Different

by Janet McLaughlin

  Now’s my chance to find out. I pretend to take the pills, but instead I palm them. When Mom’s back is turned, I slip them into the pocket of my jeans.

  “You haven’t forgotten anything, have you?” Mom asks.

  My stomach flips over. Oh my god. She saw me sneak the pills into my pocket.

  “I don’t see your backpack. You usually have it by you on the floor.”

  I blow out the breath I’d been holding. She didn’t see me.

  “I must have left it in my bedroom.”

  “Okay. You better hurry or you’ll miss your bus.”

  “I love you, Mom.” Even though I try to stop them, the words still pop out of my mouth. Mom will know something’s up.

  “I love you, too.”

  I stand and start walking out the kitchen, but guilt fills my belly with stones. I stop and turn as the words slip out again. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too.” She leans against the kitchen counter. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not angry with you. Dad and I had a good, long talk last night. I know I have to let you do things. Sometimes it’s just hard to let go.”

  I nod. If I try to talk, I’ll blurt out about the pills in my pocket. I feel so guilty about not telling her. But if I do, she’ll make me take them.

  I. Don’t. Want. To!

  I blink back tears. “I love you, Mom.”

  Mom comes over and hugs me. “I love you, too.”

  On the bus ride to school, the pills feel like they’re getting heavier and heavier. Halfway there, I pull them out of my pocket, place them on the floor, and crush them with my shoe.

  It doesn’t help.

  I feel guiltier than ever.

  Chapter 13

  “Did you know that you can soften a baseball glove with shaving cream?” It’s Monday, and I’m at lunch with Abbie and Hannah. We’ve been talking about the team and the upcoming scrimmage.

  Hannah laughs. “I didn’t know that. Pretty cool.”

  “Yeah, just like the cream softens a beard, it can soften the leather of a glove. At least that’s what the salesman said when my dad bought me my new glove on Saturday.”

  “Did you try it?” Abbie asks.

  “Nah. Dad bought some other kind of softening stuff from the store. I think I’ll keep using the old glove Coach lent me until the new one is broken in.”

  “I noticed you’re hitting the ball pretty good lately,” Hannah says.

  “I’ve been practicing.” I glance at Abbie. She knows about the batting cage, but I asked her not to tell anyone. I’m glad she didn’t tell Hannah. Truth is I was kind of testing her. She and Hannah have been pretty close lately. I wanted to see if she’d keep my secret. I’m happy she did.

  Abbie’s changes the subject. “So guys, did you see the notice about the eighth grade dance?”

  I shake my head. Hannah says, “No. When is it?”

  “Three weeks from Saturday. The team usually hangs out together. It’s a lot of fun.”

  “I’ve never been to any school dances,” Hannah says.

  “Never?” Abbie asks.

  “It didn’t feel right, going I mean. I was never in any place long enough to make real friends. But if the team will be there, I think it would be cool to go.”

  “Me, too,” I say.

  “I don’t know about you two, but I need a new dress,” Abbie says.

  It’s been five days since I last took my meds. I haven’t been nearly as hungry or tired. And with eating less and exercising more, I’ve lost some weight. I bet my one good dress will be too big for me by the time of the dance. If I can get a cool-looking dress like the girls in the magazines wear, maybe Jamie will notice me.

  Jamie Barnes.

  Jamie Barnes.

  Jamie Barnes.

  “What do you say, Izzy?” Abbie asks.

  “Sorry, I was thinking of something else. What did you ask me?”

  “We decided we needed to go to the mall to shop for dresses on Saturday. Are you coming?”

  “Yes!”

  “I’ll ask my mom to take us if one of your parents can pick us up.”

  “It’s my turn,” Hannah says. “I’ll ask my mom.”

  The two of them start talking about styles and colors, but all I can think about is the new me—and Jamie Barnes.

  Chapter 14

  “You’ve been playing with your food all through dinner,” Mom says to me. “What’s bothering you?”

  I toss my fork in the air and barely catch it by its prongs before it hits the plate.

  “Izzy!”

