Throwing Like a Girl

by Weezie Kerr Mackey

  But we stay out there for over an hour, and I realize this is what it’s about, having fun, not caring if you’re good or bad. We dance several in a row, fast and crazy, and then a slow dance. It’s nothing like dancing school. My hands loop around his neck and his arms wrap around my waist, tight and warm. It’s exhilarating because I can smell every part of him, his skin and his hair, even the heat from under his jacket. It’s fabulous.

  Then he steps back for a minute, holds me at arm’s length. “The only thing bad about slow dancing is I don’t get to look at you.”

  And my vast, puffed-up lip rises into a smile.

  It’s eleven when we take a break, and I can’t believe the night is almost over. Will my parents be waiting up for me and will Nate kiss me good night with the condition of my mouth? I excuse myself and head to the bathroom to check my lip. It’s packed with girls fixing makeup and hair, chatting and checking one another out. I quickly scan for Sally. Safe.

  Hidden in a stall, I listen to all the voices. Do they even notice me at all? Not that I want them to exactly, because my experiences with being noticed by Sally and the girls in Behavioral Science have been disastrous. I thought coming to the dance with Nate and playing on the softball team might make a difference. But they don’t seem to. No one’s come up to me and said, “You play first base, right?” or “You’re Nate’s date, aren’t you?” It’s a bit disappointing.

  There’s a lot of turnover in the bathroom. So many girls and so many conversations. I decide to just enjoy this moment and not analyze it.

  I take a quick peek at my lip, then I slip out. In the ballroom I look all over for Nate but don’t see him anywhere.

  Don’t panic. He’s probably looking for me.

  I backtrack to the bathrooms, waiting casually, but don’t see him. I feel a teeny tiny prick of adrenaline inside me. I try his cell phone, but he doesn’t answer. I leave a bright message, trying to sound funny and not worried. Like I haven’t been looking everywhere for him and asking complete strangers where he is.

  It’s eleven thirty. I pictured us saying our good-byes and walking out, arm-in-arm by now. It’ll probably only take fifteen minutes to get home by the highway, but still. This is cutting it close.

  Back in the ballroom, I weave through the crowd scanning every boy. I even look for Sally, Gwen, and Joy, my heart lifting and tumbling with every step. But no luck.

  He’s gone.

  I don’t know what to do. I can’t call my parents. What would I say? Should I keep searching? Where would he go without me?

  I walk out to the main staircase that sweeps down to the lobby. A beautiful, ornate clock above a fountain reads eleven forty-five. I stand at the top in my sea foam dress, on the verge of tears, when all of a sudden, a friendly face appears.

  “Hey, Cinderella,” he calls out to me. It’s Anthony O’Hara in his security uniform. “Having fun at the ball?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Where’s that Prince Charming of yours?”

  “I’m not sure,” I say, realizing how stupid this sounds. “I went to the bathroom, and now I can’t find him anywhere.”

  He watches me descend. “Hope he didn’t give you that lip.”

  I roll my eyes. “Softball. But what do you think about my dress?” I can’t believe I asked him that.

  “That’s a given. Gorgeous.” He smiles. “So, when’s curfew?”

  No, it’s okay, I tell myself. We’re not flirting. That’s a nice, sensible big-brother question. “Midnight.”

  He glances at his fancy black watch with all sorts of scales and knobs and things, then down at my feet. “Cutting it kinda close. Still got both glass slippers?”

  “Funny.” But really I’m suddenly calmer.

  “I’m off duty. Why don’t you let me get you home. Nate can do his explaining later.”

  I look over my shoulder. Couples roam around and music still pounds through the halls and lobby.

  “Okay. Home would be good. Can we just check to see if his car is still here?”

  “Of course.”

  I follow him outside, and it turns out he isn’t parked too far from Nate, whose car is still there. I think of calling him again, but I already left a message. And why hasn’t he called me?

