Digging Deep Read online

  “I, um, my scheduling app says I need to study,” I said.

  Amanda frowned. “Aw, okay. Maybe some other time.”

  Before I could stop her, Avery took the phone from me.

  “You know, Elle, you can switch around blocks in your schedule,” she said. She tapped the screen. “See? You can switch your study time this afternoon with your free time before dinner, like this.”

  I was relieved that I hadn’t programmed volleyball practice into the app yet—but that relief didn’t last long.

  Amanda’s face brightened. “Great! So we’re on for our doggy date?”

  My face felt hot. “Actually, I have something else planned,” I said. “I’m . . . I’m going to volleyball practice.”

  Avery’s eyes widened. Hannah and Natalie stopped talking and stared at me. Caroline and Patrice exchanged surprised looks. And Amanda’s mouth dropped open.

  “I didn’t mean to lie about it,” I told Amanda. “I just . . . wasn’t ready to tell everybody about it yet.”

  “Is that why you quit the team?” Natalie asked. “So you could play volleyball?”

  “No!” I said quickly. “It’s not like that. I had a lot of reasons.”

  “Like playing volleyball,” Natalie said.

  I turned to Avery. “You know that I didn’t plan this, right? Kenya and Maggie asked me yesterday to fill in for a little while, because one of their teammates is hurt. It just sounded like fun.”

  “Sure,” Avery said. But she didn’t sound exactly like she believed me.

  Amanda’s smile returned. “Cool, Elle,” she said. “You should do what makes you happy. And the volleyball team is lucky to have you. Just promise me you’ll find a place in your phone for us to hang out, okay?”

  “I promise!” I said, and she walked away.

  “My mom always says to follow your bliss,” Avery said. “So go for it, Elle.”

  “Thanks,” I said, but I saw Natalie roll her eyes at Hannah, and neither of them spoke to me for the whole rest of lunch.

  I knew that they were probably mad at me for joining volleyball so soon after quitting basketball, which bummed me out. But I still felt excited when the last bell of the day rang and it was time for volleyball practice.

  I headed into the middle school gym. Immediately, Kenya, Maggie, and three other girls—Summer, Taylor, and Jenna—ran up to me and crushed me in a group hug.

  “Elle! You’re saving us!” cried Summer.

  “Thanks, Elle!” said Taylor.

  “Welcome to the team,” Jenna said.

  All five girls were dressed in green T-shirts with “Spring Meadow Volleyball Club” on the back in yellow letters, and green shorts with yellow stripes. They all wore their long hair in ponytails: Kenya’s dark brown hair, Maggie’s pale blond hair, Summer’s golden blond hair, Taylor’s light brown hair, and Jenna’s black hair. Kenya, Maggie, Summer, and Taylor were all about five-foot-six, while Jenna was shorter and more muscular.

  “Thanks,” I said, happy to get a warm welcome. I held up my gym bag. “I wasn’t sure what to wear. Is my gym uniform okay?”

  Kenya nodded. “Coach Patel has a uniform for you.” She looked down at my sneakers. “You might want to pick up some shoes especially made for volleyball before Friday, if you have time.”

  “These are Apex Nitros,” Summer said, holding out her leg to show me her shoe. “They’ve got nonskid bottoms, and gel support for jumping and landing.”

  “Oh, okay.” I said. I hadn’t thought about needing special shoes for volleyball. I’d always thought of it being less complicated than basketball.

  I was about to find out how wrong I was. After we changed, we all went back out into the gym, where Coach Patel was waiting for us. Before today, I knew him as Mr. Patel, my gym teacher.

  “First of all, welcome to the team, Elle,” he said. “We need six members to keep this little club team alive, and Lauren’s injury would have put us out of competition. So we’re very glad you’re joining us.”

  The other girls whooped and cheered, and they all high-fived me.

  “Now, Elle, I’ve seen you play in gym, and I know you can play this game,” Coach Patel said. “But we do things a little more structured in competitive play, so today we’re going to bring you up to speed with some basic drills. Everybody pair up, please! Kenya, you partner with Elle.”

