gotten lost four times. And last, but not least, tossed my favorite pair of Converses in the trash.”

  Dr. Varma is writing nonstop, but pauses to gnaw on her pen eraser. “Why’d you throw away your shoes?” she asks.

  I don’t feel like reliving the memory and the stares. “They’re just not my style anymore,” I say, looking down at my black leather Mary Janes. The real reason was that Rachael and everyone else was looking at my sneakers like they were from outer space.

  “Interesting.” Dr. Varma starts scribbling again.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?” Dr. Varma’s eyes are intensely fixed on her notepad.

  “Write all of this stuff down… like I’m some kind of experiment?”

  She stops writing, looks up, and smiles. “Tell me. In a perfect world, what would your life be like?”

  “I don’t know. I’d be back home in Germany, or even better, back in the UK. That’s where my best friend, Mae, lives. And Mom would be retired already, so no more moving.” Thinking about that makes my shoulders instantly relax.

  “My job is to help you find a support system, to get you through this move and the time your mum will be gone,” Dr. Varma says.

  We sit there for a few moments silently. I gaze out the big windows next to the couch. Outside there are kids riding bikes, cars driving by, the whole Earth moving along. Meanwhile, my old life and my best friend are on another continent.

  “Mum tells me you’re a techie and you make great videos. I would love to see your work one day,” Dr. Varma says.

  “I can show you now, if you’d like.”

  Dr. Varma claps her hands. “Absolutely!”

  I grab my MacBook out of my knapsack, open it up, click on the iMovie app, and show her a few clips on full-screen mode. The first one is a really old voiceover of me acting out an epic Lego battle. The other is a voiceover of me re-enacting the human-eating plant scene from my favorite movie, Little Shop of Horrors. Fake screams and all. That one sends Dr. Varma into a fit of laughter.

  Most of my videos are short, not even lasting a full minute. I show Dr. Varma four of them, and she applauds after each one. Then she starts to pick up her notepad, but stops herself. “You have such a talent, Annabelle!”

  “Oh, it’s no big deal. Just stuff I like to do in my spare time when I’m in my girl cave.”

  “It’s interesting how you used the word experiment earlier. And while I certainly don’t think you are an experiment, watching your videos made me think of one. How about we forget the notepads and do something totally different?”

  Now this lady’s got my attention. “OK,” I say, “what do you have in mind?”

  “Clearly, your parents love you, and I can tell that you are a close-knit family. All those years braving new countries together, constantly moving, all you’ve ever had were each other. And just when you thought things were settling down, your mum and dad send you off into the wilderness! No wonder you told them you wanted to drop out of school!”

  Yes! Finally, someone gets it!

  “To be fair, they just want you to break out of your shyness and make new friends. And really, that’s why I’m here, Annabelle. To help you come up with some strategies. But I think you just proved that it would be better if you’re in control of this whole — for lack of a better word — experiment.”

  Control. Yes, I like that.

  “So, how about you start a vlog?”

  My eyes widen. OK. That’s tech talk. Now she’s speaking my language. “I’m listening,” I say, loosening my crossed legs.

  “You can use those movie-making skills and create a YouTube channel that features all of your vlogs.”

  I spring up off the couch, beyond excited. “THAT would be amazing!”

  Dr. Varma jumps up with me and blurts: “You can try out some of the activities that they have at school and then vlog about them. Oh, you’re going to be a natural in front of the camera, Annabelle!”

  Whoa. Stop it right there.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?” I’m no longer jumping.

  Dr. Varma still is, though. Her hair has released from its bun, falling in layers around her shoulders. She’s having a party all by herself. Even the horses are looking at her like she’s lost it.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Dr. Varma snaps out of it.

  I plop onto the leather couch, the cushions sighing right along with me. “It’s just that I’m used to being behind the camera. Not in front of it. My voice is on some of the videos, but I never, ever show my face.”

  “Why do you think that is?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because, I would feel,” —I search for the right word— “exposed.”

  “Ah, I see. But you know, it would be such a waste not to use this special skill to help you feel more comfortable in social situations. There has to be a way to compromise.”

  I scan my brain for how I could make that happen. Maybe it would work, but if only I could…

  Ding! Ding! Ding! Dr. Varma’s timer goes off.

  “Saved by the bell!” I spring up off the couch. “Guess that means I’ll be leaving.”

  “Not so fast, young lady. My next appointment isn’t for another thirty minutes, and I saw that idea bubbling! I’m going to bring in Mum to discuss this further. We’re on to something big here!”

  Dr. Varma peeks her head into the waiting room. “May we see you for a moment, Sergeant Louis?”

  Mom walks in and takes a seat next to me.

  Dr. Varma tells her about how wonderful our intro session was, and then she looks at me. “Annabelle will tell you the rest.”

  I explain everything to Mom, and she looks really into the whole vlog idea. “But if I’m going to make a vlog,” I say, “I have some conditions. First, the videos will be marked private. No one sees them except you guys, Dad, and Mae.”

