Thrown a Curve (11 page)

W
hen I got home that evening, I started thinking about what Justin had said about my dad. Why was Dad so involved with my older brother all the time and totally annoyed and disgusted with me? He wasn’t home from work yet, so I snuck into his room and started poking around. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but I needed something to keep the whole Stacy Downbaer incident off my mind. I was sure Dad had gotten a phone call from the school, and I was in deep trouble with him already, so getting caught going through his stuff couldn’t make my situation much worse.

I didn’t know much about my mom or why she’d left. Dad never talked about it. Brian always said she was never happy, and he figured she’d found something to make her happy, so she left. It was funny. I’d been so mad at my dad for hating me that I wasn’t mad at my mother for leaving. I was happy she’d been able to get away from this miserable place. Someday, I’d get away, too.

Digging around in the back of Dad’s closet, I came across a photo album I’d never seen before. The only picture I had of my mother was their wedding photo, and in that picture, she was all made-up like a doll, so it was hard to see what she really looked like. I’d always assumed Dad had thrown away all other
pictures of her.

I flipped open the album. It seemed to be full of pictures of my mom when she was younger. In many of the photos, she had long, stringy brown hair, just like mine. I knew her parents had died before I was born, and she was an only child. I continued looking at the different shots of her—in a school uniform, blowing out birthday candles . . . and then, I found it—just as my father walked into the room.

“What are you doing in here, young lady?” he demanded.

Stuffing the album under my shirt, I ran to my room and slammed the door, locking it behind me.

He followed me. “Taylor Dresden, open this door! And what is this I hear about a fight at school? Do you know I have to meet with the principal at 7:30 Monday morning about this? Young lady, if you do not open this door, you’ll have bigger problems than suspensions.”

I opened the door. He was standing there, red in the face, with his hands on his hips. “So what do you have to say about all this?” he said.

“I hit some girl,” I answered, looking at the floor.

“Yeah, I heard that part,” he said, obviously upset. “For any particular reason?”

All of a sudden, I didn’t care any more about making him mad. I wasn’t afraid of him. “For the particular reason that she’s a bitch.” I began to laugh.

He paused, unamused, and took a breath. “Two weeks, no TV, no visits to Justin’s. Be waiting in the car at 7:00 Monday
morning. Good night.” He went into his room and closed the door.

I sat on my bed and pulled out the picture. It was a shot of my mother in a softball uniform. She looked about fifteen years old, and her jersey said “Lowell High School.” I turned the picture over. Someone had scribbled “Ellen’s first win.”

M
onday morning was as bad as I had expected. Dad didn’t say a word to me on the ride to school. When we got to the vice-principal’s office, we had to wait twenty minutes before he called us in—it seemed like years.

“Mr. Dresden?” I finally heard as the vice-principal came out. I watched my father shake his hand. “You and your daughter can step inside now.”

I walked into the office and sat in the first empty chair I saw. Sacamore was already sitting in the office, sipping coffee. He introduced himself to my father without saying anything about our Friday sessions.

The vice-principal addressed me first. “So, Taylor, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

How did adults want you to respond to this question? I gave it a shot. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, but she was saying mean things to me, and I guess I lost my temper.”

“We do not tolerate physical violence at this school,” he answered. “You will be suspended for two days. I wanted to remove you permanently from the baseball team, but Mr. Sacamore has come to your defense.”

My father spoke up. “Sir, if I may interrupt, I think that taking Taylor off the team would be a good idea. Taylor has seemed
distracted since this whole baseball thing started. Maybe the team is too much for her to handle.”

“But, Dad—”

Mr. Sacamore interrupted my protest. “Mr. Dresden, I’ve known Taylor for a while, and I don’t support removing her from the team. I think baseball, most of the time, keeps her away from negative actions. I believe that some of the girls provoke Taylor. Do you agree, Taylor?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled.

“Why don’t you tell us what Miss Downbaer said to you that made you so upset,” Mr. Sacamore said.

My father looked at his watch—twice.

“She was talking about my mother,” I answered.

As he rose, my father looked impatient. “Gentlemen, I’m late for work, unfortunately. I’ll take Taylor home to serve her suspension. Are we finished here?”

“If you agree to the terms, Mr. Dresden, they will stand,” said the vice principal.

“She made her bed, and now she can lie in it,” my dad said.

He didn’t even try to defend me.

He dropped me back home, and as he drove away, all he said was, “And don’t spend all day watching TV.”

I went up to my room, flopped on my bed, and fell asleep. I slept for most of the day. Suspension was great for catching up on sleep. I felt good that Sacamore had stuck up for me today. But I wished it had been my father.

W
ednesday morning, I was back at school. For once, I was kind of happy to be there. I hadn’t thrown a ball in a week, and I was looking forward to the game after school. I wasn’t scheduled to pitch, but I never knew when Coach might put me in to close the game or pitch in relief.

I passed Stacy on the way to my locker, but she didn’t look at me. She still had a bruise on her left cheek. I felt kind of guilty about it, but kind of good, too—maybe she’d stop bothering me now.

I entered Sacamore’s office a few seconds after the bell rang for first period. I wondered what he’d say about my dad, and waited to thank him for helping keep me on the team. It felt good having something to do after school every day.

