Stealing Bases

by Anne Key

  “Charley!” Erin’s voice is loud, sharp, and it stops me in my tracks.

  “What?” I can sort of hear the word jangling in my head.

  “Breathe. In. Out. Right now.” Erin is staring at me, right into my eyes, and I gulp in a breath, then another and another. “There. Now do it again.”

  “Uh-huh.” Oh. Oh, wow. Okay. Better. My cheeks are on fire, burning. “I’m sorry.”

  “Totally okay. Wanna talk about it?”

  “It just… I’m fixin’ to be a senior. I mean, I’m a senior now, and it’s all going to be different.”

  “Yeah. Change is hard.”

  I nod. Especially when you don’t know if you’re going to be able to keep your scholarship. The tears are right there, and I try to blink them back, but one falls, then they just won’t stop. They come up a storm.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Erin hugs me, and it’s all over but the crying, and I’m sobbing, big, ugly, horsy things that make me feel like I’m tearing apart.

  “It’s okay. Lots of adrenaline and hormones and the surgery. You can do it.” Erin keeps saying all these nonsense words, but they make me feel better, make me feel like she maybe gets it a little.

  “Sorry. Sorry, huh? I got your scrubs wet.” And I know me—my nose is bright red and I look all swollen.

  “It’s okay. It’s what they’re there for, huh? No worries.”

  “I didn’t mean to… I’m just. Everything’s changing.” And I’m not ready.

  “I’ll tell you a secret, girlfriend. Everything’s always changing, and you’re never ready for it. You just get better at faking it.” She winks at me, and I find a little smile that isn’t real, but we both pretend it is. “Okay, go wash your face, huh? Your brother picking you up today?”

  “No. Kaylee and me, we’re going to pick up our schedules at the school and then hit Town East for a while.”

  “The ghetto mall.”

  “Yeah, but the drive is pretty good.” And we might not even get that far. Rockwall’s got all the stores now, and I’m way more on a Target budget than a Kohl’s one.

  “Have fun, and I’ll see you Monday.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  I know a real-life lesbian.

  Like for real.

  I can’t wait to tell Kaylee.

  Chapter 5

  EXCEPT I don’t tell her.

  I don’t tell her at the mall or over the next week or the night before our senior year starts.

  Hell, Kaylee’s so busy with the cheer squad that I don’t see her hardly at all.

  “I have to go to practice, Charley.”

  “We’re meeting at Bree’s to work on choreography.”

  “I can’t tonight. We’ve got to make signs for the pep rally.”

  The pep rally?

  Man, she used to sit right where Shaundra is now and make fun with me. Now she’s making signs with lions’ paws on them and acting like they’re fucking art or something.

  “Hey, you want to go to the movies tonight? Everyone will be at the football game, and we could just avoid.” Shaundra looks like she can’t wait for this mandatory assembly shit to be over. I wouldn’t care so much if they did it for everyone, but no. Football. Everything’s fucking football here. Like softball doesn’t exist. Sometimes the cheerleaders cheer at the basketball games, but that’s it.

  “Yeah? It’s an out-of-town game, so I don’t have to go.”

  “She’s not your girlfriend, Char, you don’t have to go.”

  “Shut up.” I know that.

  “Seriously. If she wants to have all new friends and never hang out with us losers anymore, that’s fine, but we don’t have to suck her ass.”

  I can’t decide whether to laugh or get mad. Part of me is worried that she’s telling the truth about Kaylee, though. I haven’t been to spend the night over there in damn near two weeks.

  It’s weird and wrong.

  “Sure. Sure, that sounds cool. I have therapy from four to five. Can you pick me up after? I’ll pay for gas.” Four more weeks before I can drive. October. Life sucks.

  “Yeah? Cool. God, I’m so tired of ‘Mony Mony.’ It’s not the sixties anymore!”

  The band always plays the same shit, and it never sounds like anything but noise. I don’t even hear it. I mean, I always tell Jeri that I heard her play, but it’s totally a lie.

  Totally.

