Thrown a Curve (13 page)

“You leaving, Dresden?” Louis asked, blocking me with his leg.

“Yeah, I should get going,” I said, thinking that was enough explanation.

“Aw, come on,” Louis said. “Hang out for a while, so I have someone to talk to. Pitchers and catchers have to bond, you
know.”

Louis was a really nice guy. The other guys picked on him because he was kind of chubby. I figured he was being sincere, but I had to go.

I made up an excuse. “I’m meeting someone at the movies, and I’m already late. Sorry.”

He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll see ya later.”

I was already halfway down the sidewalk when I saw them—Stacy and her two disciples, Rhonda and Tali. They were chatting and laughing until Tali saw me, tapped Stacy, and pointed toward me. All three stopped dead in their tracks. Stacy yelled to Rick, who was now on the front porch, “Rick, why is
she
here?”

“Not my house, Stace,” he answered.

“I was just leaving,” I said, moving around them.

“Good,” Stacy said firmly. “Crawl back into your hole.”

I stopped walking away from them. And then I paused to think, which is not something I normally do—I usually just react. What would Sacamore say in this situation? Probably something like, “The more you hurt others, the more you hurt yourself.” Or he’d say, “Try to see it from her side.”
Her side?
Maybe she was afraid of me. After all, I did get her good last time. Maybe she felt threatened by me hanging out with her crowd. Maybe this crowd was all she had. Sacamore would also say, “Talk it out, Taylor.”

I turned back toward the three girls and spoke calmly. “You know, Stacy, you probably think a lot of girls envy you. But I feel sorry for you . . .” I paused and swallowed. My throat was dry.
“Because I believe that what goes around comes around. And if you keep being cruel to everyone, one day, when high school is over, and you’re not in this tiny world that you think is reality, someone’s going to give it right back to you.”

“Oh, like I’m so scared,” she said to her cronies.

I took one step toward her and raised my fist. She flinched and backed up.

I smiled, turned, and walked away. When I got home, I walked through the front door and saw my father reading in the living room. He looked up at me briefly, and I looked at him. We said nothing. He went back to his book, and I went upstairs to bed.

O
n Thursday, the day of our next game, the hours seemed to drag by. I was in History class, staring out into the hallway, when I saw Justin walk by the classroom door. Then I saw him go by again. Mr. Krimick was droning on about the Civil War. “Yes, this will be on the test,” he kept saying. Justin was now at the door, where he knocked twice. Mr. Krimick yelled for him to enter.

Justin stuck his head inside the door. “Excuse me, Mr. Krimick, but they need to see Taylor Dresden in the office.”

Mr. Krimick nodded toward me. “Taylor, better take your things. The bell’s about to ring.”

I scooped up my books and quickly left the room. Justin was already halfway down the hall, laughing and beckoning to me. “Come on!”

I caught up with him. “Where are we going?”

“It’s lunch time. I thought we’d go someplace nice.”

“Justin, lunch isn’t for an hour. We’ll miss fourth period.”

He stopped. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I got everything covered. My buddy Jack’s going to tell Ms. Miller you’re at the nurse’s, puking and stuff.”

I thought a minute. “All right, but I have to be back by last period or they won’t let me pitch today.”

We hurried out one of the side doors and snuck quickly through the parking lot. Justin headed into the woods behind the school, and I followed. I knew kids always came out here to smoke and fool around when they cut class, but I’d never been out here.

We walked for a while, and then we came to a clearing by a little stream. Justin sat down on a fallen log and opened his backpack. He pulled out two deli sandwiches.

“Turkey or roast beef?” he asked.

I sat down next to him. I wasn’t hungry at all, just curious. But I said, “I’ll take the turkey.”

He handed me the sub and a bottle of iced tea. While he began devouring his sandwich, I sipped the iced tea and looked at the stream. After he’d eaten half his food, he took a big gulp of soda and turned toward me, wiping his hands on his jeans. “So, I guess this thing with you and me is a bust, huh?”

“What?” I said, surprised.

He twisted his bottle cap back on. “Well, ever since that day on the bleachers, you haven’t talked to me, so I figured you’re not interested.”

I was confused. “Justin, that’s not it. I’ve just been busy with baseball. And crap with my dad and Sacamore—”

He interrupted. “T, it’s okay. You don’t need to make excuses. I just brought you out here to tell you you’re off the hook. It’s cool if you’re not looking for a relationship. We can just be buds like we’ve always been.”

I was speechless. Of course I liked him. What was he talking
about—
let me off the hook
? Maybe he wanted out, and he was turning it around on me. I wasn’t sure what to say. I just sat there stupefied, looking at the ground. I wasn’t going to tell him I was interested if he was looking for a way to just be friends again. I didn’t want to lose him as a friend. Our friendship had been the only thing that kept me from jumping off a cliff these past few years.

Justin spoke again. “So we’re still friends, right?”

I nodded and said softly, “Of course we’re still friends . . . if that’s what you want.”

“Good, I feel better.” He began eating again. “So, who are you pitching against today?”

I answered all his questions about the game. We were playing Mainland, and I was starting. They had a serious power hitter, Tommy Bucci. Yes, I was nervous. But as I spoke, all I could think about was what had just happened. I hadn’t wanted a boyfriend before all this stuff happened, but now was I supposed to go back to not kissing him? Go back to not thinking about kissing him? I couldn’t stand the thought. Maybe I should just tell him how I felt.

