Mom sits opposite me. “Of course not. And you were never fat. But I can’t help worrying that you might be doing something foolish like—” Mom hesitates.
I wait. I won’t admit to anything.
Finally she blurts out, “You’re not throwing up your food on purpose, are you?”
I know a couple of girls who do that, but no matter how much weight I gained I never even considered it.
“Is that what you think? You don’t believe that I could watch what I eat and exercise and lose weight? Thanks for trusting in me, Mom!”
“Don’t go getting upset, Izzy. I just worry about you. That’s what moms do.”
But I am upset, and I can’t keep the anger out of my voice. “Why do you always do this? You always ruin things for me. I was going to try this on for you, but now I don’t want to. At least my friends were excited for me.” I grab the dress and head toward the stairs.
“Izzy!” Mom calls after me. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. Please try it on for me.”
But I don’t stop. She’ll just have to wait for the night of the dance to see me in it.
When I get to my room, I hang the dress in the closet and sit on my bed. After a few minutes, the anger goes away and I start to feel awful. What is wrong with me? Mom didn’t do anything wrong. She was just worrying about me. I can’t stand having her upset or angry.
With a sigh, I go downstairs. When I walk into the kitchen, Mom is still sitting in the same chair, staring at the wall. She blinks and looks my way.
I go over to her and give her a hug. “I love you, Mom.”
She smiles, but her face still looks sad. “I love you, too.” She pulls me onto her lap and brushes hair off my forehead. We sit that way for a few minutes. “How about you show me how great you look in that awesome red dress.”
I smile. “I’ll be right down.”
I peek over my shoulder as I leave the kitchen and watch as Mom pulls a tissue out of her pocket and pats her eyes. My heart aches as I trudge up the steps. Why does this always happen?
“I love you, Mom,” I whisper. But there’s no answer.
Chapter 18
Today is the big day. The one I’ve been looking forward to. And the one I’ve been dreading. Our first scrimmage. And it’s at home.
Coach is starting me. Right field. Ninth batter in the line-up.
I circle around the dugout, punching my glove and touching the ground. I even tap a few people on the shoulder. Nobody seems to notice. They’re all nervous, too.
Warm-ups are over, and the coaches are talking to the umps. It feels like forever before Coach comes back and tells us to take the field.
As I trot out to right field, I glance at the bleachers. Mom and Dad are in the stands. They both wave when they see me looking. I think Mom is getting used to the idea of me playing softball. In fact, by the way she’s smiling and holding Dad’s hands, I’d say she’s even excited.
As soon as I’m in position in right field, Meghan throws me a warm-up ball. It’s way high and sails over my head and into the far end of the field. As I’m running to get it, I spot the track team jogging by.
There’s Jamie, tagging along at the end again. He doesn’t notice me watching as he picks up the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. His bruised side has faded a lot. In fact, you can hardly see it. There are still traces of the black eye, though.
“Izzy! Are you going to throw me the ball or what?” Meghan has her glove up, waiting. She’s looking at me with that irritated look my teachers get sometimes.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I pitch the ball to Meghan. It’s a pretty good throw. She only has to move a little to catch it. All that practicing is definitely paying off.
A few minutes later, the ump calls, “Batter up.”
The game is about to begin.
My legs start to shake, my stomach hurts, and I feel like I have to pee. I punch, punch, punch my glove, bend over and touch the ground, then stand and grunt really loudly—out there in right field where no one can hear me. Though I notice Mom is watching. I shake myself to get rid of any more tics. I’m as ready as I can be.
Every time a batter goes up to home plate, I hold my breath. Afraid they’ll actually hit the ball my way, and I might not catch it. Yet hoping they will so I can prove to myself, and my parents, that I can do this.
Sweat drips into my eyes. Bugs nip at my arms and legs. But I don’t let any of that distract me. I’m ready and focused the whole time.
Three innings pass, and not one ball comes my way.
