“What are we doing?” I whisper, and swat away flies.
“I want you to see what I’m talking about. Look!” Sally whispers back, pointing through the bushes to the backyard. I look and am amazed. She’s right. These girls can jump! They are doing gymnastics in the ropes, backflips, double team dancing—tricks I’ve never seen before. This is crazy! Never in a million years would I have thought Southern girls could jump double Dutch like that. I’ve heard rumors about some kids trying, but not like this! I guess because I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. But my friends were right: there are double Dutch teams that can be just as good as New York teams. My mind is shattered right now.
Buzz! A bee!
“Aaaaah!” I scream, and swat at it wildly.
One of the girls hears me and looks up suspiciously. We try to hurry and get off the fence and out of the bushes, but we can’t move fast enough. Sally and I roll out of the bushes and onto the ground. In seconds, we’re surrounded by Bouncing Belles.
Ivy laughs. “Well, if it isn’t loser Sally Walker and her tomboy cousin.”
“Who are you calling a loser?” I say, getting to my feet. And did she call me a tomboy?
“Were you guys spying on us?” the Asian girl, even smaller than Ivy, asks. “That’s just creepy.”
“I was just showing my cousin, uh, how…,” Sally tries to explain.
“How great we are?” Ivy says, smiling at the Belles. “We know we are, and without you on our team we’re even better.”
“No. My cousin was showing me how lame you are.” I get in her face. “And for your information, I’m from Brooklyn, and some of the best double Dutch jumpers are from Brooklyn. So as far as I can see, you ain’t got nothing on me.” What was I supposed to say? You guys are, like, so good. I want to be on your team. Not happening.
“Well, where’s your team?” Ivy folds her arms, looking around. “Last I checked, there’s only the two of you, and you need four for a team in Charlotte, ‘Brooklyn.’ ” This girl is cruising for a bruising.
“Don’t worry about what we’re doing,” I cover. “You just keep working on your little weak tricks, Southern Belle. You’ll get to New York someday.” I walk away, tugging Sally, who seems to be stuck in a trance.
“You better not steal any of our moves,” Ivy calls as we walk away.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I call back. I have to put up a front. There’s no way I can let these girls think that I’m threatened by their skills. Especially with my cousin watching, who looks riddled with fear. Even if I have to fake my courage, they will never know I am the slightest bit impressed. It’s just another little thing I learned growing up in Brooklyn. We New Yorkers are hard to impress.
“Thanks,” Sally says softly.
“For what?” I ask.
“For standing up to them,” she replies.
“Sally, the only reason why they bully you is because you let them.” I stop her in the middle of the empty street. “I know it might be hard to stand up for yourself, but as long as I’m here, I’ve got your back.” I can tell by the look on her face that she isn’t sure she can trust what I’m saying, but I mean it. “They’re probably afraid of you because you’re as good as or even better than they are. Why do you think they checked to see if your name was on the list?” Sally seems to ponder this. “It’s up to you now. Are you going to back down, or are you going to prove to yourself that you deserve to be respected?”
Sally doesn’t answer, but I can tell she’s thinking about it. I hope she pulls it together, because I am not losing to some “Belles” who think they can jump better than I can. I run ahead—Auntie’s cooking is waiting.
Something must have clicked in Sally’s mind, because she’s up early banging on my door to make sure I’m getting ready for camp. Once we’re there, announcements are made that teams must be submitted by the end of the day, and if there aren’t enough names to make a team, then “those individuals will be placed in large group sports like baseball, soccer, and so forth.” Panic sets in, and Sally and I run to check our list to see if anyone signed up for our team. Nobody did.
“Man! Isn’t there anybody else who can jump double Dutch around here?” I ask.
“Hi, girls,” a Barbie-type counselor interrupts. “I’m Kirsten, the head coach for double Dutch.” Really? She’s so, um, perky, more like a cheerleader, but I’m totally judging. “Are you guys looking for girls for your double Dutch team?”
“Yes.” Sally steps up. “Do you know anybody?”
“No, and as far as I know, the girls who can jump already have their teams made up—you know what I mean?” Uh, no. “I just thought I’d suggest hurrying to get into one of the other group sports or you might be out of luck.” Well, that’s kind of rude. If she was anything like my coach, Ms. Jackson, she would’ve figured something out. I’ve never seen her turn anybody away.
“We have until the end of the day, right?” I ask.
“Well, yeah, but it might be hard finding someone at this point, so, yeah?” Kirsten says doubtfully. Who is this lady, Negative Nancy?
Just then, the Belles enter the gym. Gesturing to Sally, they all pantomime like they’re going to jump a double Dutch rope, then freeze. Suddenly they laugh, then run to Coach Kirsten. Hmm, I see she has her favorites.
“We’ll submit
