by Carol Gorman
Mary Ann grinned slyly. “Wouldn’t you like to go to Wrigley Field and eat hot dogs and watch Mark Grace play first base?”
That stopped me in my tracks. I blew out a breath. “Sure I would. You know I would.”
“So go to the interview,” she said. “If you pass it, you’ll be in the fashion show. It’d be such an easy way to earn the money.”
Just thinking about it made me nervous. “I can’t, Mary Ann. I can’t be up there in front of all those people.”
“But—” A light of remembrance came into Mary Ann’s eyes. “Oh, I get it now! It’s because of what happened in fourth grade, right? You get stage fright.”
“Yeah,” I said. I was glad Mary Ann remembered. I didn’t feel like talking about what happened on that horrible day.
We were giving oral reports about the early settlers. I started getting nervous a week ahead of time. I didn’t sleep the night before. When it was my turn, Ms. Devon called my name, and I went up to the front of the room. My legs were trembling, and my mouth went dry. I started to give my report, and I got the hiccups. I hiccuped and hiccuped, and everybody laughed at me.
Ms. Devon told me to go down the hall and get a drink. I hurried down the hall and stopped right in front of the main entrance. I could just run right out that door, I thought. I could go home and say I’d gotten sick and then … But I realized I’d have to come back eventually and give my report. So I got a drink at the fountain and went back to the classroom. But the drink hadn’t helped, and I hiccuped as I walked back into the room. The kids laughed even harder, and Ms. Devon told me just to hand in my written report. I got a C on it. Ever since then, I’ve refused to do anything in front of a crowd.
“But see?” Mary Ann said. “I’d forgotten about it, so I’m sure everyone else has, too. And that was two years ago. It won’t happen again.”
“How do you know?”
“You play ball,” Mary Ann said. “You’re the best pitcher our age for miles! See? Crowds don’t bother you anymore.”
“Playing ball is different,” I said. “I’m concentrating on the game, and so are the fans. I don’t have to say anything, and they don’t care how I look. They just want to see the game.”
We started walking again.
“You could go to the interview,” suggested Mary Ann, “and just see what it’s like. Would that make you nervous?”
“I don’t think so, but what’s the point? I’m not going to be in the fashion show.”
“Do you know how many girls would give their right arm to be in it?”
“Would you?”
Mary Ann looked at the sidewalk and bit her lower lip the way she does when she feels uneasy. “Well, I wouldn’t give my right arm.” She looked up and grinned. “How could I play baseball without it? And I don’t know if I really wanted to model in the fashion show so much. But I wanted to get picked. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah.”
Mary Ann is a good friend. She’s become a little more girly since elementary school, but I’m glad she still loves playing sports as much as she used to. And I understood what she meant about wanting to get picked. I had to admit it was flattering to be chosen.
“Who do you think sent in my picture and bio?” I asked her.
“I don’t know. Did your mom know about the fashion show?”
“She never mentioned it. But I suppose it’s possible. She liked it when I started braiding my hair—she kept telling me how nice it looked.”
“Maybe she thought she’d surprise you,” Mary Ann said.
“I hope she isn’t too disappointed when I tell her I’m not going to the interview.”
“I still think you should go,” Mary Ann said. “I know it won’t be as bad as you think. And how else will you get the money to go to the Cubs game? It’s the perfect solution!”
“No way.”
It killed me to think of giving up a chance to see Mark Grace and Sammy Sosa play ball in person, but I was not going to model in a fashion show. And that was that.
I was sitting on the steps going up to the second floor when my mom got home from work. “Hi, Mom,” I said as soon as she walked in the front door. She looked surprised, I guess, because I wasn’t acting angry.
“Hi.” She looked at me curiously, putting her big shoulder bag on the foyer table. “Have a good day?”
“Yeah. Hey, you didn’t send in my picture for that fashion show thing, did you?”
“What fashion show thing?”
“At the Spring Pines Mall. Somebody sent in my picture and bio.”