It’s now the bottom of the third inning with one out, and we’re at bat. Hannah’s standing at home plate. I’m on deck, waiting for my turn. It’s my first at bat, and my legs are as shaky as my hands. So far there’s no score. In fact, no one on our team has even had a hit yet.
I bend down and grab some dirt—to hide my touch-the ground-tic—and rub it into my hands. I wipe them on my white uniform pants, leaving two big blotches of brown on my thighs. I glance over to see if Mom is watching. She smiles, waves, and gives me a thumbs-up. Unlike my regular clothes, I guess dirty uniforms are okay.
Hannah fouls the first pitch and hits the second deep into center field. It hits the ground and bounces over the fence. A ground rule double. If I hit a grounder out of the infield between first and second, Hannah could advance to third. Maybe I’d be tagged out, but I’m okay with that.
I look at Coach. She gives me the signal to bunt. That works, too. I nod that I understand and walk up to the plate.
Lots of players have little rituals they do when they’re getting reading to bat. Some swing the bat over and over while they wait for the pitcher to set. Some hold the bat in the air and wiggle their butts. So when I get to the plate and punch the air three times, bend over to touch the ground, and grunt, nobody thinks it’s strange.
When the pitcher sets, I get the bat ready for a bunt. I miss it. Strike one. I check with Coach. She gives me the bunt sign again. This time I hit it, but it goes foul. Strike two. Now Coach tells me to swing away. The pitch comes and it’s a beauty. Right down the middle.
My bat connects with the ball. Crack! I take off at a run, so excited I forget about everything but getting to first base safely. But it doesn’t matter. It was a line drive to the pitcher, who threw the ball to the second baseman. Hannah had started to run, turned when she saw the pitcher had caught it, slipped and was tagged out.
My first time at bat, and I hit into a double play to end the inning.
I take my time walking back to the dugout. Fighting to hold back the tears. Hoping my teammates will already be on the field so I won’t have to face them. Coach sees me and calls me over. I figure she’s going to yell or something. I stand in front of her, punching my glove and grunting.
“Shake it off, Izzy,” Coach says. “You aren’t the first to hit into a double play, and you won’t be the last.”
“But—”
“No buts. Anyway, this is a scrimmage, not the World Series. Now go out there and focus. A lefty is coming up to bat. You just may get some action.”
“I thought I was only playing three innings.”
“I said everyone plays at least three innings. You’re doing just fine out there. Now hurry before I change my mind.”
“Yes, Coach.” As I’m leaving the dugout I turn. She’s watching me. “Thanks,” I say.
She nods her head toward right field. “Remember. Focus.”
Chapter 19
I stop and touch the ground twice while running to my position. When I pass Abbie, she calls to me, “I’ve hit into double plays lots.”
I nod, but I figure she’s saying that to make me feel better. It doesn’t.
Let it go, I tell myself. Just focus on the game. I grunt a few times, bend over, and touch the ground. By the time I stand up, the lefty is walking to the plate.
Focus, Izzy. Focus.
The batter swings away at the first pitch. It a high fly ball, and it’s sailing my way, dropping betwee
n the second baseman and me. I’m the closest, and I take off at a run. It’s just a few feet away when I dive, my glove hand stretched to its limit. The ball tips the edge of the glove and rolls a little to the right. I grab it, jump up, and throw a perfect line drive to second. She catches it, and the lefty stays on first. She’s not out, but at least we held her to a single.
I look at Coach. She nods her head. I take a deep breath and blow it out. I did the best I could. I have to be happy with that.
Coach keeps me in for most of the game. No more balls come my way for the next two innings. At my next at bat I get a walk. But there are already two outs, and the next batter hits an infield fly to end the inning.
The final score is 4 to 2. We lose, but not by much.
Coach calls us in for a quick meeting. As I’m walking toward the dugout, I see a guy under the bleachers, looking my way. I bend to touch the ground. When I stand up, the guy is gone.
“Izzy!” Abbie calls. “Coach is waiting for you.”
“Coming!”