  I followed the lead of the other girls and we lined up facing our partners, one at the net and the other at the ten-foot line.

  “So, you all should know that a team can only hit the ball three times before it goes to the other side of the net, and no player can hit the ball two consecutive times,” Coach Patel began. “Ideally, what we’re looking for are three different types of hits: the pass, the set, and the spike.”

  This was a lot more than Coach Patel had ever explained in class. I knew the basic rules, but as far as I knew, you just had to hit the ball to the other side as hard as you could without the ball going out of bounds.

  “Maggie and Summer, demonstrate passing,” Coach instructed.

  Both girls got into position, their legs shoulder-width apart and knees bent. They extended both arms.

  “To pass, you make a fist with your nondominant hand and cover it with your dominant hand,” Coach said, demonstrating. Maggie and Summer did the same, and I bent my knees, getting into position like the others.

  “Keep your forearms together,” Coach went on. “They’ll create a platform for the ball. When the ball comes to you, don’t swing your arms. Don’t hit it with your hands or wrist. Let the ball hit the platform and control it, using your legs to power it to where you want to go.”

  He tossed a volleyball at Maggie. She let it meet her “platform” and sent it sailing toward Summer, who passed it back to her the same way.

  “All right now, everybody,” Coach said. He tossed a ball to Jenna, and then to Kenya, who passed the ball to me. I moved toward the ball and instinctively swung my arms up. I frowned as the ball went rocketing out of control.

  “Don’t swing, Elle,” Coach said, and I nodded. Kenya passed the ball to me again, and this time I did a little better. We kept going back and forth until I got the hang of it.

  “You got it, Elle!” Kenya said with a grin, and I felt a wave of satisfaction wash over me. This was fun!

  Next, we learned about setting. That’s when you guide the ball as high as you can and get it into position for the hitters, who are usually by the front of the net. To start, you bend your knees and extend your arms above your head with your palms facing up and your fingers spread out wide, like you’re holding a two-liter bottle of soda. Then you push up on the ball to send it high.

  “Your legs are also what will give the ball power when you are setting,” Coach Patel said. “Not just your wrists.”

  I nodded. “It’s kind of like shooting a basketball.”

  Maybe it was all the basketball shooting I’d done, but I got the hang of setting pretty quickly. Kenya and I set the ball back and forth, moving farther and farther apart on Coach’s word.

  The last move was the trickiest—and also the most fun. That’s the third hit, when you ideally spike the ball over the net to crash down quickly and land somewhere that the players have to scramble to reach. It’s called a kill if no one can pass it up.

  Kenya and Taylor demonstrated spiking for me, starting at the ten-foot line.

  “I like to take three steps,” Kenya said. “The first one gets me in the right direction. The second one gives me power.” As she took this step, she moved her right foot in front of her left, leaned forward, and extended her arms behind her.

  “And the third step finishes it, so you can jump as high as you can,” Kenya said. Her left leg joined her right leg, and her arms swung forward and up to hit the ball.

  Taylor lobbed the ball to a height above the net, and Kenya demonstrated the move again, this time spiking the ball over the net.

  I tried to copy her movements. “I need to remember t
o lean forward,” I said. “In gym I always just hit it over the net without thinking about my form.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get it,” Summer told me.

  We all practiced spiking then. Finally, Coach Patel had us practice serving—something I already knew I was pretty good at.

  “Serve it, serve it, do not swerve it!” Taylor and Jenna chanted before we began.

  “That’s right,” Coach said. “Serving is all about control.”

  As we practiced, everybody was doing their best—but also smiling and laughing. Coach Patel’s comments always came across as positive and helpful.

  “Try that footwork again, Elle. But keep up that great energy!”

  “Good power on that serve, Jenna. Just try for some better control next time!”

  Practice seemed to fly by, and before I knew it, it was time go to, and I was climbing into Mom’s car.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “Sweaty,” I replied. “And I think I used muscles that I didn’t know I had.”

  Mom laughed.

  Then I thought about my new teammates, and how friendly and supportive they’d been. And how much fun we’d had, and how nice Mr. Patel was as a coach.

