F L A S H B A C K
- Alex -
I stood in the dusty dirt beside the kickball field and waited for the inevitable…getting picked last. Unfortunately, the fact that I knew it was coming didn’t seem to make the process go any faster.
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my shorts and looked down at my toes before lifting my big toe so it stretched the worn fabric of my sneakers. At least it hadn’t poked through yet. That was something to be thankful for.
When I looked up, there were only six kids left standing to either side of me, each waiting to get picked by one of the older boys who’d been chosen as team captains. One stood with his hands on his hips, nodding every time he picked another camper for his team. The other, who’d referred to me as “Skinny” twice this week, was slouching on one hip and chewing gum in a way that would’ve gotten me a smack upside the head at home.
Then it was down to four. Me and three girls. Ouch. Two of them were hanging on the older boys’ every word. The other, however, was staring down at a ladybug in her open palm. It was down to us in no time.
The captains looked at each other and then back at us, announcing that the final pick for each team would be for “first alternates.” I knew what that meant. It was a nice way of saying bench warmers. Not that the metal benches needed any warming on such a sweltering day. Still, I can’t say I was disappointed to be sitting this one out.
Ladybug Girl seemed to know what it meant, too, because she walked over and took a seat on the bench without taking her eyes off the bug.
I stared at the long bench bordering the sideline fence and wondered if it would be weird if I sat next to her when I had the whole bench to choose from and we were on opposite teams. I did it anyway. “Nice bug.”
“Is that what it is?” she asked, looking over at me.
My chest tightened when her blue eyes met mine. “What?”
“Is that what it is?” she asked. “As opposed to an insect?”
I studied the rosy skin of her cheeks and wondered if they were as soft as they looked.
“I can never remember.”
I glanced down at the ladybug in an effort to recover from her attention.
“Do you know?” she asked, looking down at it, too.
“It’s an insect,” I said, wondering how long she’d been carrying it around. “Technically.”
She used her free hand to tug her shorts towards her knees before swinging her feet under the bench. “What’s the difference again?”
“Bugs have long sucker tubes for mouths,” I said, relaxing a bit. “Whereas insects have segmented bodies, at least three pairs of legs, and antennae. And sometimes wings.”
“Cool,” she said, studying the ladybug again. “So it’s really a lady insect?”
“A lady beetle, if you want to be specific.”
She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “How do you know that?”
“I used to want to be an entomologist.”
“And now?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I asked, rolling my shoulders back. “I want to be the best kickball player that ever lived.”
Her lips broke into a broad smile.
“That was a joke,” I said. “I could care less about kickball.”
“That makes one of us,” she said. “My dad is always going on about how kickball skills can make or break your whole future.”
I squinted at her.
“That was a joke.”
“I’m Alex.”
“Gemma,” she said, her head jerking when the ladybug took flight. She stared after it for a few seconds until it disappeared, before wrapping her hands around the edge of the silver bench.
I looked through the wire fence as a cloud of dust kicked up around a boy sliding into first. It was the first time I noticed the noise outside our conversation.
“See the pitcher,” Gemma said after a few minutes.
I watched the boy on the mound shout into the outfield. “He’s been giving me shit all week.”
“His dad’s in prison for beating on his mom.”
“What?”
She nodded. “True story.”
“You’d think he’d be nicer.”
“You’d think,” she said.
I studied him, feeling something besides anxiety and anger for the first time. Was it pity?
“You know Tori on second base?”
“Not really, but yeah.” It was my first year at Camp Pendy, but it was pretty obvious that Tori was the girl all the other girls wanted to impress.
“She absorbed her twin in the womb.”
“She what?”
“She absorbed her twin in the womb.”
“I heard you, but…” I shook my head.
“Crazy, huh?”
“I’ve never heard of that.”
“You have now,” she said. “Vanishing twin syndrome. Look it up.”
“How do you know that? Are you friends with her?”
“I used to be,” she said without emotion.
“Why not anymore?”
She sighed. “Tori doesn’t like to be friends with people who don’t look good in pictures.”
I leaned back.
“She told me so.”
My neck bounced forward. “She said that to you?!”
She shrugged. “Charming, huh?”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I said. “You’re way prettier than she is.”
She cast her eyes down at her feet. “That’s nice of you to say, but I’m not blind.”
“You must be if you can’t see that,” I said. “I’m not even saying it to be nice. It’s obvi—”
“Stop,” she said. “That wasn’t my point.”
“What’s your point then?”
“That they can have kickball. That they need it more than we do.” She tugged her shorts towards her knees again. “I was just trying to cheer you up.”
“Cheer me up?”
“In case you felt bad about not getting picked.”
I cocked my head.
“Like most kids do.”
“Why would you try to cheer me up when you don’t even know me?”
“I don’t know. To make myself feel better.”
I looked away to hide how much the comment surprised me. “Well, that’s not necessary,” I said finally. “I’d rather sit here with you anyway.”
“Yeah?” she asked, her expression lifting.
“No doubt.”
She pushed her heels through the dirt and scratched at a mosquito bite on her arm. “That’s a nice thing to say.”
“Some people make you want to say nice things,” I said, offering a smile I hoped would seal our friendship. After all, the few minutes we’d been talking were the first I’d spent at camp not feeling sorry for myself.
Besides, I knew where she was coming from. I was used to getting stuck on the sidelines with kids who were either terrified of their own shadow or annoyingly desperate to impress.
But she was neither. She was less like a mosquito and more like a mosquito bite.
Irresistible. Unexpected.
Proof that I was alive.