  “You want to spend the night at my place? We can sleep on the trampoline.”

  “I’ll make sure Mom doesn’t need me to watch Amy.” That happens less and less often. Amy came back from Vegas all “hey, I have boobs now and shave my legs, and my stepmom, Bimbo Bambi, helped me wax my eyebrows”. It’s fucking creepy if you ask me.

  “Cool.” Shaundra looks at the crowd, the teachers, the whole stupid thing. “Why do they make us do this again?”

  “School spirit. It’s like a thing.” Honestly, I think that someone like in the fifties thought this was cool and we’ve been stuck doing it forever.

  Like homecoming mums or student council. At some point during poodle skirts and dudes with sweater vests, all this crap must have seemed infinitely less idiotic than it does now.

  I mean, they didn’t have Tumblr. Maybe they all had to get together to pretend to care. Now we can fake it online with our phones.

  “She’s just got school spirit so she doesn’t have to wear this fucking uniform. At least she gets to wear real clothes.” Shaundra is a big girl, and this whole “you have to tuck your shirt in” thing is fucking mean. Hell, the whole uniform thing is bullshit, and it’s not about style.

  The whole point is to prove who has money and who doesn’t, just like always. That’s what everything is. Me? I’m a black shirt, black pants, black shoes girl all the way.

  No, totally not a Goth. Black stays clean better. Hell, I just have to get through eight more months of this bullshit.

  Eight more months.

  At least I get to wear my jersey during softball season.

  Kaylee comes out, bouncing and shaking her red and white pom-poms, clapping them together.

  I had to help her fluff them, for fuck’s sake. They come all limp and shiny and small, and you have to mess them up to make them noticeable.

  She’s smiling at the football team—she calls them the Greenville Leadfoots—and bouncing, little skirt not covering anything.

  And the principal says Shaundra not tucking her shirt in is distracting?

  Big whoop.

  “She dating him?”

  “What? Who?”

  Shaundra looks down, juts her chin out at some dark-haired guy. He’s not in any of my classes; he’s on the AP track and I’m just not. I mean, I’m in advanced classes, but I’m not going to be in the top ten or anything.

  Neither is Kaylee.

  “I don’t think so.” She’s never mentioned him to me.

  “Huh. Maybe they have to pick a player to pretend to go with or something. They all have one that’s their ‘special player,’ you know?”

  “Yeah.” Except no. I didn’t know that. I should know that, right? Yeah.

  I totally should know that.

  His name is David or Michael or Kevin—something normal. Something that a lawyer or a doctor or an engineer names another engineer because it’s like everyone else’s and they understand how important that is, to have a name that everyone can spell and that doesn’t confuse anyone.

  He’s way out of my league.

  Way.

  I bet Kaylee’s mom loves him.

  God, is this fucking ever going to be over?

  If there was a way to get out of these things, I would, but even the teachers are stuck here watching the football players pump their arms, the band sway back and forth, and the cheerleaders shake their groove thing.

  This is totally not Glee.

  Chapter 6

  “WHAT DO you mean, you’re not coming?”

  Kaylee and I both have A lunch and then pre-calc right after, and since I’m not w
orking and she’s on another “diet,” neither one of us has to stand in line to eat.

  “It’s out of town.” I’ve made plans.

  “So? My dad will drive. They’ve already decorated the car and everything. They’re going to follow the busses.”

  Oh God, that sounds like hell on earth.

  “I can’t. I’ll be at the one next week.” At least long enough for Kaylee to see me. It’s fucking hot out there.

  “Charley! This is my first game! You have to come!”

  “Are you going with that guy?” The words that pop out aren’t what I expect to say at all, but they’re what happens.

  “Who? Steve-O? He’s my football brother. I’m like his own personal mascot.”

  Personal. Mascot.

  Jesus.

  Two of the Ashleys bounce up, give me the fish-eye. “Kay. Come on. We have keys to the choir room.”

  What the hell does that mean?

  Kaylee’s not in choir.

