When I turned up to my first day of club water polo at ten years old, I expected to find a team of girls like I’d met when I played soccer. It turned out the ten-and-under team was mixed, meaning boys and girls played on teams together. Besides me, there was only one other girl on my team: Mila.
Even at ten years old, the boys had already created a bro-club culture, and Mila and I were the odd girls out. When we went to tournaments, the boys traveled in a pack, while Mila and I hung together on the outskirts. No matter. We fought our way to earn starting positions. She played goalie. I played the field.
One day, as we warmed up before a game, the boys took shot after shot at the goal. Mila consistently blocked each attempt, proving every ounce of her All-America status.
“Watch Ruby,” Tanner said when it came my turn to shoot. “Bet she throws like a girl.”
“Duh. I am a girl.” I raised my arm, gripped the ball, and aimed at the right corner of the goal. My shot flew past Mila’s outstretched fingertips and into the net—the first goal of the day.
Mila glared at Tanner and yelled, “Yeah, Ruby throws like a girl all right. Too bad you don’t.”
Later, when we were sitting on the pool deck, drinking water and sharing a granola bar after the game, I asked Mila if she’d missed my shot on purpose.
She looked at me, her eyes nearly shiny with hurt. “Why would I do that?”
“Because the boys were being jerks. As usual.”
“They were, but you made the goal. I missed it. I promise.”
“Okay, good.”
“We’re the only girls here,” she said, handing me another bite of the granola bar. “We have to stick together.”
“I know.”
“We should come up with a secret handshake or something.” She tapped her fingertip to her chin, thinking. “How about something like this?” I followed along as she pinkie-promised our pinkies, made jazz hands, high-fived, led us into a legit handshake, and ended by pulling our hands apart and doing some weird thing of rubbing her fingertips together. “I’m sprinkling glitter,” she said as she danced her dangling fingers above the ground. “Because we can like glitter and kick butt at the same time.”
“I love glitter,” I said. “I wish I could put it on everything.”
“They should make glitter water polo balls.”
We agreed that would be the best.
We also agreed we would be the best at water polo and the best at being friends.
Too bad it didn’t last.