“Do you think we should get sequins on our uniforms?” Bethany Hayes runs up beside me during our pre-practice laps, her long red ponytail bouncing against her back. Bethany, the self-proclaimed “most stylish” girl in our grade, plays center field for our rec team and always finds some way to decorate her uniform. Or herself. Mr. Robertson always finds his own way to un-decorate Bethany’s uniform, but he can’t stop her from lacing shiny gold ribbons in her braids or putting glitter lotion all over her face.
I look down at my practice jersey, imagining it covered in pink or purple sequins—Bethany’s colors of choice. “Wouldn’t they jingle all over the place? Or be scratchy?” Our practice jerseys are comfy enough, but our official game uniforms are already super scratchy. I think the town bought them in bulk from “Cardboard Clothes R Us.”
I turn the corner at the edge of the field and continue down the next straightaway. We play on the far edge of the school field, and every day before practice, Mr. Robertson makes us run two whole laps around the entire thing. I hated it at first, but now, after a full season, I totally notice how much easier running is. I think I’m faster on the bases, too, which was obviously the point.
Mr. Robertson isn’t Mom, but he hasn’t done an awful job this season. We won almost all our games and he taught us how to slide into home base without totally bruising our butts.
“Not this team’s uniforms. Duh.” Bethany shakes her head. Bounce bounce swish! goes her ponytail. “The season’s almost over anyway, Veronica. That wouldn’t make sense at all.”
(Because softball sequins would make so much sense in general.)
“I’m talking about the All-Star uniforms,” Bethany continues. “Last year they had stars on the back.”
“Were the stars made out of sequins?” I try to remember last summer’s All-Star uniforms. I should remember; I went to almost all their games. I stared at the older girls like they were rock stars, even though they were only a year or two older than me. They all seemed so grown-up, though, playing on that big field surrounded by rows and rows of bleachers and fans, fancy advertisements decorating the outfield walls. When the lights shone down on them during night games, it was like a spotlight illuminating my future.
Bethany shakes her head and giggles. “No, but they should have been. I’m sure the coach will see how much we need to add some extra bling to our uniforms.”
Bethany seems way too confident that she’ll make the team. Then again, I feel—felt?—the same way about my chances. Now that I know we might not be able to afford All-Stars, though, Bethany’s confidence seems like it’s mocking me.
I dodge a pile of dog poop that someone didn’t pick up, then turn my head back as the girls after me do the same. It’s like some gross makeshift hurdle on our running course. Claudia vaults over the disgustingness, then catches up to us.
“Did you say bling?” she asks, her breath coming out in gasps. “That’s the word my mom uses when she’s trying to sound cool.”
I snort. Well, actually snort-hack, because just then a bug flies right into my mouth. “Gack!” I skid to a halt and bend over, coughing and spitting on the grass next to me. “Ew ew ew!”
Bethany and Claudia stop, too. “What happened?” Claudia asks. “Did you pull a muscle? Sprain an ankle?”
I hack again and wave my hands in the air. “I swallowed a bug!”
“Not exactly the afternoon snack you wanted, huh?” Claudia asks with a serious face, then cracks a smile.
I start to protest that she shouldn’t joke about something as disgusting as this, then realize what I must look like, spitting all over the grass and clutching at my throat. My lips turn up and a giggle escapes my throat. The giggle turns into laughs, which transform into howls. A second later, all three of us are doubled over.
“I hope the run didn’t bug you too much!” Bethany says through her own laughter.
“Don’t you just wish you could fly away from here?” Claudia asks.
I give them both a high five. “I really should have insected this route before I ran it.”
Bethany tilts her head to the side. Flop! goes the ponytail. “Huh?”
“Insected? Because it sounds like inspected?”
Claudia and Bethany groan. “That was bad,” Claudia says.
I stick my tongue out at her as we all start running again. One more lap to go.
“Your mom is hilarious, though,” Bethany says to Claudia. “And bling actually looks cool on her. Remember that sequined skirt she wore to the softball banquet last year?”
“Oh my God, that skirt.” Claudia shudders. “It’s better than the crop top she bought the other day, though. A crop top! She’s forty-something years old and trying to shop at the same stores as me. It’s so much worse since my dad moved out,” Claudia continues.
I sneak a quick glance at Bethany, then back to Claudia, who nods. “It’s okay, Veronica. I told Bethany.”
“You … did?” I mean, we know Bethany. She’s been on our softball team all year. But it’s not like she’s really close to us. I’d expect Claudia to tell Tabitha or Lauren before Bethany.
Claudia nods. “Yeah. Her parents got divorced last year, so I knew she’d understand.” She shoots me an apologetic glance. “Not that you wouldn’t. Just … you know. Bethany gets what it’s like to have a family that’s not, well … perfect.”
I turn another corner and pick up my pace. Of course Bethany would understand divorce stuff better than me. My parents are still married. And for all Claudia and Bethany know—for all Tabitha and Lauren and Mr. Robertson and my teachers and the entire world know—my parents are in the happiest marriage ever. Mom may be “traveling,” but that’s normal for some families. Everyone’s parents are busy and miss games sometimes.
It should be a good thing that from the outside, everything in my life—in my family—appears fine, brushed with a rosy-pink, sparkly glow.
I should be happy that my secret is still a secret. Relieved. Dancing down the baseline.
But as Bethany and Claudia start talking behind me, about their parents fighting and sleeping in different beds and dividing up the furniture, I don’t feel like dancing. The music floating across the field from the band room sounds dull and lifeless.
I want to slow down and let the girls catch up to me. I want to tell them how my mom is the furthest thing in the world from perfect. I want to tell them how much I miss her and how scared I am that she won’t get better.
But then Bethany starts talking about the uniforms again, and how excited she is for this summer.
Then Claudia says that even without sequins, we’ll still rock all our games, and that I’m going to be the star of the team.
And just like Mom being the “perfect mom,” I want to cling to this fantasy for a bit longer.
So I run and laugh and joke, each step bringing me closer to a plan. I don’t care what Dad says—I will play on the All-Star team this year. I’ll raise the money.
Then Mom will get out of rehab in time to watch me. To cheer me on, just like she always did.
I’ll make my fantasy a reality.