  “Yeah? Cool.” She stands up, uniform skirt flaring. “I’ll see you in class.”

  She’s gone before I can even ask.

  Choir room?

  Is that like a signal for smoking?

  Does Kaylee smoke?

  God.

  I scrounge in the bottom of my backpack for change. There has to be enough for a Coke, right? Something?

  One of the Rove twins sits, her hair like a cotton ball, pink eyes creepy as fuck. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  Don’t talk to me.

  Please don’t talk to me.

  I don’t know which one you are and I’m scared I’ll start staring and I won’t be able to stop.

  I know it makes me a shitty person, but she looks like a scary rabbit and I’ve got stuff on my mind and….

  “Did you read the book for English?”

  “Huh?”

  “That Bell Jar book. Did you read it? We’re having a pop quiz today, and I didn’t.”

  “Oh. Well, I sorta did. I read about it online.” It’s hard to remember sometimes, that they have to go to class and do homework and shit too.

  It’s even harder to think of them slacking. I mean, you sort of think that all disabled people are like super students overcoming all the things and being great.

  “Can you tell me about it real quick? I can’t afford to bomb another quiz, and Feeney’s such a bitch.”

  “No shit on that. It’s about a crazy girl that kills herself.”

  “What’s the bell-jar deal about?”

  “It’s all about her crazy, like it’s all around her, I guess? She talks about echoes, but I don’t know that it’s like hearing voices.”

  “Ah. Okay, I get it. Not. She’s a writer, huh? They make shit up all the time.”

  “Isn’t your big sister—” She was in yearbook and journalism and AP English and went to college at Harvard or Yale or Oxford or Notre Dame or something and is some type of person that gets in the Morning News now.

  “Yeah. She’s like, a… a… queen of everything. It sucks, but yeah, she makes stuff up all the time. It’s like… because she has sisters like us, she has to be Wonder Woman.”

  “Oh.” Oh, dude, what do I say?

  “It’s cool. I know I’m a freak. If you’re a freak, you know, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Is she sitting with me because I’m a freak? If I am a freak, do I even know? I mean, is that a thing?

  “So, the writer girl, does she die in the book or what?”

  I shake my head. This one I know. “Nah, the real writer, not the one in the book, she’s the one that died. I mean, she killed herself and I think that’s really why she’s famous. She was in that movie with Winona Ryder, I think? Mrs. Feeney’s gonna show it.”

  “Huh. Cool. Love movie days. Nap time.”

  God, I wish I knew if she’s Nell or Bell. I just don’t.

  “Uh-huh.” Although sometimes the movies are pretty good. Better than you’d think, for old stuff.

  “Anything else about the book you think will be on the quiz?”

  “I hope not.” If there is, I’m screwed. I don’t mind reading, but that’s not my thing. I sorta like reading about vampires. Sorta.

  I wonder what my therapist Erin reads.

  We’ve got stuff in common.

  “Cool. Good luck, huh?” She gets up with her weird-assed eyes and her little cane. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  God.

  Five minutes to the bell. Just enough time to pee before trig.

  FML.

  Chapter 7

  MY PHONE beeps at 2 a.m., and I grab for it.

  Kaylee.

  Hey. Tonite sux

  What happened?

  Nothing. everything idk

  Well, what the hell does that mean? Okay, okay. What the fuck day was it? Wednesday night. Nothing happens on Wednesdays ever.

  In the history of the world, Wednesdays have always been stupid.

  ??

  went out w/brandy and them to a church thing. was scary like whoa

  church thing? where? why?

  all of us went

  I’m really, really getting tired of “us” being Kaylee and everybody but me.

  I don’t even know what to say. Kaylee’s people are whatever the absolute opposite of church people are.

  u there

  yeah. scary how

  lots of swaying and moaning and stuff. promising not to fuck when you know they r

  Yeah, but is Kaylee doing it with a guy?

