Chosen

The bricks were rough beneath her palms as she hid her hands behind her and tried to press herself into the wall.  Kids squirmed beside her on either side.  Some of them jumped up and down.  Some of them waved.  Some of them called out, "Pick me, pick me!"  But she just stood there, wishing she could melt into the brickwork and disappear forever.

She knew what would happen.  It happened every time.  One by one by one, the other kids' names would be called out.  "Abe!"  "Zach!"  "Sophie!"  They'd go, one to one side, the other to the other side.  Sometimes the captain would decide by himself. Sometimes he'd talk to the rest of the team, heads bent together, glancing up over shoulders to see who was left, trying to figure out who to pick next.

But she would never be chosen.

She was always just left over.

Maybe she should just walk away.  She could pretend she didn't care.  She thought longingly of the book she had left inside.  She should just leave.  But for some reason, the teachers didn't like it when she went off by herself.  She stood, as if nailed to the wall, and sighed.

When there was group work, or in gym class, the teacher always assigned her.  Sometimes her group didn't say much.  Sometimes they rolled their eyes.  But they had no choice.  Neither did she.  If she had a choice, she'd rather work alone than be in a group where they didn't want her.   She supposed that being assigned was better than being left over, but really, it made no difference.  You aren't really a part of a team unless you're there by choice.

And she was never chosen.

She wasn't sure why she was never chosen.  She knew she wasn't the best in the class, but it didn't seem she was the worst, either.  Tara was shorter, and Simon always tripped.  Maybe it was the way she looked.  She knew her clothes weren't the nicest (although she loved the softness of her shirt, and the buttons were so pretty and brown and shiny, and glowed like they had a hidden light inside them).  Sometimes she studied her face in the mirror at night, but it seemed to be an ordinary face to her.  No, there was something wrong with her inside, something that made her the kind of girl that never gets chosen, only left over.

She peeked up from behind her bangs at the captain.  She'd never seen him before.  Maybe he would be different . . . maybe he wouldn't notice that there was something wrong with her.  Maybe he wouldn't do a team huddle and give the others a chance to tell him how awful she was.  Oh, she wished he would choose her!  He looked nice.  He didn't look like the normal captains who chose teams; they were always the most popular kids,  handsome, clever, and funny.  His face was ordinary and his eyes were kind.  She wished he would look her way.  Maybe he would just look up and see her and call -- Stupid!  Stupid!  She cut off her dream and dropped her eyes.  It never happened that way!  It didn't matter who the captain was.  It wasn't the captain, it was her.  Of course no one would pick her.  She was a nasty little girl who wore old clothes and wasn't particularly talented, and had never, never been picked for anything.  She had to be assigned, or she was always left over.

Her hands formed fists behind her, and began to rub against the brick.  It hurt, and she rubbed a little harder.  Maybe if she rubbed hard enough, she'd really hurt herself, and then she would have an excuse to leave. Maybe she could tell herself that she wasn't part of the team because there was something wrong with her, something wrong on the outside where everyone could see.  

Maybe if her hand hurt enough, it would drown out the aching of her heart. . .

Her eyes burned, and her chin jutted out.  She would not cry!  She wouldn't.  They couldn't make her.  She wouldn't let them see how much it hurt to be left standing against the wall.

But oh, how it hurt.  Just once . . . just once, if only . . . except that it wouldn't.  She knew that.  And with the realisation, the starch left her. Her heart broke.  Her head dropped.

Someone called her name.

What?

She was confused.  She looked around, bewildered . . . who had called her?

There it was again!  Her name!  Her very own name.

Trembling now, she looked up.  The captain . . . the captain with the kind eyes . . . he was smiling at her.  How could it be?  Her eyes darted to the left and the right.  There were still kids against the wall -- lots of them -- clambering for attention.  Her eyes flew back to the captain, And he was looking at her.  At her.  "Come on!"  He beckoned her with his hand.  "You're on my team!"

Her legs almost buckled and her heart almost burst as she took the steps.

Toward her Captain.

Chosen.