Swish Page 2

“Stance!”

  We all touched the floor.

  “Stance!”

  We did it again.

  Coach held the ball in two hands. “Okay, now you all are guarding me. When I move the ball, I want you to move your arms like you’re shadowing that ball. So when I move to the right …”

  She moved the ball to the right side of her body. We all moved our arms like we were guarding her.

  “Good!” she yelled. She moved the ball to the left side of her body, and we moved to guard her. Then she raised the ball above her head, and we all raised our arms.

  “Okay, let’s add some movement,” Coach continued. “Whenever you move to guard me, move a few steps right, left, or forward.”

  She held the ball out to the right again.

  “Defense!”

  “DEFENSE!”

  “Defense!”

  “DEFENSE!”

  My heart was pumping. I was yelling really loudly. I was moving my body. And I was having fun!

  Coach continued the drill until we were all sweating. Then she taught us another drill.

  Me and Bianca stood at the three-point line, each of us holding a ball. Four girls lined up in front of me, one behind the other, and four girls lined up in front of Bianca. When Coach blew her whistle, Bianca and I moved like we were going to shoot. The first girl on each line ran up to us. In my case, it was Amanda, and Dina ran up to Bianca.

  “Block the shot!” Coach yelled, and Amanda and Dina jumped up, trying to block it. Then Coach blew her whistle again, and Amanda and Dina ran to the back of their lines, and the next two girls ran up. I liked how fast-paced it was!

  Coach kept the drill going until the defenders had tried to guard us several times. Then she made Avery and Tiff the shooters so that Bianca and I had a chance to defend.

  When the second drill ended, we were all pumped up with energy. Coach divided us into two teams for a scrimmage, like she usually does at practice. I ended up on a team with Avery, Dina, Patrice, and Amanda.

  “Okay, centers, tip off!” Coach called out.

  Bianca ran to the center of the court for her team, and so did I. But also, so did Amanda! I remembered that when I quit the team, Coach had made Amanda the backup center.

  There was an awkward moment as we both stood there. To end it, I jogged past Amanda and motioned for her to take the position. She smiled at me.

  Then Coach called out, “Elle, why don’t you play center for this scrimmage?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Amanda.

  She tossed the ball back to me. “It’s okay,” she said, but she wasn’t smiling anymore.

  I felt awful, but I shook off the feeling. Even though it was just a practice scrimmage, I felt like Coach was testing me. I had to show her that she hadn’t made a mistake, and that I should be the team’s starting center again.

  Coach tossed the ball between me and Bianca, and I shot up like a rocket and batted it to Dina. Then I charged down the court. Dina passed it to Avery, who shot a layup that bounced off the backboard. I grabbed it out of the air and then sank a clean shot. Swish!

  Avery grinned. “Nice one, Elle!”

  I felt like cheering as I ran back down the court. I was back, and it felt great!

  * * *

  Our team won the scrimmage by three points. Before we got changed, Coach made an announcement.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to cancel practice on Wednesday,” she said. “We’ll have a regular practice on Friday. I will see you then.”

  Practice on Friday! I still had one more volleyball game to play on Friday night, and we usually practiced beforehand. I was going to ask Coach if I could miss Friday’s practice, but I had a feeling that wasn’t a good idea.

  On the way to the locker room, she tapped me on the shoulder. “Good effort out there today, Elle!”

  “Thanks,” I said, and I waited for her to tell me that I was going to be starting center again, but she didn’t say anything more.

  I knew I definitely couldn’t miss Friday’s practice now. I’d have to work out something with the volleyball team. But I was kind of glad we had no practice on Wednesday. That meant that I could go to another meeting of the Buddy Club, which I thought I might have to quit because of basketball practice. I really didn’t want to leave the Buddy Club, but at least now I could explain things to everybody and see if there were still things I could do to help, even if I had to miss meetings for a couple more months.

  After we changed, we marched back across the field to be picked up by our rides. Dina started clapping.

  “Defense!”

  “DEFENSE!” we shouted back.