  “But mostly, I feel happy,” I told her.

  3

  Have You Ever Been Bullied?

  Raise your hand if you’ve ever been bullied,” Ms. Ebear said.

  Five of us had come to Ms. Ebear’s room for the first meeting of the Buddy Club. When she asked the question, one kid’s hand shot up—Dylan, who’s in seventh grade with me and who was my partner when we had to do this dumb, mandatory school dance in September.

  The rest of us just kind of looked at one another and the floor. Dylan was the only one I knew well. Cole was class president of the eighth grade, one of those kids who’s in every group and club. The other two, Gabrielle and Katie, were in sixth grade, and I didn’t know them very well.

  I didn’t raise my hand right away because I wasn’t sure if I should. I mean, I’d had kids be mean to me before, but I wasn’t exactly sure if that meant I’d been bullied.

  Cole raised his hand. “Ms. Ebear, what exactly do you mean by bullying? I mean, is it like when somebody beats you up?”

  “That is one way you can be bullied,” she said. Then she moved to a poster on the wall, a new one I hadn’t seen in her classroom before. Across the top were the words: WHAT IS BULLYING? And underneath was a long list of types of bullying.

  “Bullying can be physical, when somebody hits, pushes, or trips you,” Ms. Ebear said. “Or when they take your things from you, or break your things.”

  “Like when somebody pushes your books out of your arms when you’re walking down the hall,” said Gabrielle.

  “That’s right,” Ms. Ebear said. “Then there is emotional bullying, when somebody calls you names, laughs at you, or leaves you out of an activity on purpose to try to make you feel bad about who you are. Spreading lies or rumors is also a form of emotional bullying.”

  I thought of the player on the Bobcats who’d called me Big Bird on the court. And all the times I’d been teased because of my height. I raised my hand. “I guess I’ve been bullied, then.”

  Gabrielle looked surprised. “Really? But you’re so popular, Elle. You’re a basketball star, and tall, and blond . . .”

  “You just said it. Tall,” I said. “People have made fun of my height since I was little.”

  “Me too,” Dylan said. “But I have the opposite problem that you do.”

  Everyone knew what he meant. Dylan was the shortest kid in the room—not to mention the whole seventh grade.

  Katie raised her hand. “What kind of bullying is cyberbullying?”

  “It’s a form of emotional bullying too,” Ms. Ebear replied. “Cyberbullying is when somebody sends mean texts, or posts negative or mean things online about someone. Even liking a mean comment about someone is a form of bullying.”

  “That is just awful,” said Gabrielle. “Cyberbullying is the worst, because people are way meaner online than they are to one another in person.”

  “I believe that’s true,” Ms. Ebear agreed. “Spring Meadow is a pretty friendly school, and we’ve got a very clear policy against bullying—any kind of bullying. But in the last few years, I’ve noticed that bullying has increased here in the middle school. So this club is a way to try to stop that. I’m really glad that the five of you are here today. We’re off to a great start!”

  “So are we going to be like the anti-bullying squad, or something?” Cole asked. “Like, reporting people for bullying?”

  “Not exactly,” Ms. Ebear replied. “I think I’d like us to decide as a group how we want to move forward. The first step would be for us all to learn about the best ways to stop bullying when we see it. In that way, I guess you could say that we would be an anti-bullying squad.”

  “Bully Busters,” Dylan joked.

  “That’s pretty cute, but there’s a reason why I named this group the Buddy Club,” Ms. Ebear explained. “I believe that friendship is the cure to the bullying crisis. When people have friends who support them, they are less likely to become victims of bullying. And some bullies are kids who are lonely, with problems of their own, and they need a support system too.”

  “There are only five of us,” Gabrielle said. “Are we supposed to make friends with everybody in the school?”

  “It just takes one person to make a difference,” Ms. Ebear said. “If each one of us reaches out to somebody who needs a friend, that’s a good start.”

  “Maybe it’ll be contagious,” Dylan added. “You know, like, I’ll make one friend, and that person will make a friend, and then that person will make a friend, and it’ll keep going.”