  “Sounds easy,” Dr. Varma cuts me off. “I’m no good with social media, but I’m sure you know what to do.”

  “Second, I won’t use my real name for the vlog.”

  “Then what name will you use?” Mom asks.

  “My middle name, Daphne. No one calls me that anyway.”

  Dr. Varma and Mom look at each other and nod.

  “And third, even though the videos will be private, I refuse to be in front of the camera without some sort of disguise.”

  Mom laughs at that one. “Well, why would you want to go and do that?”

  “I would die if I’m caught, Mom!”

  “How dramatic!” Mom says. “OK, costumes, makeup, maybe even a wig. Oh, this will be fun! I know the perfect place I can take you.”

  “Sounds like a fabulous plan, An
nabelle,” Dr. Varma says. “Now let’s talk about what school activities you’ll vlog about.”

  “Why can’t I just vlog about stuff I see on television and in the news?” I ask.

  “Let’s take what you love — making movies — and pair that with what we want to help you with, which is making friends at school.”

  “I saw on the school website that next week is Sports Day,” Mom says. Then she starts to tell Dr. Varma all about it.

  The imaginary camera zooms in on me, and I explode into a pile of ashes. “I don’t do sports,” I blurt out. Especially when I had already cooked up the perfect excuse to be absent for Sports Day: food poisoning.

  “Oh, but this is a fantastic way to start your vlog!” Dr. Varma says.

  Mom gets all excited and says, “Ooh, and I have a great name for it — Daphne Does It All! Your first episode will be all about sports and how much I know you’ll love them!”

  I picture myself in a uniform, sweating and trying to throw a ball around.

  No thank you.

  I force a smile so hard, my cheeks hurt. I don’t say anything to Mom because if I recall correctly, Dr. Varma said I am in control. So I come up with the perfect name for my channel: Daphne DOESN’T. As in does nothing. Because I think everything about school and extracurricular activities is a waste of my time. None of this will bring Mae back, and there’s not a sport in the world that’ll keep me from missing Mom when she leaves. And why should I get attached to anything here in Linden? I bet Mom will decide not to retire and we’ll end up moving in less than a year.

  Right there, I make a decision. Instead of using the vlog to try new activities and make new friends at school, I’ll prove how useless they all are in the first place. That’ll show Mom and Dad that I was right all along: homeschooling is a better choice for me.

  While Mom and Dr. Varma sit there making plans, I’m drawing up my own for my first episode: “Daphne Definitely Doesn’t Do Sports”!

  8

  Hello, Daphne!

  “Where are we going?” I ask as Mom hooks a left into Aviation Plaza. It’s the largest outdoor shopping center I’ve ever seen.

  “I think you’re going to love this place. It’ll bring back some memories.” Mom pulls into a parking space.

  We walk to the stores. She stops in front of a store called Second Chance. In the display window, there’s a mannequin wearing a vintage dress that looks straight from the Elizabethan era. Another mannequin looks like a detective with a long trench coat. And there’s a rack full of jewelry from different parts of the world.

  I am IN LOVE!

  “Oh my goodness, Mom, this is like…” My skin gets all tingly just thinking about it.

  “Trödelei!” Mom and I sing the word together.

  A random couple walk past us and twist their faces.

  Trödelei is this little thrift store in Berlin. Right outside of it is a stand that sells hot, fresh crepes filled with Nutella and topped with ice cream. Mom would take me there whenever she came back from a TDY. Typically, those assignments were short. Two weeks in Austria or a week in Denmark while Dad and I stayed on base in Germany.

  Post-TDY was our special time. Just the two of us roaming the streets of downtown Berlin, rummaging through the most unique items at Trödelei, and going to the park afterward.

  “Ready to get Daphne-fied?” Mom asks.

  “Oh yeah!”

  The movie in my head begins. Cue music! Lights! Camera! Action!

  We swing open the door… annnnnd there isn’t a soul here. Any second now, I’m expecting tumbleweeds to roll by.

  Houselights down. Cameras off. Better yet, just unplug the whole set.

  Second Chance is nearly double the size of Trödelei. How can people just walk by all of this fabulous stuff? For cheap too! In Trödelei, you’d be lucky to have an aisle to yourself. Even still, that would only last a minute.

  “Come in! Come in!” A woman with waist-long blond hair scurries over to us. She sounds so excited. I’m pretty sure we’re her first customers of the day… and judging by how dark it’s getting outside, we’ll probably be her last.

  “Welcome to my store. I’m the owner, Georgia.”

  “Thank you,” Mom says. “I’m Wendy, and this is my daughter, Annabelle.”

  “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for today?” Georgia asks.

  “Well, Annabelle is working on…” Mom starts talking, and I kind of zone out looking at all the cool things in the store. A Harry Potter-style cloak. A collection of neon and glitter wigs. Feather boas. Old Hollywood wall art. I can see myself dressed as a Victorian duchess or even a British spy! All of this stuff is perfect for my vlog and for decorating my girl cave. Shut up and take ALL of my money!