“I guess we should start heading back,” Justin said.

We made our way back to school. And, like an idiot, I said nothing.

I was not in the mood for baseball that afternoon. I downed
a soda before the game, trying to wake myself from the coma I’d been in since lunch. I stumbled out of the locker room. I hated pitching home games. I actually felt better with the crowds at away games. I didn’t expect them to cheer for me, so their silence made sense and felt right. At home, the silence was uncomfortable. Even if someone wanted to cheer for me, they probably would’ve been made an outcast for doing so. This morning, I’d been looking forward to pitching, especially after my save yesterday, but I wasn’t excited now. I’d lost my game face. I trudged down the hall, toward the back door of the school.

When I rounded the corner by the trophy case, I was hanging my head so low, I ran right into Mr. Sacamore.

“Ooh, sorry about that,” I said before realizing who I’d run into. Then I looked up. “Oh, hey, Mr. Sacamore.”

“Taylor, this
is
a coincidence,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?” He looked me in the eyes.

“Sure, I guess,” I said, shrugging.

“You want to talk? I have some time.”

I looked out the door at the end of the hall and saw the guys warming up. “Uh, I can’t right now. I don’t have time. I’m starting today.”

“If something’s on your mind, you better clear it up before you get on the field.”

I looked at Sacamore. I looked outside. I thought about my dad and about Justin. I dropped my head and felt the tears well up in my eyes. What was I thinking? I couldn’t pitch right now. I stammered, “I just . . . I just can’t do this any more. I can’t do
any of this. Everyone hates me.”

I turned, walked quickly in the other direction, and pulled my hat down so no one would see the water works that were about to start. I pushed open the gym door. It was empty, thank God. The bleachers were pulled out for the teacher vs. student volleyball game scheduled for later. I ducked behind the bleachers and walked under the dark wood until I was out of sight. I sat down against the wall.

I was so numb, I couldn’t get the tears to come out. I would hide in here, I decided, and somebody else would have to pitch. To my right, I heard the sound of the gym door creaking open. Shoot—Sacamore. Maybe he wouldn’t find me.

“Taylor?” he said in a loud whisper. “You in here?” He walked toward the center of the gym. As he neared the other end of the bleachers, my eyes followed the sound of his footsteps. The waxed gym floor squeaked when he stopped to peek under the bleachers. He smiled when he saw me.

I was actually relieved he found me. I was such a sucker. I was really starting to like Sacamore. He seemed to truly like me, and that was something I needed. Carefully ducking his head, he stepped over the metal frame of the bleachers. He settled himself next to me and opened the water bottle he was carrying. Pointing to the bottle, he offered me a sip, but I shook my head. He sighed. We just sat there.

Finally, he said, “I’m going to tell you a secret, Taylor.”

I turned my hat backwards and faced him, waiting.

“It doesn’t matter who likes you. There are always going to
be people who don’t like you. Heck, there are even people who don’t like me.” He snorted out a laugh. “What matters most is that you like yourself.”

“What’s to like?” I said glumly.

He got to his feet but stayed bent over so he wouldn’t hit his head. “Well, that’s something you have to figure out yourself. Now, I believe you have a game to pitch.” He began to walk away, but he turned back to say, “I’ll tell you one thing I like about you—you’re not a quitter. You haven’t given up on fixing things with your dad, and you haven’t given up on this team yet, either.” He spoke firmly but seemed a bit disappointed. I didn’t want Sacamore to hate me, too.

And with those words, something took over my body like magic. I stood up and headed outside.

Because of my detour under the bleachers, I was late getting out to the field, so I had little time to warm up. Jamie London was catching for me today. I always felt like he threw the ball extra hard back to me, just to be a macho jerk. He hardly ever gave me signs on what to throw. He didn’t care about winning—he just cared about his own batting average.

I jogged out to the mound for the first inning. I kicked at the rubber, cleared the dirt off it, kicked it again, and cleared more dirt off, trying to focus.

“Batter up!” the ump yelled.

Not only was I feeling horrible, but I was armed and dangerous. The first batter was nearly beheaded by the high fastballs I was hurling. I walked him on four straight pitches. The next
batter took one on the shin and was awarded first base.
Great!
Two on, no outs. Now the crowd was getting interested.

“Take her out, Perez!” a fan yelled.

“She’s gonna kill somebody!” another parent screamed.

But Perez left me in. Before facing the next batter, I paced around.
Stop thinking about Justin. Stop thinking about Dad.
I looked for Justin in the crowd. He wasn’t there. Nobody was ever there for me.

I wound up and delivered the ball. I’d never thrown so hard before. It was as if all my anger was in that ball. It flew way over London’s head, forcing the umpire to duck, and slammed into the fence. It didn’t fall to the ground, but lodged itself in the mesh wire. Both runners advanced because of the wild pitch.

“What the . . .” I heard from the crowd.

The umpire walked toward the ball and examined it like it was a rare fossil. He waved for Perez to come out of the dugout.

“This girl is too wild, Coach. I think you should consider taking her out,” the umpire said. Perez headed toward me on the mound.

“I’m not taking you out, Dresden. I refuse to take anyone out in the first inning. I’m just out here to humor the umpire. Get it together, and get out of the inning,” he said, and then jogged back to the dugout. He gave the umpire a big thumbs-up. The ball was still stuck in the fence, so the ump threw me a new ball.