Definitely Daphne

by Tami Charles

  Mrs. Locke passes out all the equipment to the players and then turns her attention to me. She outfits me with full gear — helmet, shoulder guards, arm pads, gloves, and a netted stick — and positions me in front of the “goal crease” while the other teachers separate everyone into teams of ten.

  I start thinking up an escape plan. Maybe I could say I have to go to the bathroom and stay there until the game is over? But how would I get all of this equipment off by myself? And what would everyone think of me being in the bathroom for the entire game? Ugh!

  “Relax. This will be fun.” Mrs. Locke sees my panic through the helmet.

  “All you have to do is try to stop the opposing team from scoring. That’s it!”

  Sure, lady. Sounds easy.

  Mrs. Locke runs off and takes her spot as umpire.

  Mr. Thomas screams, “Are you ready? PLAY!” He blows a whistle, and all chaos breaks loose.

  The kids prance about with their nets in the air, running after this teeny-tiny ball as it dances around the field. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were chasing butterflies. All that’s missing are sunflowers, a rainbow in the sky, and Taylor Swift playing on repeat. It is the funniest thing I’ve seen in weeks. Laughter boils inside me, and all of a sudden I’m hunched over, completely unaware of the ball that’s just landed smack into the goal.

  The opposing team roars!

  “Wake up, Annabelle!” one of the kids on my team calls out.

  That wipes the smile right off my face.

  John runs over to me. “Don’t worry about him. Just try your best to block the ball from going in. This will be over before you know it.”

  Easy for him to say.

  Ladies and gentlemen, I present the pleasant sounds of the next three quarters:

  Smack!

  Ouch!

  Whoops!

  Oof!

  A performance of grand measure, featuring the one, the only… Annabelle Louis!

  Coach Carmine blows the whistle. Game over. The score is… 8 to 0.

  “Nice job, Annabelle!”

  “Yeah, thanks for nothing!”

  I can’t get out of this stupid lacrosse costume fast enough. I hate lacrosse. I hate this school. I hate moving. I hate TDY. I zip across the field, tears flying in the wind, but you-know-who is already following me inside.

  “Wait up!” John has a friend with him. “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “To the bathroom… for the rest of the day,” I mutter.

  We stand in the empty cafeteria, silent for a few seconds, until girl-with-the-friendly-smile speaks. “Don’t be silly! You can’t hang out in there. Teachers will mark you as ‘cut’ and then you’ll have bigger problems than lacrosse.”

  I stare at my shoes, wondering if it’d be worth it.

  “I’m Clairna, by the way.”

  I notice her eyes are friendly too. A deep, warm brown, just like Mom’s.

  “Nice to meet you, but I’m not doing any of the other sports. This is just—”

  “Not your thing?” Clairna tilts her head. “I hate Sports Day too. Most of our kind do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean — our kind?” I ask.

  “Oh, come on,” John begins. “All schools have their cliques. There’s the popular clique.”

  “And the jock clique!” Clairna chimes in.

  “Oh yeah, and the artsy clique,” I add, remembering the kids at the lunch table who were building chicken nugget sculptures the other day.

  We all laugh.

  “And then there’s… us.” Clairna gets all serious. “The not-so-athletic, totally unpopular, unfashionable clique.”

  “Speak for yourself, Clairna. I always rock the latest gear.” John points to his cleatless cleats, and we start laughing all over again.

  “Don’t beat yourself up. For what it’s worth, our whole team sucked,” Clairna says.

  “Football is next. Come on, you’re not gonna miss that, are you?” John does a macho man pose.

  “I promise it will be fun… and funny.” Clairna chuckles.

  I chew on my inner cheek. Maybe she’s right. At least I do know what football is — even though they say it funny here in the States. Dad and I pronounce it fútbol. Every four years, Dad watches the World Cup and cheers for Brazil. Five wins is nothing to sneeze at.

  “OK, I’ll do it.”

  “Cool!” Clairna does a little happy dance. By the time we reach the front of McManus, we’ve already missed the bus to Tiger Stadium. Mr. Fingerlin is directing students to other activities.