That shadow under the bleachers. Was it Jamie? A tingle runs up my spine. Stop it, Izzy. Jamie doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’re living in a dream world if you think...
“Izzy!”
“Okay! I’m coming!”
“Is there a problem?” Coach asks when I get to the dugout.
I shake my head. “Sorry, Coach. I thought I saw someone I know.”
“When you’re here, it’s team first, friends second.” She looks around. “That goes for all of you. Don’t get distracted by the people in the stands. Focus on the game, and you’ll do fine.” She puts her hands on her hips. “So. Not a bad game for an opening scrimmage.”
“We lost!” Meghan says it, but we’re all thinking it.
“You did your best, and that’s all I ask of you. Of course, your best now is not what your best will be by the end of the season. I’m going to work you all hard, especially on the basics. That’s where the game is won or lost. Now”—she tilts her head toward the exit—“go home and relax. Tomorrow’s practice will be a tough one. Get a good night’s sleep. You’re going to need it!”
Mom and Dad are waiting for me outside the dugout. Dad puts his arm around me as we walk to the car.
“I played awful,” I say.
“What are you talking about?” Dad stops and tilts my face up with his fingers. “You were totally in that game, ready for anything that came to you. My eyes were on you the whole time. You hardly ticked at all. I was so proud of you.”
“What? For not ticking?”
Dad laughs. “No.” He pauses. “Well, in a way, yes. You were so focused, Izzy. You didn’t let your Tourette’s stop you.”
Mom comes up behind me and puts her arms around me. “I’m starved. How about we go out for a bite to eat? You can pick the restaurant, Izzy.”
I’m not as hungry as I usually am, but playing ball is a lot of work and my stomach gurgles at the thought of food.
“How about Mexican?” I say.
“Mexican it is.” Dad opens the doors for Mom and me to get in.
I’m halfway through eating my burrito, when I put it down. I can’t eat any more of it. My stomach aches from thoughts about the double play I hit into. Those two words, double play, run in circles through my brain.
“Not hungry?” Mom asks. “You usually eat the whole meal and ask for dessert.”
I shrug.
Dad glances at Mom. “I never like to eat after exercising either.”
I stand up. “Can I be excused?”
“Are you feeling okay?” Mom asks.
“Yeah. I’m just tired.”
When I come out of the bathroom, Dad is paying the bill.
“Double play!” It pops out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“What’s that, sweetheart?” Mom asks.
“Nothing.” But the two words haunt me for the rest of the night.
Chapter 20
At the next practice, Coach is harder on us than ever, if that’s possible. All we do is practice drills. And she keeps us an extra half-hour.
“Do you think your mom could give me a ride home?” I ask Abbie. “My mom has a meeting. She said to take the bus home, but I missed it because of the late practice.”
She doesn’t answer right away, which is weird, but finally she says, “Sure.”
I start walking toward the parking lot, but Abbie doesn’t move.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“No. I’m just waiting for Hannah. I’m giving her a ride, too.”
“Oh. Okay.” Something feels off. Abbie is standing there, watching the gym door, not talking, which is unusual. Abbie loves to talk. The silence is making me crazy. I tap, tap, tap Abbie on the shoulder. “So where is she?”
“Here she comes.”
Hannah’s running over to us. She’s carrying her books in her hands, even though she has her backpack with her, which I think is strange. Before I can ask, Abbie tells us to hurry. “I’m sure Mom is wondering where we are.”
When we get in the car, Mrs. Anderson smiles at me. “Abbie didn’t tell me you were sleeping over tonight, too.”
Before I can react, Abbie says, “I told Izzy we’d bring her home. She missed the bus.”
Mrs. Anderson bites her lip. “Oh. Okay. How’s your mother doing, Izzy?”
“Fine, thank you.”
The rest of the drive is done in total silence. I can’t believe that Abbie invited Hannah for a sleepover and not me! I want to punch, punch, punch her. I want to punch Hannah, too. I fight back the tears and the grunt that are pushing to come out. I will not let any of them see how much I hurt.
