“You’re looking at it,” I say with pride. She gives us an odd look. Our clothes are all dusty from the soccer field, and the heat and humidity have wreaked havoc on our hair. We are a mess, and to make matters worse Melissa stares at the double Dutch teams with her jaw dropped; Tina has gone back to rocking out to a Spanish song on her phone. As for Sally, she just stares at the floor, embarrassed.
“Okay then,” Coach Kirsten says. “Since there’s only a few more minutes left, why don’t you guys come on over and show us what you’ve got?”
I try to cover smoothly. “Uh, my cousin and I just got here, so we kind of need some time to work on our routine with our new team.”
“Yeah, a lot of time, ’cause that stuff looks complicated,” Melissa blurts out.
“That’s double Dutch, right?” Tina yells, not realizing how loud she is with her earbuds in. The counselor gives us the side-eye as Sally and I look at each other, not knowing how to save face.
“Sure, take your time,” Coach Kirsten says. “Uh, tomorrow is group activities with the camp. So make sure you’re ready to go on Monday, all right?”
We all agree as she saunters away. Thank goodness! We may look like an oddball crew, but we’re a team. And we have three days to literally show Melissa and Tina the ropes. But before I can grab a pair of ropes, the bell sounds. Camp is over!
I figure if we don’t get started now, we’re doomed. So instead of going home after camp, Sally and I call Aunt Jeanie on Tina’s phone to ask if she’ll let us hang out with Melissa and Tina for practice. She says yes but to be home before sunset. Cool! The stuffy camp won’t let us borrow double Dutch ropes, so we decide to go buy one. Melissa and Tina agree to take us on their bikes to the nearest hardware store, where I am sure we can find some kind of rope to turn with.
Tina gives me her bike, then jumps on the two pegs on the back wheel of Melissa’s bike, placing her hands on Melissa’s shoulders. She’s going to ride like that?
“I’ve never ridden a bike like that before,” I say apprehensively.
“And I thought you city girls knew how to do everything.” Sally grabs the handlebars and hops on, gesturing for me to do the same as Tina. I get on and grab Sally’s shoulders for dear life.
Finally we’re off.
Riding through the neighborhoods with manicured lawns and colorful flowers, I see houses that remind me of the picture books I read to Cameron. Some houses make me think of the drawings in old social studies textbooks of Colonial homes built in the 1800s. Although back then only white folks lived in them. Here, it seems, there are all kinds of neighbors living harmoniously side by side. I don’t think I would’ve believed it if I wasn’t seeing it with my own eyes. It makes me wonder if people are stuck in the way things used to be in the South. Does racism really exist like I’ve seen in the news? Hmm, by the looks of this neighborhood, I’m not so sure. As the wind blows through my braids, I suddenly feel…calm, safe. It’s weird—the quietness doesn’t bother me anymore. It’s kind of nice. I guess living in New York City makes me feel like that’s all there is to life: concrete, honking horns, and the constant noise of everyone’s busyness. I’m not saying I’d live here or anything—there are way too many bugs with wings and things—but maybe that little old lady on the plane was right when she said, Charlotte is wonderful in the summertime.
Finally we arrive at a local hardware store way across town. I guess those bigger lumberjack stores are probably off a highway or somewhere you can’t ride bikes to. This little place should have what we need. To my surprise, Sally and Melissa park the bikes outside without locks or anything.
“Aren’t you guys afraid someone’s going to steal them?” I ask. “Where I come from, you can’t just leave your bike. Someone will snatch it up as soon as you turn your back. I’ll just go in and get the rope.”
“They’ll be fine,” Sally reassures me. “You’re in the South, remember? We do things differently round these parts.” Is she mocking me?
“I dare someone to take my bike,” Melissa grunts. “I’d hunt them down like a bloodhound.”
“And she will too. Esta loca.” Tina laughs.
“Well, all right,” I say. ’Nough said. I mean, a street with only two lanes, one stoplight, and trees up and down the block doesn’t seem like the sort of place where much of anything happens.
The little store is so quiet you can hear the electricity in the old fluorescent lightbulbs, and the rickety wood floors smell like there’s mold lurking under them. It’s as if I’ve stepped back in time to the Civil War and all that’s missing is the Confederate flag. No, hold the phone, there’s one on the counter. Suddenly those safe feelings from earlier just disappear, and my New York senses kick in; or maybe I’m scared. I want to get the rope and get the heck out of here. No one’s at the register, but the rest of the girls, including Sally, don’t seem to be nervous.
“Can I help you ladies?” a raspy voice says with a deep Southern accent. We all jump and turn around to find a white-bearded old man wearing a cap and talking out of the side of his mouth.
“We’re just here to pick up some rope,” I say quickly, and stare back. I don’t know why I am so scared. I think it’s the flag. It’s like a big yellow traffic sign that says CAUTION—POSSIBLE RACIST AHEAD! I remember the news reports on how people in