  “Very late, I see.” Mr. Fingerlin gives us the tsk-tsk voice.

  “We had to stop at the bathroom,” John says.

  “You guys can catch this one.” Mr. Fingerlin taps the door of bus number 634.

  We climb on, and a few streetlights and turns later, the bus pulls up and we run onto the sidelines. A game is already in progress. According to the scoreboard, the score is 7–6, and they are in the final stretch.

  What a relief! Now we won’t have to play. The teacher will just mark our names on the attendance list. And now I can get this God-awful part of this day over with.

  “Lopez, Joseph, new kid — you’re late!” the coach yells as we run to the bench.

  “Coach Tillman, this is Annabelle Louis.” John uses my full name like it matters.

  “Quick! Joseph, Lopez, play defense.” Coach Tillman sounds like Darth Vader from Star Wars.

  Clairna and John run to the field, slapping their helmets on.

  “Louis, I’m gonna have you substitute kick for a field goal,” he explains. “Twenty yards. Get ’em.”

  He hands me a helmet, taps me on the shoulder, and my whole body goes flying toward the field. My legs are running and so is my brain. Field goal? Kick the ball? Everyone is staring at me, and I’m having flashbacks to the first day all over again.

  There’s a triangular device holding the ball. It doesn’t look anything like what I’ve seen in the World Cup. Four years is a long time. Maybe they changed the style of the ball?

  I throw John a look, and he mutters through his helmet, “Just kick and we run it to the end, I guess?”

  Coach Tillman blows his whistle.

  I take a deep breath, my eyes on the brown, pointy-looking ball. I swing my right foot back, and BAM! The ball goes soaring, kids are screaming, “Whoa!” And I! Feel! Amazing!

  As soon as the ball hits the ground, I gain speed right behind it and start kicking and running at the same time. And I’m moving it fast too! The ball isn’t moving like it does in the World Cup. It’s wobbling, really, like it’s heavier than the average fútbol.

  Kids are gaining on me, and I can hear them screaming:

  “What is she doing?”

  “This is hilarious!”

  “This ain’t soccer!”

  Finally the ball passes the white line. That means I scored for my team, right? Take that, haters! I jump and spin around, my fists pumping to the sky. Several students are laughing and rolling on the ground. And suddenly my stomach begins eating itself. Clairna and John run over to me.

  “I think you were playing a different sport, Annabelle,” Clairna says.

  “But he said drive it to the line, or something like that… right?”

  And cue sweat beads!

  The kids are still rolling, and Coach Tillman is running our way. “That was something else, kid,” he says. Then he yells at everyone on the ground. “Get up, show’s over. Get to lunch!”

  Apparently, I was playing fútbol… as in soccer. Not as in American football.

  I

  AM

  AN

  IDIOT!

  There’s no way I’m getting on that bus where every single teammate is waiting to finish making fun of me. Coach Tillman agrees to let
Clairna, John, and me wait for a later bus.

  * * *

  By the time we get back to McManus, there are fifteen minutes left to eat lunch. While Clairna and John head to the cafeteria, I tell them that I brought lunch from home and I have to grab it from my locker.

  Which is a lie.

  I find an empty janitor’s closet. It’s not my girl cave, and even though I’m surrounded by buckets of dirty mop water and a couple of rat traps, it’ll do. I pull out a granola bar from my knapsack and text Mae.

  Me: That’s it. I quit. And I mean it this time.

  Mae: Hey, amiga! What happened?

  Me: Sports happened.

  Mae: :(

  Me: I’m not going to the last class. Faking sick and going to the nurse. Excuse? Food poisoning. Easy to believe when today’s lunch is dog food dressed up as something called a sloppy joe.

  Mae: Good excuse! Bad lunch! What’s your last sport?

  Me: Swim. And don’t you even think about it!

  Mae: But you swim so fast! Remember all the times you beat me on holiday in the Dominican Republic?

  Just then, there’s a loud bang on the door.

  Me: Gotta go. Janitor alert.

