I became the varsity football team’s water girl in my sophomore year. It was purely on accident, too. I was watching the football team practice because my older sister was late picking me up (again) when I noticed that every time a player needed a drink, they had to leave practice to go to the sidelines and then try to find their water bottle among all the jumbled backpacks. I obviously looked confused, because the coach came over to ask,

“You need something?” I blushed at having been caught criticizing his system.

“Well, sir… I was just seeing how long it took your players to get a drink.”

“And?” the coach prompted.

“Well, I was thinking that it would be handier if you had a water girl.”

“A water girl.”

“Y-yes, Sir,” I stammered. “Like in the movies, when there’s the girl who runs out to the team with an armload of Gatorade water bottles, and each player gets a drink, and then she runs back to the sidelines.”

“I know what a water girl is, Miss Know-It-All.” I blushed even more, but he just barged on. “I assume that you are volunteering?” My mouth dropped open.

“Well, I was going to start a Save-the-Sea-Otters Society…” He turned away,

“And that is why we don’t have a water girl.” I hung my head, abashed, but then jumped down from the bleachers.

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it! Just stop guilt-tripping me.” The coach spun on his heel so that he was facing me. A smile bloomed on his face.

“Well, all right, then! Welcome to the team. I’ll see you tomorrow. Practice is from the end of school to six, dinner not provided.”

And before I could really process what I had gotten myself into, my older sister, Sallie, arrived.

I think that was her plan all along.

.....

The next day, instead of trying to form a doomed Sea Otter Organization, I walked out to the field. The varsity field, mind you. The jv boys were practicing on some garbage patch somewhere.

When the coach saw me standing there, his face lit up with surprise, as if he hadn’t expected me to really show up. He trotted over.

“You came!” He led me over to the huddle of boys to introduce me. The coach leaned towards my ear and whispered,

“I actually never learned your name.”

“Brandt Lansing. I know, weird name,” I whispered back. “And I never learned yours, either.”

“Coach Joe Blanks, at your service.” He turned to the assembled football players and drawled, “Boys, this here is your water girl, Brandt Lansing. She’s not your servant; she’s helping us out of the goodness of her otter-lovin’ heart.”

One of the players grunted. That was the only response that the coach got. I groaned inside my head. It was going to be a long evening. In fact, if that was how they acted, I was out of there.

“You know what?” I said. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I don’t think I speak Caveman.” I spun on my heel to leave, but a voice interrupted my escape.

“Woah, there, Missy.” I spun back around, rolling my eyes.

“Don’t ‘Woah, there, Missy’ me.” The same player laughed and said,

“What do you want me to call you? ‘Cause I’m sure you don’t want me to call you ‘Brandt’. I know from experience.”

“Your name’s ‘Brandt’, too?” I squinted up at him skeptically. He laughed and ran a hand through his dark brown hair.

“No. The name’s Stacey, Stacey Barnaby.” He stuck out his hand, but I didn’t shake it. After a moment, he asked, “What do you want me to do, bow?” I mutely shook my head no. After another minute of silence, he put his hand down and said,

“Coach? Is she okay?” Coach Joe blinked and said,

“It’s probably a girl thing.” I ignored this and looked up at Stacey.

“If you hate your name so much, just ask your friends to call you something else.” He shrugged.

“We’ve tried that. Nothing sticks, though. Amazing didn’t stick. Neither did Jock. Or Buff, for that matter.” I rolled my eyes,

“You are so immature. I meant a real name!” He stared for a minute.

“Like… Felix?” He said this like it was the biggest revelation ever known to man.

“Sure. Like Felix.” I watched as a big grin formed on his face.

“Hey, guys! This girl is actually some sort of genius!” One of the guys in the back chorused,

“Yeah, Felix!” I palmed my forehead. What had I just started? A movement, it turns out. One by one, they stepped up.

“My name’s Lucius Rosa,” said a guy with blond hair. “I hate it.” I squinted at him and said,

“Your shirt has Mickey Mouse on it.”

“It does?” he said with absolute amazement.

“Yeah, on the back. Someone taped Mickey Mouse to your shirt.” Someone catcalled,

“Hiya, Mickey!” And it stuck.

So did Donny for Donovan and Ash for Asher. Brody for Brodias and Nev for Nevern were no-brainers. So were Teddy for Theodore and Hunt for Hunter. Other nicknames, though, took some creativity. Raymond Marsh, for example. We only settled on Monty after saying his name five times fast. And Phillip Harvin; he acted like a farmer. So we called him Tom because it sounded like a farmer’s name. Then there was Pressley, who we started calling Prince because he acted like one.

My favorite nickname story of all was Kayl Carson’s (pronounced Kale). He walked up to me, his brown hair bouncing in waves on his forehead.

“My parents named me after a vegetable,” he said mournfully. I tried to sound chipper,

“Hey, at least they didn’t name you Spinach!” He looked up at me with a big grin,

“I bet it would drive them insane if people called me Spinach!”

And so we called him Spinach.

You’re probably wondering what I thought of these boys after giving them all nicknames. I wasn’t completely on board, but the train hadn’t left without me either. I’m sure you understand the feeling. And it’s a good thing I didn’t throw away my ticket- the ticket gave me an amazing family.