  “Sorry.” I put the fork down, wipe my hands on my napkin. “It’s a tic!”

  “I know, but it’s a dangerous one.” Mom takes a deep breath, blows it out through her nose. I can tell she’s trying not to get annoyed.

  I grunt, pick up my fork, hold it tight and force myself to take a bite of food. Then I put the fork down. Very carefully.

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too. Okay, what’s bothering you?”

  “The school’s having a dance for eighth graders only, and I need a new dress.” I turn to Dad. “I know you spent a ton of money on all this equipment and I hate to ask you—” Grunting, I pick up the fork. Toss and catch it.

  Mom closes her eyes. I’m not sure she’s upset about the fork or my mentioning the money for my softball stuff. Probably both.

  “What do you need, Izzy? Just ask me,” Dad says.

  “I need some money for a dress for the dance.”

  Dad doesn’t answer right away. He looks at Mom.

  “You tell her,” she says. “You’re the one spoiling her.”

  Dad huffs out a breath, pushes back his chair. “I’m sure you heard Mom and me arguing last week after I bought the batting cage.”

  I nod.

  “Mom thought it was a lot to spend, even though”—he throws Mom a long stare—“even though I told her I bought it for me as much as for you. But there was the glove and the cleats, too, and well, I ended up spending a lot of money.”

  “So does that mean I can’t get the dress?” Grunt. Tap, tap, tap.

  “Not exactly,” Dad says, “but there are some conditions.”

  “What kind of conditions?” I don’t like the way this conversation is going.

  “First, this is not a punishment,” Dad says. “Mom just wants you to understand the value of a dollar.”

  “Joe!” Mom’s face is starting to get red.

  “I mean Mom and I want you to. So yes, you can get the dress but you’ll have to pay us back by doing some chores.”

  Tears well up in my eyes. “This is so unfair. I didn’t ask for that stupid batting cage!”

  Both Mom and Dad’s eyes widen with surprise. I usually don’t lose my temper so quickly. And the cage is really helping me with my batting. And it was sweet of Dad to get it for me. But ...

  The words slip out before I can stop them. “Dad said he got it for himself as much as for me. And I don’t ask for much. All I want is a stupid dress.”

  “Izzy!” Mom says. “I think you owe your dad an apology.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble. I won’t get a dress by making them mad.

  “Are you done fussing?” Mom asks.

  “I said I was sorry.” I tap, tap, tap the table and grunt. I can feel the tension in my body getting tighter and tighter. “Can’t you just buy me the dress? I don’t have time to do chores. I have practice every day after school.”

  “You can help around the house on the weekend,” Mom says.

  Another grunt. “I’m going to the mall with Abbie and Hannah on Saturday. That’s the only time I have to shop.” Now my voice is rising.

  “Take a breath, Izzy,” Dad says. “If you don’t have the dress paid off by the dance, you can work off the rest later.”

  I don’t like this change in rules. Not one bit. I grind my teeth, get up, and kick the chair.

  “Fine! But I don’t think it’s fair springing it on me like
this.”

  Dad eyes narrow as he glares at me. “Izzy, if you don’t calm down and show some respect to your mother and me you won’t be going to that dance.”

  I want to yell at them that I don’t care if I go to the dance. I don’t care if they’re mad at me. I don’t care! I don’t care about anything!

  I bite my lip to keep from shouting at them and head upstairs to my room. I lie down on the bed, put my face into the pillow—and scream.

  Chapter 15

  Jamie has a black eye! Well, not black, really. More like purple and sore looking.

  He sees me staring and turns back toward the front of the class. Red creeps up his neck all the way to the top of his head. I so want to ask him what happened, but his shoulders are all hunched up. I’m pretty sure he wants to be left alone.

  How did he get that black eye, though? He must be really clumsy or something because last week I saw that bruise on his side when he ran by the softball field with the track team. And now his eye and—Oh my god! Could it be? I’ve heard about parents who beat their kids. I don’t want to believe it, but could his dad—

  “Isabella.” Mrs. Morgan is standing next to me.