  Mae: <3

  “Annabelle, we know you’re in there.” It’s Clairna.

  “How did you find me?” I whisper through the crack.

  “You’re not the first seventh grader to hide in here on a bad day.”

  I undo the lock and open the door. John and Clairna walk in, followed by another kid.

  And he doesn’t look too happy. “It stinks in here,” he says. “Why would you hide in the janitor’s closet when there’s the paper supply closet just two doors down?”

  John takes a deep breath. “I love the smell of paper.”

  Clairna claps. “Focus, people. Annabelle, Navdeep. Navdeep, Annabelle.”

  “Just call me Nav.”

  “Um, hi, Nav,” I say softly.

  Clairna gives Nav a rundown of how awfully embarrassing lacrosse and football were.

  Thanks for telling all of my business, Clairna!

  But Nav doesn’t laugh one bit. In fact, he looks like he… understands.

  “My family moved here from India when I was in fifth grade. They just plopped me in school with a bunch of kids who made fun of my English and the way I dressed and the lunch I’d bring from home. And sports? Forget it! I knew nothing about American football or lacrosse.”

  Every single word makes me feel better. Sort of. But it won’t make this day end any sooner.

  “I can’t go to swim class,” I announce.

  “This is happening.” Clairna marches me out of the janitor’s closet.

  The four of us walk past the main office and straight out the front doors. The Linden YMCA bus is waiting to take a group of us to the last activity of the day.

  Mr. Fingerlin is waiting outside. “Swim classes will be held separately for boys and girls!” he announces, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved (because the thought of being in my bathing suit in front of boys is enough to make me vomit) or nervous (because John has been with me all day, helping me get through this nightmare). But Clairna will be there, so that helps.

  Out of the blue, I feel someone staring at me. It’s Rachael. She looks at me for a microsecond and then turns forward.

  The bus doors open. Rachael goes on first and her adoring fans follow.

  Clairna and I grab a seat in the back of the bus. For the next ten minutes, we’re stuck listening to Rachael and friends sing about making money moves and wearing expensive shoes that are red on the bottom.

  “It’s hip-hop,” Clairna says. “You like?”

  I smile and nod.

  The bus pulls up to the Linden YMCA, and we’re led straight to the locker room to change into our swimsuits. That’s when I realize I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life: letting Mom pack my bag for me.

  Strike 1: She forgot my swim cap. My hair will hate me for this.

  Strike 2: The swimsuit she’s picked has ducks on it… DUCKS!!!! And I haven’t worn it in, I don’t know, YEARS!!!!

  Meanwhile, Rachael looks like a supermodel in her red, white, and blue striped tankini.

  A loud whistle sounds from outside. “File in line, ladies, and let’s get to work!”

  As we get in line, one of Rachael’s friends — the one with a fake smile and an extra side of drool, special just for Rachael — says, “Love the ducks, Annabelle. Slay, girl, slay!”

  And cue laughter!

  Clairna pinches me as a reminder: Block it out, girl.

  The pool at the YMCA is massive, Olympic size.

  Coach Hewitt reviews three techniques with us: breaststroke, forward stroke, and backstroke. Surprisingly, I know how to do them all. No fumbles. No weird laughter. Finally I am not the center of attention.

  “And now, for a little bit of friendly competition, let’s have a race for the butterfly stroke!” Coach Hewitt announces.

  The girls cheer. I deflate. Fast.

  She splits us up, and surprise, surprise! Rachael is my partner.

  Clairna is two girls ahead of me. Coach Hewitt blows her whistle. Clairna jumps in the water and starts swimming for her life. But by the time Clairna reaches one end, her competitor is already circling back.

  The line moves up swiftly, and it’s finally my turn. Coach begins the countdown. Rachael and I bend our knees in three, two, one… blast off!