  Ms. Ebear laughed. “That sounds like a good kind of contagious,” she said. “Maybe this week we could each think about one person we know who could use a buddy, and reach out to them. Have a conversation. Invite them to eat lunch with you. You don’t have to become best friends, but a small gesture can go a long way.”

  I started thinking about who I knew who might need a buddy, and I thought about Patrice. I guess she had the basketball team as her support system, but she didn’t really hang out with anybody except at practice and the games. Maybe it was because she was the coach’s daughter. Or because she was naturally quiet and shy; I wasn’t sure. But I had always meant to get to know her better. If I needed to make a buddy for the Buddy Club, then Patrice seemed like a good person to start with.

  “So, since this is our first meeting, let’s get to know one another a little better,” Ms. Ebear said. “Why did you come today?”

  “As you know, I’m the eighth-grade class president,” Cole replied. “I’m here to help improve the quality of life for the eighth graders of Spring Meadow School.”

  He sounds like a politician, I thought. But I knew he was nice to other kids in school—and a decent player on the boys’ basketball team.

  “Katie and I are Girl Scouts,” Gabrielle said. “A few months ago we decided to try to get an anti-bullying badge, and when we saw the club, we thought it was . . .”

  “. . . destiny!” Katie finished for her.

  “I was a Girl Scout,” Ms. Ebear said. “I’d love to see what the badge requirements are. Maybe we can use them to help guide our activities.”

  “Sure,” Gabriella replied.

  Ms. Ebear turned to me. “What about you, Elle?”

  “Well, I guess the main reason is because of my sister, Beth,” I said. “She’s got special needs. She’s in a wheelchair and can’t see or hear, and she’s got cerebral palsy and autism. I’ve met a lot of special needs kids through Beth, and I know a lot of them get bullied. And that’s something I just don’t understand.”

  “That’s awful!” Katie cried. “What kind of person makes fun of someone with special needs?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It makes no sense to me. I mean, call me beanpole or ask me what the weather’s like
up here, if you want. I can take it. But why would you make fun of someone who has so many other challenges in life?”

  “Because you’re a horrible person,” Gabrielle answered.

  “Or maybe you’re hurting really bad inside,” Dylan said.

  Ms. Ebear hopped off her desk. “Wow, I can tell this is going to be a great group!” she said. “Let’s meet here again next week, all right?”

  We left Ms. Ebear’s room and walked outside. Spring Meadow School is made up of three buildings: one for the elementary school, one for the middle school, and one for the high school. The main pickup and drop-off point is by the high-school front entrance. You can get there by walking all the way around the outside of the high-school building, but I usually took a shortcut through the building, coming in the back entrance.

  As soon as I stepped inside the high school, I regretted it. I knew I’d have to walk past the main gym—where my old basketball team was practicing. I felt a pang of something—not guilt, exactly, but a feeling that I should be with them.

  I decided to jog past, knowing they’d be too busy practicing to notice me. But I didn’t count on seeing Avery in the hallway, filling up her water bottle in the water fountain.

  “Elle?” she said. “What are you—you didn’t change your mind, did you?”

  “No, I, um, I went to Ms. Ebear’s meeting,” I told her.

  Avery nodded. “Oh yeah,” she said. “I guess you have time for that now. How was it? And why didn’t you tell me you were going?”

  “I decided at the last minute,” I said. “And it was good. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” Avery said. “I’d better get back, anyway, before Coach Ramirez freaks.”

  “Yeah,” I said, and then Avery ran inside the gym and I continued jogging to the front entrance.

  Was that awkward? It felt awkward, I worried, as I waited outside for Mom.

  The one thing I didn’t want to happen when I quit basketball was for it to hurt my friendship with Avery. She’d been my best friend since first grade. We had survived elementary school together, even when Pamela Johnson had come to school in second grade and wanted Avery to be her best friend. We’d survived Avery discovering she loved to wear dresses and me discovering that I hated wearing them. We’d even survived the Great Fight of Fifth Grade, when Avery thought I had laughed when Michael Fitzgerald had put gum in her hair, but I hadn’t—I had actually sneezed.