Not Even Called

The scuffmarks on the worn gym floor stared up at me as I cast my gaze downward.  I closed my eyes and hoped the other kids would not see the tears starting to form in the corners.  I knew they could see the embarrassment that burned hot on my face.  There was nothing I could do about that.  All I could do was continue to stand there.  Waiting…. Waiting for my name…

…

The week had begun as every morning of a school week did.  I groaned as the incessant beeping of my alarm roused me from my slumber.  I slapped it to snooze as I pulled the covers tighter around my shoulders.  I drifted in and out of sleep until the alarm started sounding again and knocking rattled my bedroom door.  My father was calling my name.  I dragged myself from my cozy comfort and shuffled out into the hallway.  The aroma of fresh dripping coffee tickled my brain awake.  In the kitchen, my mother was tapping cat food onto plates while the cats swarmed around her feet like sharks.  My father was holding the back door open as the dog bounded outside.

At the table, I stared down into my bowl as the bits of cereal swirled around in the milk.

“It’s your first day of junior high!”  My mother smiled at me as she sipped her coffee.

I shrugged.  “Yeah, but it’s the same school, same kids.”  And indeed, it was.  I attended a small Catholic grade school that was across the street from my house.  I had been enrolled there since Kindergarten, so the first day of “junior high” was just another first day in the next grade up.

“I know, but it’s still a big day.  You’re growing up so fast.” 

I rolled my eyes.  “Ok Mom.”

Later, as I stood in my room getting dressed, I looked at myself in the mirror.  Monday was gym day for the sixth grade.  Uneasiness began to turn in my stomach.  Physical education class was challenging for me.  I was clumsy, a little “doughy” in the frame, and not particularly athletic.  So in those ways, I struggled.  But it was more than that.  Even though I was only eleven, I was already developing a young woman’s body.  I was uncomfortable with my appearance when we had to perform robust physical activity like running and jumping.  Bras became a mainstay of my wardrobe a few years ago and I found it awkward when I had to fix a slipped strap in gym class.  I was the only girl in my grade as developed as I was, and I was self-conscious of it.  It made me feel like an oddball.  I sighed as I reached for my uniform. 

…

As I waited in line to enter the school, I listened as the other kids talked about everything they did over the summer.  While I knew them well and was friendly with all the kids in my grade (there were not many of us), I wasn’t really “good friends” with any of them.  Most of the girls were cliquey and the boys were at that age where they didn’t talk to girls.  I was, for the most part, left to be friends with myself.  I just stood there and nodded as the rest of them conversed and occasionally tried to chime in where I could. 

The day passed uneventfully.  The teachers taught the same grades they did last year, so I had seen them before and knew their names.  That was until my class went down to the gym.  A new teacher stood there ready to greet us.  Her name was Ms. Miller and she was young.  In fact, she looked barely old enough to be a teacher.  She spoke in a high preppy voice that was full of energy and grating on the nerves.  Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and fitted fancy workout clothes clung to her svelte frame.

The first day of her class started off bad enough and only got worse.  She turned on music and had us all spread out in a giant circle to begin warm up exercises.

“Alright everyone!  Let us start with some jumping jacks in time with the music.  We have to get your heart rates up!  Ok?  Ready?  Set?  GO!” 

It was horrible.  The music had a lively upbeat tempo and it was challenging to keep up with it.  I jumped up and down, clapping my hands above my head and then back to my sides.  I could feel my chest bouncing and my bra straps beginning to slip.  I struggled to discreetly readjust myself.  It was already towards the end of the day and after a few short minutes of this, I was tired.  But not Ms. Miller, she had the energy of a toddler on sugar.  Her thin, athletic build bounded up and down with grace as she flitted around the circle.  It didn’t take long before the rest of the kids were in the same boat as me - slowing down, out of breath, and gripping their sides. 

“Very good!  Very good!  Now, we are going to be doing relay stations.  I have set them up all over the gym.  That will be today and for the remainder of the week.  Let’s begin.”

I looked around at the myriad of equipment scattered about - scooters, jump ropes, and hula-hoops.  Even though my heart was pounding hard against my ribs, it sank into my stomach when I saw it all. 

“Alright everybody.  I am going to pick teams this first day but after today, two members of the winning team get to be captains and pick teams next time.  Ok?  Great!  Let’s keep the music on!  Keeps us going at a good pace!”

She called out our names off the roster and motioned us to either side of her.  She continued.