After Mrs. Anderson drops me off, I watch the car disappear down the street. I’m glad Mom isn’t home and that the house is empty. When I get inside I scream until my throat hurts. I throw my backpack across the room. It hits an end table and almost knocks down a lamp. I wish I had broken it.
I run up to my room and curl up on my bed and cry until there are no tears left. I knew Hannah would be trouble, but I didn’t think she’d steal my best friend and that the two of them would push me out. Right now, I hate both of them.
When I finally settle down a little, I grab my phone and text Abbie.
I can’t believe u did this to me. This isn’t how best friends act. U hurt me. I will never forget this.
I read it over, press send and wait. A few minutes pass, then—
It’s not what you think. Hannah’s parents have to go away for a couple of days and she asked if she could stay with us. I didn’t dis U.
If it was so innocent why didn’t U just tell me?
Because you’ve been really pissy lately and I thought if I told U about Hannah, you’d get mad. And I was right.
You’d be mad if I did that to U!
No I wouldn’t. I’d understand. Besides, there’s no rule that U can’t have more than one friend.
That’s only true when you have more than one friend. But I’m not going to say that. I’m not going to say anything. Let her have her sleepover with Hannah. I don’t care. I don’t care one bit.
Chapter 21
I didn’t sleep much last night. This has not been a good week. First the scrimmage and the double-play, then the sleepover. Make that the not-getting-invited-to sleepover. All I want to do is get this day over with and go home and sleep.
When I get to first period, I put my books down on my desk and make a point of ignoring Abbie, which is hard since she sits right next to me. I also ignore Billy Parker, who sits behind me and is a total pain. I’m, like, one of his favorite targets, but today I am not in the mood to be picked on.
Unfortunately, he has a major attitude this morning. One that involves bugging me. He grabs my pen, laughing as he waves it around.
I jump out of my seat and yell at him, “Stop being such a jerk, and give me back my pen!”
At first, he’s surprised. I usually don’t stand up for myself. But then his eyes light up.
“Make me,” he says, holding my pink pen above his head, just beyond my reach. “What’s so special about it anyway, Dizzy? It’s just a dumb pink pen.” Billy laughs his stupid laugh. “Who uses a pink pen?”
“You wouldn’t understand, jerkhead.” Grunting, I bend over, touch the floor. He laughs.
I’m not about to tell him it’s the pen Dad gave me for my birthday last year. That it has black ink. Not blue. That ever since he gave it to me I can only write with black ink—even though sometimes I’d like to use blue. I just can’t.
Billy tosses the pen to Mike who tosses it to Christopher who tosses it back to Billy. The whole class is watching. Even Jamie Barnes. Tears threaten to leak from my eyes. I hold them back. I will not cry in front of this silly, stupid boy.
“Billy likes Izzy,” someone in the back of the class says. A couple of other kids pick it up, sing-songing, “Billy likes Izzy. Billy likes Izzy.”
Billy snorts out a laugh. “Get real! Who could like someone who”—he does a perfect imitation of my grunt—“does that all the time?” He laughs again, and this time some of the other kids laugh, too.
My whole body starts to shake. I clench and unclench my hands, trying to control my anger, but I can’t stop myself. I pull my hand back and swing, as hard as I can, and hit Billy Parker square in the stomach. He staggers back and is about to fall, but Christopher catches him. Maybe now Billy Parker will think twice before he picks on me.
Of course, that’s when Mrs. Morgan comes into the room. “Sorry I’m late, but—” She stops in the middle of her announcement and looks our way. Billy is sitting in his seat, holding his stomach, rocking and moaning. I’m standing over him, my hands in fists. “What’s going on?” Mrs. Morgan asks.
Amy Robins goes up to Mrs. Morgan, her face red with excitement. She’s not called “Tattle Tale Amy” for nothing. “Billy stole Isabella’s pen and wouldn’t give it back, so Isabella got real mad and punched him in the stomach.”
Different Page 6