“In second place is…Four-D, Double Deuces!” yells the judge as if he’s happy for us. We all jump with excitement! Although we wanted first, we realize we came a long way with two new jumpers. Sally smiles big as we head to the trophy table.
“And in first place, and still the double Dutch champions, are the Bouncing Belles!” the judge announces. The Belles run with excitement to receive their huge trophy. The crowd goes wild.
“And you’re still a loser,” remarks Ivy to Sally. Sally takes a huge breath and shakes her head. The feud is not over. Suddenly I think, Ivy has issues. Well, first place or not, we did it! Most of all, I am so proud of Sally for pulling off her own special move.
Then: “But wait, there’s more!” The crowd quiets down a bit. “The two top teams are now eligible for the National Double Dutch Jump-off in New York City at Madison Square Garden!” Did he say Madison Square Garden? If my team in Brooklyn made it, I might have to compete against them. No! Way!
To celebrate the end of camp, there’s a dance, and all the competitors are invited. A dance? To be honest, I’ve never been to a dance. A house party, maybe, but not a dance. I guess it’s a small-town thing, a Southern thing. I don’t even know how to dress for a dance. So I have to ask an expert. I knock on Sally’s bedroom door.
“Sally?” I ask sheepishly. She comes to the door and opens it in a huff. It looks like a tornado hit a department store and dumped all the frilly stuff in Sally’s room.
“Come in, Kayla,” says Sally. “I can’t figure out what to wear, and my mom won’t let me go to the mall to buy an outfit for this stupid dance.”
“So let’s not go,” I say without hesitation. “I don’t have anything to wear either.”
“We have to go!” Sally says as she sifts through her overloaded dresser drawers. “Missing this is like missing the party of the summer. Ugh! This stuff is so old!”
“You have so many nice things,” I say, picking up a boa. What is she doing with a boa? “I’m sure there’s something you can wear. Maybe not this, but something.”
“You sound like my mother,” Sally says with her hands on her hips. “So what are you wearing? You know your boyfriend Charlie is going to be there.”
“You think?” I ask genuinely. Suddenly this party is at the top of my list of things to do. Go to dance. Check.
“Of course,” insists Sally. “Besides, there’s nothing else to do in this town.” As soon as I think of seeing Charlie at the dance, my stomach gets the jitters like those butterflies just got out of a cage or something.
“Well, I…uh…um,” I stammer. I dare to hold one of Sally’s ruffled tank tops up to myself and check the mirror.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sally asks, still pulling out clothes.
I muster up the truth. “I wanna look…nice. Or even pretty.” Sally laughs at me.
“Are you telling me you wanna look like a princess, Tomboy Cinderella?” Sally jokes. I throw the top down to the floor. This is too embarrassing! I’ve never worn anything frilly or sparkly or that says I’m a diva.
“Forget it. I’d look stupid anyway,” I say, completely through with the idea.
“Kayla, I’m just kidding!” Sally says sincerely. “It’s just I thought I’d never see the day when my tough-girl cousin wanted to look cute for some boy.”
“I do not!” I protest. Sally just stares at me. “Okay, okay. So what? Are you going to help me or what?”
She looks me over once and shrugs. “Okay,” she says. “One makeover coming up!”
Makeover? Is it that bad? Sally springs into action like this is something she’s been waiting to do all summer, and the look of desperation on my face must have given her the hint that I really don’t know where to start. As she begins picking through her pile of stuff like she is looking for gold, I think about why this “girlification,” as the magazines call it, feels so weird. Growing up in a tough neighborhood in Brooklyn, I’ve always had to prove how strong I am. Top that with a fearless attitude, which my parents constantly tell me I was born with, and you get what people might see as a tomboy. So being a frilly girlie-girl never crossed my mind, at least not until now. When the boys back in Brooklyn catcall at me like a piece of meat, it never makes me feel special. Attention from Charlie, on the other hand, feels different, interesting even. I couldn’t imagine him catcalling after girls. Charlie is more mysterious to me, and if he’s really interested in me, then I want to look…nice, like a girl and not a tomboy.
—
Sally and I spend the whole afternoon trying on a thousand outfits, and nothing! We move on to the little makeup Aunt Jeanie allows us to wear. Then Sally stops and stares at my hair.
“What?” I ask.
“Those braids,” Sally says. “They’ve got to come out.” She starts for my head, but I catch her arm and pull away before she can put her hand on my braids.
“Uh-uh! Are you crazy?” I insist. “I have had my hair in braids for years. I don’t know how my hair is going to look without them.”
“Exactly!” Sally exclaims. “It’s time for a change. Now, let me at ’em!”
Man! I let Sally help me and now she’s gone crazy. I take a deep breath and cover my face as she starts taking out my braids.
“Are you going to help me?” Sally asks. “This could take all night, and we don’t have that kind of time.” Unwillingly I help, and Sally and I unravel my braids one by one. Although I am unconvinced, Sally helps me wash my hair and put all these