  Uh oh. What did I do now? I look up at her. “Yes,” I say, holding in a grunt.

  “What is it you find so fascinating?” Her voice is low so only I can hear. “You’ve been distracted all morning.”

  This time I can’t hold in the grunt. “Sorry,” I say, totally embarrassed. “It’s”—I grunt again. Toss my pen in the air. Catch it. Start again—“It’s just a tic,” I say softly, so only she can hear.

  She nods. Whispers back, “Do you need to step out?”

  I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  But I’m not fine. Now that I’m focused on them, my tics are worse. In fact, I might explode if I don’t do something, so I bounce my legs up and down under the desk. I disguise a couple of grunts as coughs. I bend over and touch the floor, then retie my shoe so it looks like I have a reason for being down there in the first place.

  But I do not look at Jamie Barnes.

  As soon as class is over, I rush to the bathroom and explode with a long, loud grunt. When a couple of girls come in, I go into a stall and wait for them to leave. Then I punch, punch, punch the door, touch my toes—the bathroom floor is too disgusting to touch—and grunt one more time. Now I’m ready to go to the next class.

  Abbie is waiting for me outside the bathroom. “You okay?” she asks.

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  “Come on. We’re already late for class.” She tugs at my arm, and we run down the empty hallway.

  Chapter 16

  My clothes are starting to fit me better, even hang a little, and I’m not as hungry as I used to be. The warm-ups before practice are getting easier, too. Even though I’m still running last on the laps, I can at least keep up. And I can actually lift my feet off the ground for jumping jacks like we’re supposed to do. I should have stopped taking those stupid pills months ago. No, years ago!

  I can’t wait to go dress shopping tomorrow, either! I’m going to get a straight, short dress like all the girls in eighth grade wear. I haven’t decided what color yet. Maybe red. No—

  “Izzy! Heads up!” Coach calls as she hits a high fly ball out to me in right field.

  Darn. I should have started running back right away, but I didn’t see the arc of the ball until it was too late. It flies over my head, beyond my reach. I glance over at Meghan. Is she laughing?

  “Izzy,” Abbie calls from first base. “Go get the ball.”

  I pull my eyes away from Meghan. What is wrong with me? Grunting I bend over, touch the ground, and run back to the fence where the ball has landed. I grab it and pitch it toward home plate where Coach is standing. It only makes it halfway, but that’s a pretty good toss for me. I’m getting stronger, and my batting is much better. I just have to focus.

  After practice, Coach pulls me aside.

  “Everything okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You seem more distracted then usual lately. Any problems at school or home?”

  I grunt. Tap, tap, tap her shoulder. “Everything’s fine.” An awful thought pops into my mind. “You’re not kicking me off the team, are you? I’ll pay more attention. I promise.”

  Coach pulls her eyebrows together. “Whatever gave you that idea? On the contrary, I have to say I’m impressed with how far you’ve come in such a short time.”

  “Thanks, Coach!” I smile and poke, poke, poke her shoulder. “I’m trying. I practice every night with my dad. Sometimes Abbie comes over, too.”

  “Well, it shows. Keep it up.” She starts to leave, then turns back. “By the way, not sure if Abbie told you, but everyone plays at least three innings for every game. That includes scrimmages. I’m sure by next Wednesday you’ll be even stronger, but I do want you to work on focusing. You seem to get distracted out there in the field.”

  I swallow a grunt. I’ve been putting the thought of the scrimmage out of my mind as best I could. But the closer the game gets, the more real it is, and the more nervous I get so the more I tic.

  I give Coach a fake smile. “Great,” I say, “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Coach nods. “Okay. I’ll see you Monday. Enjoy your weekend.”

  The stress starts to build as soon as I leave the dugout. Mom will definitely show up. Dad will probably leave work early and come. What if I mess up? Will they start fighting about the batting cage and all that money again?

  What if I have to touch the ground and do a 360 at the plate before I can bat? Okay, so I did that for tennis, not softball. But there’s always a first time. And why did I have to think of that now?