  Some kids gave us weird looks, but we didn’t care. We were still riding a high from practice, and I kept chanting as I climbed into the car with Mom.

  “It sounds like practice went well,” Mom said.

  “It did,” I said. “DEFENSE!”

  When we got home, I quickly took Zobe for a short walk before I showered and changed. Mom didn’t like me walking him in the dark, and I only had about thirty minutes before the sunset turned into a black sky.

  As I neared the park, I saw that Amanda was doing the same thing with her dog, Freckles. She lives across the street from the park and I bump into her there a lot. And sometimes we make plans to meet at the dog park for “Doggy Dates.”

  I always get a little fluttery feeling in my stomach when I run into Amanda. I didn’t know her too well before this year, because it was her first year playing basketball. She’s really nice and funny, and we both love dogs. And when she smiles at you, it’s like sunshine on a cold day.

  “Amanda!” I called out, and I ran toward her with Zobe.

  “Oh, hey,” she said. She seemed distracted.

  “I’m sorry about, you know, Coach putting me in as center for the scrimmage,” I stammered. I still felt bad about that. “I don’t know what will happen at the game. I mean, I know you put in a lot of hard work at that position and everything.”

  “Whatever. It’s cool,” she replied. “Look, I have to get home. Dinner.”

  “Okay,” I said. I leaned over and patted Freckles on the head. “Bye, Freckles!”

  Freckles, an English springer spaniel with long, droopy ears, gave me a big wet kiss on the cheek with her pink tongue.

  Amanda laughed, and it was a relief to see her smile again. “See you tomorrow, Elle.”

  “See you!” I said, and then I slapped Zobe on the butt. “Come on, boy, let’s run home!”

  When I got home, Zobe and I bounded through the front door.

  “Whoa!” Mom said. “Why don’t you shower and use some of that energy to help me get dinner ready?”

  “Sure,” I said, and I moved to head up to my room, but then I stopped. Mom had the local news on the kitchen TV, and an image of a high school girls’ basketball game flashed on the scene.

  Any time I see women playing basketball, I’m instantly transfixed.

  “One minute, Mom,” I said, and I sat down to watch.

  A guy sports reporter was talking to the camera. “We’re seeing some exciting things happening in the Wilmington girls’ basketball scene,” he was saying. “Bethany Rodgers from Becker Heights is poised to break the state scoring record this season.”

  “Yes, she is quite a talent,” said the female newscaster sitting next to him. “The Bobcats are having a great season this year.”

  The sports guy nodded. “They’re pretty good, for a girls’ team.”

  Mom stopped chopping carrots and looked at me.

  “Did you hear that?” she asked.

  I nodded. “What does that mean, they’re pretty good for a girls’ team?”

  “It means that Rob Robertson of Channel 12 News has rocks in his head,” Mom said, and she sounded angry. “No, I didn’t mean that. But he’s clearly misguided.”

  “Yeah. He makes it seems like girls’ teams normally aren’t that good,” I said.

  “He’s not the only one who does that,” Mom co
ntinued. “It’s like when people say Serena Williams is a great female tennis player. She’s a great tennis player! Think about it, Elle. They never say that Tiger Woods is a great male golf player. They just say he’s a golf player.”

  Mom was kind of blowing my mind. I mean, I guess I had been aware of this stuff, but it had never bothered me before. But Mom was clearly bothered.

  “You seem upset,” I said.

  “Well, I am,” Mom replied. “You and your brother both excel at sports. It’s possible that you might want to pursue sports professionally one day. But the fact is that there are more opportunities for your brother to succeed in sports than for you. And I just don’t think that’s fair.”

  “I guess it’s not,” I said. “But maybe it will change by the time I’m old enough to go pro.”

  “It will only change if people fight for it,” Mom said. “Right after dinner, I’m going to e-mail that TV station and ask for Rob Robertson to retract his comments.”

  “Way to go, Mom!” I cried. I high-fived her, and she laughed.

  “Now please take a shower, Elle,” she said. “I could use some help with the salad.”

  “You got it!” I said, and I ran upstairs.