  Sux

  What the fuck am I supposed to say? I was sleeping. I’m tired. I miss her so bad.

  uhhuh can I come over?

  now

  yeah. Mom thinks I spent the nite at brandys. m parked at woodys. i have cokes and milky ways

  ill unlock the door

  I get the door unlocked and get back in bed because hello! Still tired. Mom’s still at either the Denny’s or the Huddle House, drinking coffee and talking to her friends. She says it’s like a myth, that you come home and crash from working.

  She goes to bed after we leave in the morning.

  Whatever, she won’t care that Kaylee’s car is here.

  I’m asleep again but wake when Kaylee comes in, strips off her shoes, jeans, and bra, and pushes under the covers to wrap around me. I don’t say anything because what is there to say?

  People suck, and that’s sad.

  Her hair is stiff and crunchy with hairspray, and she smells like that cinnamon e-cigs juice shit.

  It should be nasty, right?

  It’s not.

  It’s Kaylee, and that makes it cool.

  “I hate them, so bad, Charley. They’re all ‘Praise Jesus’, and then they’re sucking the football players behind the bleachers.”

  The temptation to ask why she does it then is huge, but that’s a stupid question. I know why. It’s a uniform and people looking and the in-crowd and that’s like her—what do they call it—her birthright.

  She’s supposed to be that person.

  “I miss you, huh? You gotta try to fit in a little better. I was half-expecting Shaundra to be here tonight.”

  “Shut up.”

  Shaundra is cool. She’s got brothers and sisters too, and has to work for her money, and she brings Whataburger home from work, which is made of win.

  “You keep hanging out with her, she’s gonna make you fat.” She pokes me in the belly, and I snort. Bitch.

  “Stop it. You’re all busy with the squad and you know it.”

  “It’ll be over soon. Homecoming, your birthday—then football season’s done.”

  “Yeah.” Mum season. Great.

  “I’m going with Steve, you know.”

  Yeah, I know. I don’t do school dances—I look like a dork and I don’t like the way if a guy takes you, you’re supposed to put out. Besides, all of us, we normally just watch slasher movies and eat pizza.

  I can feel how Kaylee’s starting to touch me, hand running u
p and down my stomach, like she’s petting me or something. Like she wants something.

  “He’s a good guy. Cute, and he pays for things, you know? He says his friend, Brant, he wants to ask you.”

  “Favor to you?” Yay. Pity date.

  “No, he likes baseball and shit. His sister is Roni. You played against her when you were a freshman?”

  “Yeah. She was cool.”

  “Good deal. I’ll tell Steve to tell him to ask.”

  “Wait. I don’t….”

  “I need you to do this, Charley. They’re starting to talk, say you’re a lesbo. We know you’re not, but…. We’re going to live together at UT, you have to learn to date. It’ll be good for you.”

  I’m not feeling it.

  I’m really not.

  When I don’t say yes right away, she keeps going. “It’s not like you have to put out or anything, just let him buy you supper. We got reservations at the Oar House for Saturday before the dance.”

  “You got reservations?” Like I’m this totally sure thing.

  “For four. I mean, come on. Who doesn’t want to dress up and go out to supper? It’ll be great. I’ll even pay for a mum for Brant. I have to go order Steve’s. I told Steve he’d better do me right. I mean, seriously. No cheesy bullshit thing. My mom’s going to call his.”

  My mom let me wear hers from junior year last year. She has them all in a box—God, it was cool, totally retro. Mom was in the band, and she’d made hers. There aren’t any lights or music or anything, but the ribbons go to the floor and there are music notes and silver lions.

  Her senior mum is a quad, like the size of a dinner plate and gold and black.

  That was the year she was drum major.

  “I’m going shopping for my dress over the weekend. You should come. I want to try Collin Creek and, if that doesn’t work, then Mom says we’ll try the Galleria. We could go ice skating while we’re there….”

  “I’ll have to ask Erin.” The last thing I need is my damn shoulder popping out because I was goofing off. Erin says this is the dangerous part, where it feels okay but it’s not whole yet.

  “Erin? Who? Oh, your therapist? Why?”

  “My shoulder?” God, like it’s nothing. Like she doesn’t even remember.