“Good morning, Taylor,” Sacamore said.

“Hi.” I sat down in my usual chair.

“Sorry I pulled you out of class, but I thought we should chat.”

“It’s okay.”

“How were your couple days off?”

“Uh, they were pretty quiet. I just stayed in my room.”

“I want to talk about the meeting we had with your father on
Monday morning. Would that be okay with you?”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

“So, tell me about that morning. What were you feeling?”

“I was pretty numb the whole couple of days. It was like I spaced out after the thing with Stacy. I don’t remember thinking anything, except . . .” I shifted in my seat.

“Go ahead. What?”

“I wanted to thank you for sticking up for me, Mr. Sacamore. That was nice of you to stick up for me.”

He just looked at me and didn’t say anything.

“No one ever says anything nice about me,” I said. “Teachers always say I’m quiet and I do my work, but that’s not really a compliment.” I looked at my feet. “What did you think of my father?”

Sacamore leaned forward. “It’s not important what I think. I don’t have to live with him—you do. What do
you
think of your father?”

I paused for a moment to think what response would satisfy Sacamore and get him to stop prying. But then I realized something. Sacamore wasn’t a teacher. He got paid whether he “healed” me or not. He wouldn’t repeat what I said to anyone. I was in a place where I could say anything I wanted. No detentions, suspensions, or groundings would be issued. I could probably curse, and Sacamore wouldn’t tell. I might as well be honest.

“I think he doesn’t care if I live or die.” He raised an eyebrow at me, as if to say “enough with the drama, Taylor.” I went on. “I
just feel like no matter what I do, good or bad, he’s mad at me. He’s a complete ass, and he sucks as a father.”

Sacamore perked up. “You should tell him that.”

“What?”

“That he sucks,” Sacamore said.

“He already grounded me for two weeks. I don’t need to spend the rest of my life in my room,” I answered, almost laughing.

Sacamore smiled. “Listen, Taylor, don’t tell him in those exact words. Try to be calmer. Tell him you feel he treats you unfairly, and ask him why he does it. You shouldn’t be angry with him until you hear his side of the story.”

“What do you mean
his side
?”

“Maybe he doesn’t think he’s being harsh. Maybe something’s bothering him. There are two sides to every story. You only know your side. Give him a chance to explain.”

“I guess you have a point,” I said. The bell was about to ring.

“Good. Let me know on Friday what he says.”

“What? I thought we were just talking. I didn’t know you were serious!” I stood up in shock.

He stood up and placed his hand on my shoulder. “It couldn’t hurt to just talk to him. Now get to class.” As I headed for the door, he said, “Taylor, you can do this,” and smiled.

For the rest of the day, I thought about what Sacamore had said to me. I was glad when the school day ended because then
I could get ready for the game and think about something else.

I had developed a pre-game routine, which I followed whether I was scheduled to pitch or not. I would stop by the cafeteria for a Diet Coke and then stroll down to the locker room. I always chose Locker 733 because it was in the back corner and more private. I said “hi” to the softballers and put my bag down on the bench. I enjoyed the fact that the other girls in the locker room had different uniforms from me. It made me feel important. I liked slipping on the long socks and tying my cleats—I always undid the laces and tied them tightly. After wetting my hair, I’d tuck it behind my ears and push my bent hat down on my head. I liked the way my hair stuck out in the back. As I left the locker room, I always grabbed the ledge above the door and did as many pull-ups as I could. I was only up to about nine.

Today’s game was at home, so I walked to the field and found a seat in the dugout. Louis Crawley, the guy who usually caught for me, sat next to me. He had the day off, too. He looked around at the other guys before whispering to me.

“Sunflower seeds?” he asked, shoving the bag toward me.

I figured I should say “yes.” He was trying to be nice, though I wasn’t fond of sunflower seeds. “Sure.” I grabbed a handful.

Louis grabbed a handful also and spit the shells on the ground in front of him. I leaned forward, rested my arms on my knees, and joined him in the spitting session. Some of the other guys shook their heads at Louis. I guessed he was breaking some rule—don’t feed the girl. But I didn’t care. For the first time on this team, I felt a little relaxed.

My thoughts wandered back to my dad. Maybe I should try a different approach with him. Maybe I should just ask him why he hated me.

By the third inning, we were down by two runs. Jared Lawrence was pitching for us, and he wasn’t looking good. The other team had the bases loaded. I was getting tired of sitting, so I wandered around the dugout while I watched Jared walk in a run.

“Man, five to three,” Louis said, shaking his head.

I peeked out of the dugout to look for Justin, but he wasn’t there. I hadn’t talked to him since that day on the bleachers. My dad wouldn’t let me use the phone or leave the house because of my suspension, and I hadn’t seen him today at school. I was kind of afraid to see him, though. I thought Justin felt sorry for me that day on the bleachers, and he was trying to make me feel better. I really liked him, though, and the romantic touch to our relationship had been nice while it lasted.

As I went back to the bench to sit down, Coach yelled out, “Dresden, go get warm.”

I was shocked. For some reason, I said, “Why?”

Coach looked surprised by my response, but then he laughed. “Because I might put you in. Lawrence’s looking finished.”