  In the shower, as the hot water hit me, I started to think about what Mom had said. She was right, about how women sports stars got different respect than male sports stars. From my basketball shoe obsession, I knew that currently thirteen male basketball players had their own shoe lines, and it was almost impossible to find a WNBA basketball player with her own shoe line. That definitely didn’t seem fair.

  It’s not fair, but what can you do about it? a voice in my head asked me. It was nice that Mom was e-mailing the TV station, but would that help?

  Maybe it would, and maybe it wouldn’t. There was plenty of time for things to change. I was twelve years old.

  Right now, I was ravenous from practice. All I wanted to think about was dinner!

  3 Have a Heart!

  This is going to be the last time I can come to a Buddy Club meeting until basketball season is over,” I told the group, as I took my seat for the meeting after school on Wednesday. “I still want to be a part of it, though.”

  “Of course you are welcome to stay in the group, Elle,” said Ms. Ebear. “Not everything we do will happen at a Wednesday meeting, either.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and I leaned back, relieved. I hated the idea of leaving the Buddy Club.

  The club had been Ms. Ebear’s idea. Not only is she my World History teacher, but she’s the best teacher I’ve ever had. When she teaches it’s like she’s telling a story, and she makes every lesson interesting. She’s also really nice and a good listener.

  At the first meeting, there had just been five of us in the group: Cole, the eighth-grade president; Dylan, who’s in my grade; and Gabrielle and Katie from sixth grade. Today, there were three more of us.

  Mrs. Ebear had us go around in a circle and introduce ourselves.

  “I’m Satoko,” said the girl sitting next to Katie. “I’m in sixth grade.”

  “I’m Emily, and I’m in eighth grade with Faith,” said a girl with long blond hair.

  “Hey, you did both of us!” Faith said, and Emily laughed.

  “Sorry,” Emily said.

  “Thanks for coming,” Ms. Ebear said. “Does anyone want to tell Satoko, Emily, and Faith what we’ve been doing?”

  Cole raised his hand. “We’ve been discussing what it means to be bullied. We have been reaching out to kids we know who don’t have many friends. And at the last meeting, I proposed that we come up with a strategy for an anti-bullying campaign.”

  To me, Cole sounded like a politician when he talked. He never stammered or blushed or looked uncomfortable. And he had an answer for everything, which was pretty impressive, I guess.

  Katie held up a poster she had made. On a blue background with fluffy white clouds and a sun, were big bubble letters: BE A BUDDY, NOT A BULLY!

  “I saw this online,” she said shyly.

  “I like that,” I said. “It has the word ‘buddy’ in it, like the Buddy Club.”

  Katie smiled at me.

  Cole started flipping through the screen of a computer tablet. “Posters are part of my threefold action plan,” he said. “The other parts are an article in the school paper, and announcements during homeroom.”

  Ms. Ebear got up and started writing on the board. “Okay, let’s write down everyone’s ideas and then discuss them.”

  Emily raised her hand. “I wanted to talk about the upcoming Valentine’s Day Dance,” she said.

  I groaned. One thing about going to a private school is that they have a lot of traditional events. In the fall, they have this mandatory thing called a cotillion where you have to do a formal dance in front of everybody. They used to force girls to wear fancy dresses, too, but Mom helped get that rule changed after I freaked out because I hate wearing dresses.

  Also, there’s no more rule that random boys and girls are paired up to dance. Now you can dance with a friend, whether it’s a boy or girl. Before the rule changed, I got paired with Dylan. It was okay because he’s nice, but also awkward because he’s about a foot shorter than I am.

  “Why does this school love dances so much?” I wondered out loud, and Dylan laughed.

  “That’s what I want to talk about,” Emily said. “I don’t know if it’s bullying, exactly, but I know kids get left out a lot at dances. Like, maybe they have nobody to hang out with. Or sometimes they get made fun of for what they’re wearing.”

  Ms. Ebear nodded. “School functions can be awkward and problematic,” she said. “But they’re also a good opportunity for students to learn skills that will help them in the real world.”