  Anthony shines a flashlight inside Nate’s car to see if there’s been any foul play, but everything looks normal. So we get into Anthony’s car and drive out to the highway. I tell him where to go, but I don’t say much else.

  Just before we get there he says, “If it were anyone else, Ella. But Nate—don’t worry; I’m sure there’s a good reason for all this. Did you have fun at least, I mean, besides the losing your date part?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m Cinderella, right? I was the belle of the ball.”

  He laughs. And I smile because I never say anything funny.

  When we pull in the driveway, it’s five minutes after midnight.

  “Parents gonna be mad?” Anthony asks, nodding at the dashboard clock.

  “I have no idea,” I say, because I don’t have experience breaking curfew. I just hope my father isn’t up peering out the window, wondering whose car this is.

  Out of nowhere, Anthony says, “You’ve done a good thing for my sister, with this softball stuff.”

  I smile, the best I can with the lip.

  “You let me know if there’s any trouble, okay? With Nate. Anything.”

  I nod. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Any time.”

  This isn’t how I imagined prom night ending, but Anthony saved me from total humiliation. I have to be grateful for that, even though inside all my newfound confidence has broken to pieces.

  My father’s asleep on the living room sofa, glasses and an open book on his chest. I would love to sneak upstairs and not say anything to him about tonight. But instead, I kneel down beside him and kiss his cheek. “Dad, I’m home.”

  He sits up groggily. “How’d it go?”

  “It was fun.”

  “Was Nate a gentleman?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  In the privacy of my room, I reluctantly take off the sea foam dress, not sure when I’ll get to wear it again. Back in my usual T-shirt and sweats, I curl up in bed and stare out the window at the night sky. I want to cry. I nearly did at the hotel, but now, in the privacy of my own room, it doesn’t come out. Everything seems so spectacularly wrong.

  A ping against the windowpane tears me out of bed. I look out into the front yard, and there’s Nate in his tuxedo, his hand raised up. At least he didn’t completely forget about me. I have to know what happened, so I tiptoe into the hall and down the stairs. I open the door and he’s standing there on the steps with a mix of relief and worry on his face.

  “Ella, you’re home safe. Thank God. How did you get here? I’m so sorry about tonight. I’m sorry I left. I mean, I didn’t leave. I looked all over for you, but I couldn’t find you, and I had an emergency. Or Sally did. She was in the hotel, in a room with all her friends. She kept calling me. I had to go up there. She was having problems with her date, but we got it worked out.”

  Of course, this is about Sally. She had to make sure I knew who was more important in Nate’s life: her.

  “You couldn’t wait for me before you went up to check on her? You couldn’t send someone in the bathroom to find me? I didn’t know where you were! I didn’t know what to do. I almost missed my curfew.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ella. You’re right. I should’ve waited, but I didn’t think it would take that long. I just needed to be there for her.”

  He steps forward, but I back up. This isn’t good enough for me.

  “Nate, I need to go to bed. I’m so tired. I’m not sure I can have this conversation right now.”

  He stands there. He doesn’t move or speak.

  “We can talk about it tomorrow, okay?” I say.

  “You’ll still be talking to me?”

  “Yes, I’ll still be talking to yo
u.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  I nod my head and try to look as sincere as possible, then I quietly shut the door and stand for a minute, taking deep breaths. I go upstairs slow and steady, but in my room under the covers, I start to let go. I cry into the pillow, mourning the things I miss from my old life: the city in spring, our old house with my room under the eaves, my friends, and my big sisters, especially Beck, who could really come through in a crisis like this.

  And just before my exhaustion turns toward sleep, I remember all the things I would’ve missed if I hadn’t moved here: my first hit, my first date, my first fat lip, my first prom. I wouldn’t know Nate, and I wouldn’t be lying here missing the chance to have our first kiss.

  Championships

  The phone rings off the hook all day. First Christine, Jen, and Amy call and put me on speaker. They’re laughing and yelling questions at me.

  “One at a time,” I say.