  My legs don’t stop for one second. Memories of old times swim in my mind: Mae and me racing each other in the hotel pool in the Dominican Republic. Our two families brought together by the Air Force. Bonded forever. All of it makes me miss her. I push faster, harder. My hand touches the pool wall. I do a flip under the water, press my feet against the wall and swim to the other side, my hair flailing all around me. When I touch the starting wall and lift my head above the water, Coach is blowing the whistle and Clairna is screaming, “Oh my God, you won!”

  I did? I want to shout. I want to jump. I want to pump my fist to the sky. This day didn’t turn out so bad after all!

  Rachael shakes my hand and says, “Congratulations.”

  We get out of the pool, and before I can reach my towel, it happens. I knew it was coming. My hair becomes a leafy bush. My swimsuit is so small that the ducks on my butt have disappeared and become the biggest wedgie known to man!

  “Might be time for a new swimsuit,” Coach Hewitt whispers softly, so no one hears.

  But a couple of girls are already laughing at me, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the massive wedgie or the fact that my hair is slowly turning into an oak tree.

  10

  Vlog

  As soon as I get home, I take a shower, change, and head straight to my girl cave in the basement. I’m itching to do my first vlog, and I know exactly what I’m going to say.

  First, I have to transform myself into Daphne.

  I keep repeating the word “flashy” over and over in my head. I find a silver sequin shirt with bell-shaped sleeves and a neon green feather boa. I add the hot pink framed glasses, and the finishing touch is the wig — straight, long, and orange. My whole outfit is so ugly, it’s perfect!

  Mom even got me some makeup so I can go the extra mile and put my face on. So I apply a light pink lip gloss and rose-tinted blush. If only Rachael could see me now!

  When I look in the mirror, I don’t even recognize myself.

  Hello, Daphne! Let’s do this!

  I set up the tripod in front of my chair, flash on the lights, and click the record button on the video camera. At first I sit there and don’t say anything. My stomach feels funny. I can’t do this. Why am I chickening out of this thing?

  I whip out my cell phone a;nd let my fingers fly.

  Me: That’s it, I quit! I don’t do sports and appa
rently I can’t even make this vlog.

  For the next ten minutes, I pace the room contemplating the meaning of life and waiting for Mae to respond.

  Mae: Sorry, was watching the tele. No excuses, Annabelle. Just be yourself. Make the video. It’s not like anyone is watching it… well, except ME! I can’t wait. Now, go on!

  Ugh! She’s right. This is just an experiment. What’s the worst that could happen?

  I start over and hit the record button. My shoulders loosen up, I think back on every terrible part of Sports Day and why everything about sports is plain awful. Like magic, the words start coming out. And I’m not sure why, but I’m speaking in a British accent.

  “Hey, what’s up, guys? It’s Daphne, and welcome to my social experiment. Today’s vlog is entitled ‘Daphne Definitely Doesn’t Do Sports’!

  “I’ll be talking to you about the top five things I hate about sports:

  “Number one: Too many rules. Throw the ball, catch it, kick it. Touch the pool wall with one hand. Don’t hold the ball longer than four seconds in the goal crease. How about… no?

  “Number two: Spaghetti arms. If you are like me — shapeless, made of parallel lines and noodle arms — sports will never, ever be a good thing!

  “Number three: Getting it wrong in front of everyone and having them laugh at you.

  “Number four: It’s dirty outside. Why would anyone want to play where there’s mud and bugs?

  “Number five: Last but not least… everything. No, seriously. The sweat. The growling. The falling. The water up your nose. The wedgies. It’s all awful!

  “So there you have it! The top five things I hate about sports and why I will NEVER do them again. My mum wanted me to give sports a real effort because, according to her, ‘you can make friends.’ And I did make a couple today. Sort of. But still, this sports thing is not for me. Thank you for watching this video! Leave a comment if you wish! Or not.”

  When I’m done recording, I import the video to iMovie and start editing. I add in a few animation effects. Mud flying. Spaghetti splatting against the screen and sliding down to a slow death.

  By the time I’m done with everything, I’m itching to show everyone. But Dad is asleep, Mom’s at Fort Dix, and it’s three in the morning in the UK. I decide to leave the video public for a bit so Mae can see it. I send her a text.