Anthropology of an American Girl: A Novel - By Hilary Thayer Hamann Page 0,14

is not—but, then again, everything is sad at four-fifteen in the afternoon.

In the barn I always walked that same line—pacing along the plank to the overpainted brown door in back that opened onto no place in particular, just a stall with a potting bench. When I reached the wooden ladder to the sleeping loft, I turned, keeping every inch of my body centered and upright. In some parts of the world, steadiness is a requirement. In some places, children carry baskets on their heads. In America, we don’t need balance, except maybe in school athletics.

Pip Harriman was perfectly balanced when she climbed the ropes for the presidential physical fitness exam in gym that morning. It wasn’t the actual presidential physical fitness test but a simulated version to determine our “health entry points,” from which we were expected to improve by the year’s end.

Pip’s hands went fast, fist over fist, with her legs crossed like wishful fingers, pinching to maintain counterbalance. Even in the gymnasium’s fluorescent light, her hair gleamed like a length of satin ribbon.

Coach Slater took advantage of Pip’s sterling example by making a speech. “Rope climbing is noncompetitive, okay ladies?” Coach shouted didactically in a stirring bit of showmanship. Her voice echoed from the freshly polyurethaned floors to the soaring metal rafters. “A climb is a personal challenge, okay? It’s an opportunity for you to top your own best performance.”

It seemed pretty competitive nonetheless, with Pip effortlessly mounting the one available rope while the rest of us sat slumped and cross-legged, averting our eyes and praying like mad for time to run out before Coach got around to calling our names. If they really wanted it to be noncompetitive, they should have divided us into groups, then added up the total number of inches climbed by each team. Then at least we’d all root for one another to go higher—every single inch gained by one would make a difference for all. I wasn’t sure what it had to do with fitness anyway, since the entire gym class was spent sitting and waiting. And obviously the ropes weren’t important enough to practice on a regular basis, since they only got dropped from the ceiling for tests. It’s not exactly a usable life skill, except maybe in the circus or the army.

“Can you imagine?” I whispered to Kate. “Pip under the Big Top?”

Kate shushed me. She didn’t want me to draw Coach’s attention to us. I would tell her later, at dinner, and we would laugh. My mother liked to laugh about Pip.

Once we were all standing in Kate’s parents’ driveway—it was probably freshman year.

“What is it with these children’s names?” Mom asked. “Claire, have you heard them?”

“Oui,” Maman replied in her turbid accent, “Pip.” Peep.

“What are the others?” Mom asked.

Kate made a list. “Coco and Kiki, Bobum, Winn.”

“Skip,” I added, “Colt, Duff, Leaf. Fick.”

“Fick!” my mother said, laughing so much she needed her asthma inhaler.

Maman didn’t think it was funny. “It is very sad, Irene,” she scolded, “this American custom of calling a child by the name of a dog.”

Pip hopped off the rope, triumphant and breathless, and Coach made a check mark on the fitness report form. Coach called, “Palmer, Ellie!”

The worst thing about the ropes was the panic you felt when you stood up, knowing everyone was staring. Though I sympathized with whomever was up there, I would stare too, since you were wise to feign interest. Ellie rose reluctantly, yanked her T-shirt down around her hips, went dutifully to the swinging rope, tilted her head as if wondering how to begin, then looked pathetically to Coach for some kind of break. But coaches never give breaks. They take their jobs seriously—you can tell by the way they wedge their clipboards into their bulging bellies, blow silver whistles up close and indoors, and wear neat-looking Adidas sweat suits, though they never break a sweat.

Coach Slater had to be forced to give Alice Lee a break. Before class started, Alice had handed Coach a doctor’s note saying to excuse her from the exam because it was that time of the month. Coach was especially irritated when Alice asked if she could stay there in the locker room or go to the nurse’s office for privacy because we were going to be sharing the gym with the boys.

“Are you enrolled in this class?” Coach shouted.

“What do you mean?” Alice asked suspiciously.

Coach shook her head like Alice was dumb. “I mean, are you enrolled in this class?”

“I guess.” Alice’s head