  “Okay, did you kiss him with your fat lip?” Christine demands.

  I don’t have the energy to tell them the truth. I whisper, “Yes,” which must come out really loud on the other end because they start clapping and whistling.

  “How was it?”

  “Awkward, but nice.” I wish.

  They seem satisfied. They’re about to take the El to a street fair in Old Town. I feel that familiar pang and imagine going with them. There are always a hundred things going on in the city in the spring.

  Later Frannie calls. “How’s your lip?”

  “Better.”

  “And the big prom?”

  I still can’t bring myself to talk about it, especially since I haven’t heard from Nate. “I’ll tell you guys all about it tomorrow. I gotta go. My dad wants me to help him work in the yard, and I have to start my protest.”

  In the afternoon, when I’m in the garden with my father (having lost the battle), my mother comes out with the phone for me.

  I wipe my hands, tuck the phone under my chin. “Hello?”

  “Ella, it’s me, Nate.”

  “Hi.” I turn away from my parents and go into the house.

  “How are you? Are you okay? Did you sleep all right?” He’s nervous and for some reason this irritates me.

  “I slept fine.”

  There’s a silence I don’t know how to fill. I don’t even know if I want to.

  “I just wanted to tell you again how sorry I am about last night,” Nate says. “I never meant to…ruin everything. I’d come over and talk to you in person, but there’s stuff going on here at home. I can’t leave.”

  “Sure. I’m busy, anyway. So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I hang up and set the phone in my lap, inspect my dirty hands and fingernails. How will things be tomorrow at school?

  The phone rings, right there on my thigh, and I pick it up, thinking it might be Nate calling back, but it’s Rocky.

  “Hey,” she says. “Anthony told me about last night. You okay?”

  “Yeah, he really came through for me.”

  “That’s Anthony, Super Cop. In his dreams. How’s the lip?”

  “Fine. Nate came by last night, later. To apologize.”

  “It was about Sally, wasn’t it?”

  I’m not surprised that she guessed this. “Yeah, it was.”

  “You know she must’ve planned it, right? I bet she did it on purpose.”

  “Probably,” I say. “Anyway, let’s drop it for a while. How are you?”

  “I’ve been better,” she says quietly.

  My stomach plummets. “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, I have four days to convince my dad that being in Tulsa, Oklahoma, for the finals won’t destroy the family.”

  “I thought he was over that. He knows how important this is to you!”

  “He fell apart on Saturday, according to Anthony. He thought my not being around threw everybody off. Thomas missed a baseball game. Mikey wouldn’t go to swimming class. He cried the whole time. Theresa can’t cook to save her life. I mean, I was gone for a total of, what, eight hours? Chaos. I don’t know if he hasn’t had enough time to get used to me not being around every second or if he actually needs me at home.”

  “Let’s talk to Coach,” I say.

  After a minute of silence, Rocky says, “Let me think about it, okay, El?”

  At school the next day, I don’t talk about prom or Nate or going to the Show Boat dress rehearsal. The Rocky situation is urgent. I brief Frannie and Mo on the details. At lunch, we sit in wait for her, hardly talking or cracking jokes. I don’t even look in the direction of Nate’s table, and neither of them, thankfully, is in the mood to probe. Finally, Rocky comes up. She slides her tray across the table and shakes her head.

  “It’s all over.”

  “But what did he say? Can’t we fix this?” I plead.

  “Ella, it’s over.” Rocky looks down at her untouched lunch and gets up. “I can’t eat this.”

  As she cuts through the maze of cafeteria tables, Frannie says, “Go after her.”

  “No. I’m gonna go talk to Coach myself. She’ll know what to do.”

  In the athletic office, Dixie and two of the guy coaches are hanging out. I ask, “Is Coach Lauer here?” and Coach pokes her head out of the AD’s office. She comes out and says, “I’ve got first graders in five minutes. Wanna walk and talk, Ella?”

  “Sure.”