“No, I haven’t heard anything about it. Why?”
“I was on the list of people picked to go on to the interview. The girls who pass the interview stage go on to the fashion show.”
“Oh, Lizard” Mom’s eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations.”
“You didn’t send in my picture?”
“No.”
“You think Dad did?”
“I’m sure he would’ve told me if he had. Maybe Sam—”
“Are you kidding?”
Mom laughed. “On second thought, you’re probably right.”
Then it dawned on me. “Zach.”
“You think Zach sent in your picture?”
“That’s it! I gave him one of my school pictures.”
I raced up the stairs to Mom’s and Dad’s room and dialed his number. He answered.
“Zach?”
“Hi.”
“Did you send in my picture for that fashion show?”
There was a long pause. “Why?”
“I was picked to go to the interview,” I told him.
I could hear him take in a breath. “You were?” Then he laughed. “That’s great!”
“You sent in my picture, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“How come?”
“Well—I heard there was a fifty-dollar prize for everybody in the show.”
“But I didn’t even know about the trip to Chicago until yesterday.”
“I know, but you always need money. You know, for baseball cards and stuff. And—well—” He paused. “Well, I thought you’d be good. You’re not exactly ugly or anything.”
I felt awkward suddenly. “Oh. Well, thanks.”
Zach thinks I’m pretty. He didn’t really say it, but that’s what he meant.
“It’ll be fun seeing you in the fashion show,” he said. “And then with the money you’ll get, you can come with us to the Cubs game.”
That stopped me short. “Oh, well, I probably won’t get picked for the show. I mean, there’s an interview, and I hear it’s really tough.”
“You’ll do okay.”
I felt guilty that he’d sent in my picture and bio, and I wasn’t even planning on going to the interview! I didn’t have the heart to tell him, either. I also didn’t want to tell him about my stage fright, which is really embarrassing. I’d have to figure out a way to tell him. Just not now. He seemed so happy for me.
You’d think I’d single-handedly won the World Series, the way everyone was acting at school the next day.
“Hi, gorgeous model!” Ginger sang out at our locker in the morning. Lisa stood next to her, her weight over one hip, looking at me critically.
I rolled my eyes. “Ginger, don’t call me that, okay?”
“Why not?” Ginger’s voice gets shrill when she’s excited, and her voice screeched through the hall. “The judges think you’re model material. Just think, here I am, standing with the two girls from our class who were chosen to go on to the interview. I’m so lucky!”
“Yeah, right.” Then I added, smiling just a little, “But, hey, I wouldn’t mind a little bowing and scraping. In fact, after school you could clean out my closets and paint my room, then order me a big double-cheese pizza.”
The second the joke was out of my mouth, I was sorry.
Ginger sank to her knees, held her arms over her head and bowed till her forehead wa
s on the floor. “Oh, hail, models from my class! I’m at your service. Anything you desire, I’ll try and get for you.”
I glanced around, feeling my face heat up like a furnace. “Geez, get up, Ginger. That was a joke,” I told her. “Come on, people are staring at us.”
Lisa just watched her, chomping on a big wad of gum. She didn’t look embarrassed at all.
Heather and Tiffany came over and slapped Lisa and me on the back. Ginger finally got up off the floor.
“Congratulations,” Heather said. “I hate you both.” She made it sound as if it was a joke, but I think she meant it.
“I hate you, too,” Tiffany said. “Ha-ha. No really, I’m happy for you guys.”
“Did you find out who sent in your picture and bio?” Ginger asked me.
“Yeah,” I told her. “It was Zach.”
“Zach?” Lisa said in disbelief.
Ginger’s mouth popped open. “Ohhhh,” she gushed, “how fantastically romantic!” She looked around at Lisa, Heather, and Tiffany. “Have you ever heard of anything so sweet? Zach has such a thoughtful, caring personality. Plus, let’s not forget, a great bod.”
“He’s one in a million,” Heather agreed.