“First you have to sit down on the scooter and race down the lane, weaving around the cones.  Second, you have to jump rope ten times.  Third, you have to hop scotch in the hula-hoops laid down on the floor.  Fourth, you have to go back on the scooter and race it back around the cones to the team.  Fifth, you have to run one lap around the gym.  Once one person is done, the next can go.  The first team to get all members finished with the stations wins.  We will do as many rounds as time allows.  Teams ready?  Everybody set?  GO!”

The first person from each team bolted off toward the stations, completing them while the rest of us watched and shouted words of encouragement.  Kid after kid went; the two teams were neck and neck.  Then it came my turn.

I dropped my butt down on the scooter and pushed off, spinning around the cones as I hurdled down the lane.  People were cheering and clapping.  I was keeping up with the other team.  I was doing well, or so I thought.  Then came the jump rope.  I took it and felt my stomach drop.  I had always struggled with the coordination of picking up my feet and turning the rope at the same time.  I flipped it over my head and tried to jump.  The rope hit my shins and went slack on the floor.  I hopped over it.  I flipped it over my head again.  It hit my shins a second time and went slack.  I hopped over again.  It was a slow process and I could feel the embarrassment burning in my face. 

The words of encouragement from my teammates began to fade.  I looked over at the other team’s kid.  The jump rope was flying like lightning through the air.  Her feet were barely touching the ground before they were up again.  In the couple of turns of the rope that I was able to do, she was done and onto the next station.  I heard a few loose snickers sneak across the gym. 

I kept going as best as I could, but by the time I was done with the jump rope, the other team was far ahead.  After the hula-hoops, I was back on the scooter, weaving my way around the cones and heading towards my team.  I could see the looks of disappointment on their faces.  I leapt up and ran as quickly as I could around the gym, but the other girl was already halfway around.  I was not a fast sprinter and my lungs were already aching.  My feet pounded down on the floor as I pushed my legs as fast as I could.  I could feel my muscles screaming. 

I was out of breath when I crossed the finish line and our last kid took off.  But our team was so far behind at that point that it didn’t matter.  As I bent in half clutching my side, I could feel the stares of my teammates.  I couldn’t look at them.  I wanted to crawl off somewhere and disappear. 

We lost, our last person crossing the line with a flourish.  Through gasps of air, he sputtered to the rest of us, “Sorry guys!  Tried to catch us up.  I did my best.”

I didn’t say much to anyone the rest of the school day and was quieter than usual when I got home.  I locked myself in my room and fell into my pillow.  I cried, dreading the next gym day later in the week.    

…

The later weekday came and the second gym class began as bad as the first one did.  We vigorously warmed up with jumping jacks again as Ms. Miller pranced around the gym with the same startling amount of energy.  The students finished as we did the first day - out of breath and clutching our sides.

Then she picked two people from the previous winning team and they got up in front of the class.  First, the two kids pointed to their friends and called them up, smiling and giggling as they joined them.  Once up there, their friends began whispering into the captains’ ears whom to pick next.  The rest of us began shifting our feet.  After a few rounds of picking, and all the athletic kids were chosen, there were only two of us left. 

The other kid standing with me was Kelly, a smart and bookish girl who talked about being a lawyer.  She was on the volleyball team but was not a good player; her serves never made it over the net.  She was not that much more athletic than I was, but she didn’t make a fool of herself earlier in the week.  

“I’ll take Kelly.”  My heart sank into my feet as she walked up to the front.

The scuffmarks on the worn gym floor stared up at me as I cast my gaze downward.  I closed my eyes and hoped the other kids would not see the tears starting to form in the corners.  I knew they could see the embarrassment that burned hot on my face.  There was nothing I could do about that.  All I could do was continue to stand there.  Waiting…. Waiting for my name…

But the sound of my name never came, just silence.  My eyes snapped open when I heard the teacher’s voice instead.

“Well you’re over there.  Ok?  Great!  Teams get ready!...”

I didn’t hear what more she had to say as I shuffled off to my team.  I kept looking towards the ground as the first kids sprinted off towards the relay stations.  I made my way to the back of the line; I felt it was the best place for me.  I just stood there quietly.  I didn’t have it in me to clap and cheer on my teammates.  All I could think about was not hearing my name.  It made me wish a giant sinkhole would open up in the floor and swallow me whole.  I wanted to never be seen again.  I was not simply the last called, but rather, so unwanted, that I was not even called.