  We walk to a shed by the gym, and she unlocks it. Inside is a mini equipment room with balls of every size and cones and bats and sticks and helmets.

  “Wow,” I say.

  “I know. Don’t you wish you had one of these growing up?”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “There’s nothing like the smell of grass and mud and sweat and mold to really get you going.” She pulls out cones and red kick balls. “Listen, I talked to Rocky’s father this morning.”

  “What can we do?”

  Looking out across the playing field, she sighs.

  “We can’t play in the championships without her,” I moan.

  “Yes. We can. And we might have to. It’s not up to me. And it’s not up to you.”

  I’m so frustrated I’m afraid if I open my mouth I might start yelling.

  “I know how you feel, but as much as I love this sport and this team, sometimes other things are more important,” she says.

  Which is not at all what I want to hear.

  Behavioral Science is a bust. Nate watches me, but I can’t even manage a smile. I don’t know how to talk to him about prom or how to explain about Rocky. I can’t seem to deal with anything at the moment. Thankfully he doesn’t push the issue today, and I bolt as soon as class ends.

  At practice, Rocky throws with me, but she does it without talking or even really looking at me. I can’t figure out what’s going on. Is she blaming me for getting her back on the team? Is it my fault for getting her hopes up, for making her think she deserves a life of her own?

  After our first three drills we stop for water, and I notice that Sally isn’t here. I haven’t seen her all day, and I’m not sure if this has to do with my focus on Rocky or if she’s actually absent. Coach stands with her back to the Peyton Plastics building, where there are no workers anywhere in sight. It makes it kind of lonely out here. Like we’re practicing in a vacuum. I wonder if Coach and Mack Elliott are still an item.

  “As most of you know, the conference divides the teams into two divisions at the championships. Depending on your record, you’re placed in one of two brackets, and you only play the teams in your division.”

  I’m trying to listen hard and not look at Rocky or think about what must be going through her head.

  “We’re in Division II. Fort Worth Country Day is in Division I, ranked number one, so we won’t be able to kick their butts this season. But we’re seeded well in Division II, which means we play Oakridge again in the first game.”

  She holds up a stack of paper. “Here’s your homework assignment. Sue Bee collected st
atistics from the other teams in our division from our games against them this season and last. Take them home and study them. Memorize the names, numbers, positions, and batting profiles. Look at their records against other teams in our bracket. Learn as much as you can. This kind of preparation will only make us better competitors.”

  I can’t help but look at Rocky now. This is right up her alley. She loves analyzing data.

  But she’s staring into space.

  A bad sign. It makes me think Rocky is throwing in the towel.

  On the way home, Theresa asks a million questions about prom, about who was wearing what and where we went to eat. Anthony obviously didn’t share my sob story with everyone in the family. I answer questions, but mostly I look over at Rocky and get no response from her.

  In my driveway I say, “Call me if you want to talk, okay?”

  Rocky nods, giving me a closed-mouth smile so fake I want to scream.

  After dinner, I do the dishes while my mother talks wedding plans on the phone with my sister Liz. Only two months to go. I slip off to my room to study my stats packet. My father appears at the doorway.

  “Everything going all right at school?” he asks. No softball analogies in sight.

  “Yeah.” I turn around in my desk chair to face him.

  He’s leaning against the door frame.

  “Everything okay at work?” I say, trying to keep things moving.

  “Oh, sure. Just wanted to know you’re keeping up with your studies as well as your baseball.”

  “Softball, Dad. With girls, it’s called softball.”

  “Right.” He nods.

  As he backs away, I say, “Dad, I need some advice.”

  He grimaces as if this might hurt.

  “It’s not bad,” I say. “It’s about Rocky and her dad. She doesn’t think he’s gonna let her go to Tulsa for the championships.”

  He comes into my room and sits on the bed. “Because she’ll be away too long?”

  “Yeah. He thinks everything falls apart when she’s gone. I don’t think it’s fair. She never gets to do anything for herself.”