Dying With Grace || RUEL

25: Ms. Darbus

Grace's POV

"If I call your name, you're on the advanced team," the school volleyball coach, Ms. Darbus announces in heaves. I'm not that amazing at volleyball so I'm hoping to at least get onto the normal team. I wish Ms. Darbus could speak faster because there aren't a lot of spots on the advanced team. My doubts confirmed I wasn't picked.

"Now, for the normal team picks, when you hear your name, stand on my right," she shouts, treating her whistle like a lasso in her hand. I shut my eyes, hearing my heart pulsating in my neck, waiting for my name to be called. "And the last person... Lulu!"

Something in me drops and I open my eyes. I feel cold, almost frozen on earth. 

"If your name wasn't called, that means you're on our practice team," she says and purses her lips in slight exasperation, seeing the squealing girls. "Each team has their own scheduled practice sessions and the schedule is on the notice board outside my office. Congratulations to everybody: if you're not happy with the team you're on, try next year. That's it, now get out of my gym!"

Some girls leap for joy and link arms with their friends who are on the same team. The names of the girls who weren't called, however, had a sunken vibe that felt like we were a nail that was just hammered. That's not right... That can't be right.

I try to scramble through the crowd of girls that are licked with sweat, as I was, after the tryouts. After squeezing through bodies, I manage to reach Ms. Darbus's office. I'm panting at this point, obviously dehydrated. My head feels almost awful but I hold in. This is more important to me.

"Miss?" I knock on her door.

"If you're not happy with your position, try next year," she sighs, rolling her eyes.

"No, that's not it. There must be a mistake with the names," I plead. She looks up, one eyebrow up, lips pursed and a hand on her hip. I might have crossed a line here. You think? my subconscious says. I murmur nervously, "I just don't think I belong on the practice team."

"Are you doubting my decision?" she says with restraint, word for word.

"No, no, no! That's not what I meant to say at all!" I say, shaking my head and taking a step forward. My eyes are so wide they might as well roll out of their sockets.

"Oh, you just think you belong on the advanced team?" she says rhetorically, taking her whistle and tossing it onto her desk.

"No, I mean--given my skillset that I portrayed during tryouts, I just feel--"

"You're better than the other girls?" Geez, this obviously isn't going anywhere.

"I didn't say that!" I burst out.

"Then what do you mean? Who even are you?" Ms. Darbus frowns and picks up the clipboard of names. "You're American. I've never seen you before. What's your name? You should be lucky I didn't kick you out the moment you step foot--"

"Grace Beck," I say aloud.

Her fingers stop flicking through the papers and freeze, just as I have when I realized I wasn't on the normal team. She stares dead at me, locking eye contact for a few seconds as if she needs to put the pieces together and think carefully what to say. She sighs, her posture softening as she places the clipboard down. "Damn, I totally forgot about you. Have a seat, Grace."

Yikes what's this? I take a seat and tilt my head, anxious to hear what she's about to say.

"Your parents and the principal have made me aware of your existing condition prior to the tryouts," she says calmly. "We've come up with a compromise with your doctors back in America that you shouldn't participate in any kind of difficult sports that require too much physical sustenance. It could, no, will worsen the pain."

I feel my blood boil in my veins. My hands ball into fists and I bite my inner lip. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. "So you all have decided, without me, that I'm not good enough so I can't play on a harder team because I have some condition?"

"Grace..." she goes around her desk and leans against it, placing her hand on my shoulder. She could feel how stiff my body is. "Now that the wine has fully abandoned my system and my memory has been restored partially, I know you don't deserve to be placed on the practice team. Hell, I hate to say it, but you shouldn't even be on the normal team. You have a lot of prospects if you played under my close supervision. But it will hurt you more than you think."

"Then put me on the advanced team! I don't care if it's painful. Fuck, it can't be more painful than these migraines!" I burst out crying, burying my face in my hands. Ms. Darbus closes her door and closes the metal blinds, leaving dim light to illuminate the room. She takes a tissue box and offers me, which I take and humiliatingly blow my nose into.

"Look, Grace, I can't do anything to make these migraines go away. I'm not a doctor. But just because you're not placed on the more advanced teams, doesn't mean you can't still be as good as you are at volleyball. Nobody can take that away from you. Your sisters need a lot of help and I think being on the practice team will bring more good than we both think. Think about it."

I look at her unsure. She shrugs and she says, "Come here babydoll." She opens her arms for an embrace, which I reluctantly do but I actually really liked it. I need this. All the weight on my shoulders melts away, feeling the way her embrace engulfs me. It reminds me of mom. Of home. And how much I miss them. "Wipe those tears away so you can go to your next class. Kick some ass."

I sniffle and pull away from her. "Sorry for being such a mess."

"Don't ever apologize for unnecessary things like that. Now, don't let those pathetic tears touch my shirt. This is hand-washed." She taps on my chin and goes back to her swiveling chair. "Now get out. I need to look up ways how I can secure more bags to get my tubes tied. You kids make me crazier by the day."

As soon as I leave the room, I take a deep breath and compose myself. I'd have expected to feel this wave of relief if she were to agree to put me off of the practice team and place me on the normal team. But I got neither, and yet I feel ecstatic. How bad can the practice team be right? Your sisters need you, Grace. They need you more than you need you. Okay, now stop talking to yourself in your head because you're standing there like a dumbass. Get to fucking class.