His voice cracked a little. “I think someone’s got an app on their phone that plays a dog whistle. Really high-pitched so we can’t hear it. But I think Charity can.”
I could hardly believe it. Mason was breaking his keep-your-head-low rule.
“Someone is doing this to her on purpose.”
Mason was risking lifelong outcast status . . . for me?
Ms. Beckett wrinkled her eyebrows. “Such a thing exists?”
“Yeah. I just looked it up. It’s a dog whistle app called Fetch Rover.” Mason pulled out his phone and showed her.
“What makes you think this, Mason?” she asked.
He looked down at the floor and shrugged his shoulders.
Ms. Beckett nodded with determination. “Class, we will postpone the quiz until tomorrow. Right now, I want all of you to place your phones on my desk,” she ordered. “Mason, can you check them for this application?”
“Hey, don’t you need a search warrant for that?” demanded Rachel.
“No, I do not. If you’d like to wait for Mr. Jergen to confirm that for you, you’re welcome to. I will not put up with bullying. At our school, bullying is an offense resulting in suspension and possible expulsion. And if I find out that someone has been purposely bullying Charity, I will personally recommend expulsion unless everyone cooperates here.”
One by one, cell phones were placed on desks and Mason checked them as Ms. Beckett launched into a lecture on Frederick Douglass and the thirteenth amendment.
Before Mason got to her, Rachel broke down and confessed. Teary-eyed, she went to Ms. Beckett and spoke in fast whispers. Two other boys I hardly knew had the app on their phone too. All three made a trip to Jergen’s office.
Darcy’s phone was innocent.
How could that be?
At the end of class, Ms. Beckett came over to check on me. “I’m so sorry, Charity. The students claimed to have no idea the sound would hurt you. They said it was a prank. Rumor had it that the noise would cause the windows in the classroom to crack. Why anyone would believe that is beyond me, but junior high students are full of surprises.”
Ana helped me respond.
I believe them. I am glad it was not in my head.
I typed to Mason—Mason, who risked total school humiliation to protect me:
Your heart is full of courage.
He shrugged. “I was bullied at my last school. It’s rough out there if no one’s got your back.”
“Who started this ridiculous rumor?” asked Ana.
Mason shrugged again.
I am sure he had a hypothesis. And so did I.
Basketball Savant
“We got the ball, get outta the way. C’mon, Charity, let’s score today!” My whole cheering section chanted for me during warm-ups.
Grace and I had really improved our teamwork. She held my hand to lead me up and down the court. She handed me the ball and yelled, “Shoot.” Most times I swooshed it right in.
Can I finally redeem myself in this game?
Darcy’s mom, Mrs. Bling-Bling, paced the sidelines, her phone glued to her cheek. Today she was wearing a dark business suit and spiky heels, as if she had come straight from work. Her fingers fiddled with her diamond necklace. She marched up to Coach and handed him the phone with a big smile glued to her lips.
I had a bad feeling about this.
“By the way, Grace,” Darcy dribbled around us. “Don’t tell me to pass you the ball if you’re not going to shoot it yourself.”
“Chill out, Darcy,” she said. “You’re still the superstar.”
“Dang right I am, girl.” They high-fived.
Coach blew his whistle and motioned us over for the opening huddle. The other team, in green, seemed a half foot taller than us.
“The Green Giants look hungry tonight,” Grace said.
Our huddle broke with “Go Hornets!” and Coach called out the girls’ positions.
“Charity,” he cleared his throat and put a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, kid, but I think we’re gonna have you cheer us on tonight.”
“C’mon, George,” Dad protested. “You saw her out there. She made eight baskets just in warm-ups.”
“Sorry, Steve. It’s kind of outta my hands right now.”
When was Mrs. Bling-Bling promoted to head coach?
I sat on the bench, shuffling my feet and watching Darcy hog the ball while Dad fumed next to me.
“There is no I in team,” he grumbled.
I answered him in my head.
But there is an I in win.
Life is a party. And I am not invited.
Pity filled my throat and made me feel like throwing up. I hate pity. I remembered Celia’s words: You have a voice now. Use it to lead.
I tried to concentrate on the game. The Green Giants were squashing us like mashed potatoes. Most of Darcy’s shots were missing. She was off her game tonight. My mind went into deep focus. Bodies on the court became masses moving through space. I observed the thrust of the arms, the arc of the ball toward the net, the speed of the throw.
I tugged on Dad’s arm for my iPad, and he helped me type. I observed and typed, observed and typed.
At the end of the third quarter, the Hornets were down by twelve points. Dad called Coach over and showed him what I wrote.
“Can you really see all this, kid?”
“If she typed it, George, she saw it,” Dad said.
Coach called the girls over for a huddle.
“Listen up. Ella, you were called twice for fouls because you stick out your elbows. Sierra, you tend to miss short. We need to work on distance control. Darcy, you need to shoot at the top of your jump. You’re shooting late. You also twist when you shoot. Align your feet when you set up the shot. And this is for all of you—increase the arc of your shot to 45 degrees. That will give you a wider margin of error. Now get out there and fight!”
“Thanks for the great tips, Coach,” Grace said. “You have a good eye.”
“Not me,” he said. “Charity’s made some genius observations here from the bench.”
Girls nodded and clapped. “Way to go, coach Charity!” “Cool bananas!” “Crush it, sister!”
Dad helped me answer.
I finally found a way to be included