  Mom’s rambling breaks me out of my zone. “… so she’ll need to dress up in different outfits for her online show.”

  “What did you say?”

  Mom is forever telling my business. First Dr. Varma. Now the thrift shop lady.

  “I was telling Georgia all about your show.”

  “Online?” Sweet Georgia smiles so wide, her top dentures come undone. “You’re gonna be on one of those new types of television? What do they call it, Halo?”

  Hulu.

  “Nothing on television, ma’am. This is a project… for school.” I press my finger into Mom’s back.

  Mom gives me a look that says, OK, I’ll shut up.

  “Well, help yourself, ladies,” Georgia says. “We have plenty of goodies!”

  Mom and I spend the next hour in Second Chance trying on everything and filling up two carts to bring Daphne and my girl cave to life.

  When we get home, we order dinner — Two Tony’s makes the best Margherita pizza — and get right to work decorating the room where all of the Daphne magic will happen. Two hours later, the girl cave is complete, and it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. A real place to call my own.

  “Don’t stay up too late, Daphne,” Dad says before heading upstairs to his room.

  “I won’t, Dad.”

  “Hope you like your new room, sweetie. And remember to try your best tomorrow. Don’t be shy. Just have a good time.” Mom kisses my forehead and follows Dad up the basement stairs.

  I sit in my girl cave, thinking about how awesome it is. There’s film strip art on the walls; a little kitchenette full of soda pop, chips, and Twizzlers; a brand-new camera with a tripod; bright lights; my desk with two screens, my private YouTube channel all set up and ready to go. But even with all these cool things surrounding me, I feel incomplete.

  My phone buzzes, and then I know exactly who’s missing.

  Mae: Good luck tomorrow… “Daphne.”

  9

  Sports Day

  John walks into homeroom, all smiles. Right away, I notice he’s wearing cleats… with no cleats (cleatless cleats?), basketball shorts, and a football jersey. Annnnd for good measure, a helmet’s sticking out of his backpack. Not that I should talk, with my no-name sneakers, baggy sweats, and hot cocoa–stained T-shirt.

  “I got a joke for you,” John says, sitting down next to me.

  Here we go.

  “Why did the football coach go to the bank?”

  I’m sure John can see how thrilled I am, so he finishes the joke for me. “He wanted his quarter back!” John laughs so hard his entire body shakes.

  “Good one,” I say softly.

  “Let me see your schedule,” he says.

  I pull it out of my notebook and hand him the paper of doom: lacrosse, football, and swim.

  “Nice! You picked the same sports I did.”

  “Not really. They stuck me wherever because I started school late.”

  Rachael arrives to homeroom fashionably late. Everything she’s wearing is matchy-matchy princess perfect. And so begin the comments
from her fans.…

  Fan #1: “Are those the newest Adidas?”

  Rachael: “Oh, these? They haven’t hit the stores yet.”

  Fan #2: “Love the makeup today, girl!”

  Rachael: “Oh, this? Just some waterproof mascara and cherry bomb ChapStick.”

  Every. Single. Boy. In class drools on the floor. Except John. The kid marches to the beat of his own drum.

  The bell rings, and I make my way to the field out back.

  “Wait up, Annabelle.” John runs to catch up to me.

  A whistle blows hard and loud from the field. “Hurry!” the teacher yells. “We have a lot to learn.”

  Twenty-one of us surround the teacher and his whiteboard full of drawings that look like hieroglyphics to me. Xs, Os, and lines are scribbled everywhere.

  “Welcome to lacrosse! I’m Coach Carmine.” He points to the teachers standing beside him. “This is your referee, Mr. Thomas, your umpire, Mrs. Locke, and your field judge, Mr. Williams. Now, who here has played lacrosse before?”

  Every. Single. Hand. Goes up. Lovely.

  And cue single focus zoom!

  Of course everyone turns around and looks at me.

  “So you’re new to lacrosse, eh?” Coach Carmine smirks.

  “She’s new to this whole country!” someone calls out.

  “I was born here but moved overseas when I was really young.” I want to say all of that loud and proud enough to prove the point that I am American, but everything comes out in a whisper.

  “Where did you move from?” Coach asks.

  “Germany.” My entire face is fixed on the grass. And the UK. And Spain. And Japan. And apparently everywhere else but here!

  “No lacrosse in Germany, I imagine,” Coach says.

  I shake my head. Not that I would know.

  “We’ll go easy on you, then,” he says, trying to make me feel better.

  Coach gives us a rundown of everything we need to know about the sport. How to scoop the ball. How to catch the ball in the pocket. All the infringements — and the list is long. The equipment. The history. None of it sticks in my brain beyond the cool fact that lacrosse was invented by Native Americans, though Coach Carmine can’t remember which specific tribe.