  It takes all my strength not to cartwheel my way to Mom’s car. Instead, I do a couple of twirls.

  Ugh!

  Chapter 17

  I’ve never shopped for a dress without Mom before. In fact, I’ve never shopped for anything without Mom. I grunt and tap, tap, tap Abbie’s shoulder.

  “Where do you want to go first?”

  Abbie shrugs and looks at Hannah.

  “Don’t look at me,” Hannah says. “This is my first dance. Besides, it’s your mall. You decide.”

  We’re standing in the middle of the department store where Mrs. Anderson dropped us off. “I guess we can check out the junior department here,” Abbie says.

  When we get a look at the dress prices, all of us decide we need to go somewhere else.

  “Let’s try this one,” Abbie says when we get to a popular teen store. “I’ve been in here a few times. They have some pretty cool stuff.”

  “I’ve always wanted to shop here,” I say. “My mom always said no.”

  “Why?” Hannah asks.

  “She thinks the outfits look cheap. Like, in tacky. I kind of like them.”

  “Me, too,” Hannah says. “Let’s check it out.”

  Mom was partly right. Some of the dresses have cut-outs in places I’d rather hide. But there are some cute things, too. And the prices are good. I don’t want to be working off the cost of an outfit for the rest of my life.

  We all pick out a bunch of dresses and go to separate fitting rooms.

  I sigh and look at the dresses hanging on the hook. I brought in six of them. Two each in different sizes. Since I started losing weight, I don’t know what size I wear.

  I slip on a black, A-line dress with a lace and sequin top. It’s a size nine, and it hangs on me like a tent. I am so excited I tap, tap, tap on the mirror and grunt. My size nine clothes were getting snug on me when I was taking my meds.

  I try the same dress on in a size seven, and it fits perfectly. I step out of the dressing room and stare at myself in the three-way mirror at the end of the hallway, not believing what I see.

  Abbie comes out, and her eyes go wide. “You look awesome, Izzy. I saw that your clothes were getting a little loose on you, but I had now idea that you lost that much weight.”


  I can’t stop the smile that takes over my whole face. “Yeah, well, I’ve been eating less and with all the exercise,” I shrug. “I guess I did lose a lot, huh?”

  Hannah steps in the hallway. “Wow. Abbie’s right. You look great!”

  “So do both of you,” I say.

  “I still have a couple more dresses to try on,” Abbie says.

  “Me, too!” Hannah and I say at the same time.

  Laughing, we all head back to our dressing rooms.

  I try on a straight, sleeveless red dress with a short, stand-up collar next. It’s gorgeous. I wouldn’t have dared even try on a dress like this a while ago. I can’t take my eyes off the me in the mirror. I look like Abbie and Hannah. Cool. Sophisticated. Normal.

  Both Abbie and Hannah love this one on me. I decide not to even try on the other dresses. The red dress is definitely the one. And it won’t take me a year to work the cost off, either.

  Abbie and Hannah both end up with black dresses, but in totally different styles. We finish shopping a lot earlier than we thought and decide to go for a treat. While Abbie and Hannah both get double-dipped ice cream cones, I settle for a low calorie smoothie. I am determined to wear this dress at the dance. I kind of like the new me.

  When I get home, I show Mom the dress. She looks at the tag and her eyes go big.

  “Really great price, huh?” I say. “I told you that store had some nice stuff.”

  “I was looking at the size, not the price,” Mom says. “Since when do you wear a size seven?”

  “Since I—” I almost said since I quit taking the pills, but stopped myself in time. I grunt, then say, “Since I started softball. Coach puts us through a lot of warm up exercises and then there’s the practice games. I guess it uses up a lot of calories.”

  Mom looks at me closely. “I’ve noticed your clothes were starting to get big on you, but I had no idea you lost this much weight. You’re not keeping anything from me, are you?”

  The blood drains from my head, and I feel a little faint. She knows about the pills! I sit down on a kitchen chair, grunt, tap, tap, tap the table and ask “What are you talking about? Do you want me to be fat!”