  “Like dancing?” I asked.

  “Not dancing, but social skills,” Ms. Ebear said. She wrote Valentine’s Day Dance on the board. “I’m intrigued by this, Emily. I think there’s something not quite right about having a dance celebrating a romantic holiday for kids in middle school.”

  “Yeah, why does it have to be romantic?” Gabrielle wondered. “Why can’t it just be about, you know, friends? Like a Friendship Dance?”

  Katie clapped her hands. “Ooh, a Buddy Dance!”

  “I like that idea,” Cole said. “The eighth-grade student council is organizing the dance. Maybe we could ask them if the Buddy Club could sponsor it. We could change it to a Friendship Dance or a Buddy Dance and really get our message across.”

  Faith frowned. “But how would we decorate a Friendship Dance? Could we still use hearts and stuff?”

  “Those hearts always have the dumbest sayings,” Dylan complained.

  Satoko spoke up. “I know! Like ‘Kiss me’ and ‘You’re hot.’ Gross!”

  “Definitely not appropriate,” Ms. Ebear agreed.

  “But hearts are so cute!” Gabrielle said. “We have to have hearts!”

  I had an idea. “Maybe it’s not hearts that are the problem,” I said. “Maybe we could think of better sayings for the hearts. Like the one on Katie’s poster.”

  Katie squealed. “Ooh, there are lots of good anti-bully sayings online! That’s a great idea.”

  “Wait, wait,” Emily said. “Maybe we can do more than just make those hearts for the party.”

  “What do you mean?” Faith asked.

  “You know how people leave affirmation notes on bathroom mirrors and stuff?” she asked.

  “Like, ‘You matter’ and ‘You are beautiful,’ ” Ms. Ebear said.

  “Exactly!” Emily said. “Well, why don’t we make affirmation hearts for everybody in the school? We can put one on every locker the week of the dance.”

  “We can do it at night, so it will be a surprise,” Katie said.

  Cole nodded. “That would be a really effective way of getting our message across. Everyone would be talking about the Buddy Club.” He looked at Emily. “How come you’ve never run for student council? You’d be great!”

  Emily s
miled at him and blushed a little.

  Oh boy, I thought. Are Cole and Emily making a crush connection in Buddy Club? I couldn’t decide if that was awkward or cute.

  Ms. Ebear wrote Locker Affirmations on the board. “I think we’ve come up with some great ideas. What does everybody think?”

  “I think that if we take over the dance, and do the lockers, that will be more effective than my original plan,” Cole said. He looked at Katie. “Although I did like your poster, Katie.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “I think making all those hearts is going to be fun.”

  “We’ve got a lot of hearts to make,” Ms. Ebear said. “We can work on them during our Wednesday meetings, but we might need to come in on a Saturday.”

  “I can come on a Saturday,” I offered.

  “Can we bring friends to help?” Satoko asked.

  “The more the merrier,” Ms. Ebear said. “Let’s go over some goal dates. We’ve only got a few weeks until the dance. And Cole, I assume you’ll talk to the student council?”

  “On it!” Cole said, as he typed into his phone.

  Ms. Ebear grinned at us. “You know what I loved about this meeting? Everybody had something to contribute. It just goes to show that good things happen when people work together.”

  “Like a team,” Dylan said. And then he added, a little bit awkwardly, “Elle would know, right? From the basketball team?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said. “Teamwork is really important when you play a sport.”

  Dylan was still looking at me, and I had an alarming thought: Was he trying to make a crush connection with me? I hoped not, because while Dylan is a very nice person, I have zero interest in dating boys. Zero.

  Maybe all this Valentine’s Day talk is making everyone crazy, I thought. I’m glad we’re changing it to Buddy Day!

  4 The Big, Bad Wolves

  The rest of that week was a blur. On Thursday, I caught up on my homework. Then on Friday, I went to basketball practice instead of volleyball practice—Coach Patel, the volleyball coach, totally understood my dilemma. After basketball practice, Mom drove me to my last volleyball game.