“He sure is,” Tiffany said.
Lisa sniffed. “If you like the type.”
Ginger laughed. “You sure used to.” Lisa glared daggers at her.
That was pretty funny. Lisa and Zach had gone out together for a couple of weeks, but he dumped her when he realized what a jerk she was. Ever since then, she’d been acting as if she dumped him.
“No offense, Lizard,” Lisa said, “but I wouldn’t count on being in the fashion show. Those scrapes on your face will count against you. Models are supposed to be flawless.”
That gave me an idea. But I plastered a disappointed look on my face and said, “Maybe you’re right.”
“What are you going to wear to the interview?” Lisa asked me. Her gaze traveled down my T-shirt and jeans to my running shoes and back up again. She smiled smugly. “Do you have any nice clothes?”
“I don’t know what I’ll wear,” I said, the idea blossoming in my mind. I was beginning to feel better every second.
“Well, you’ll need to start shopping,” Lisa said. “The interview is Friday.”
Ginger squealed. “This is so exciting! Why don’t we all come with you after school today, Lizard? We can help you find just the right outfit to impress the interviewer.”
“Uh, no, thanks,” I said, backing away. “I can take care of that myself.” I turned and hurried away.
I couldn’t imagine shopping with those girls. I’m not into self-torture.
P.E. is my favorite class by far. It’s the only subject in which I know for sure I’ll get an A, no matter what. The only part I hate is taking showers. What a way to ruin a fun class!
I was one of the first to get to the girls’ locker room. I changed into my gym clothes and went into the gym and sat on the bleachers to wait. The gym was empty except for me.
“I just can’t believe Lizard Flanagan was picked!”
I heard the voice coming from around the corner leading to the girls’ locker room. It sounded a lot like Lisa.
“I know. She’s cute, but there are hundreds of girls who are as pretty as she is.” That was definitely Tiffany.
“She’ll never make it past the interview,” Lisa said. “She’s all scraped up, and she walks like a jock. That’s enough to keep her out right there.” She laughed. “But that body! They’ll take one look at that stick body of hers and say, ‘Don’t call us, we’ll call you!’”
They laughed, and their voices faded into the locker room.
My heart slammed against my ribs and adrenaline shot through my body. How dare they talk about me behind my back that way! They wouldn’t have the nerve to say it to my face. They knew I’d knock them both into the next county.
I’d been chosen fair and square, just the way Lisa was. I deserved to go to the interview! So what if I was thin? I was physically fit, and I’d seen plenty of models who aren’t well developed. I’d show them!
Wait a minute, I thought. I don’t want to get chosen! I’d get the hiccups for sure, or trip and fall on my face, or throw up before the show because I was so nervous.
I’d have to stick to my plan.
But the inside of my chest still burned with hatred for Lisa and Tiffany.
When everyone was out on the gym floor and Mrs. Puff had taken roll, she announced that we were going to play softball with the boys again. We’d been in a softball unit since school started, which was fine with me. Softball is one of my specialties.
Outside on the diamond, Mrs. Puff and Mr. Groden made Nathan Morgan and me captains.
I won the coin toss and got to pick first. My choice was Ed Mechtensteimer, out of loyalty. He’s a good player, but not the best. Tom Luther is the best, just after me. That sounds like a brag, but it’s a stone cold fact. Anyway, Tom had a six hundred batting average in our metro league. I figured Morgan’s first pick would be Luther, and it was.
Morgan and I took turns choosing teammates. I chose Mike Herman and a few other good guys. I didn’t want to pick Stinky because I was still ticked off at him for making comments about my body. But he’s a better player than the people who were left after most of the others had been picked, and the game was the important thing. So he ended up on my team. Morgan picked Andy Walinsky, Brad Williams, Sara Pulliam, and Jennifer Peterson. I picked Ginger almost last, and just so I wouldn’t have to pick Lisa or Tiffany. Ginger jumped up and down and squealed as if she’d been my first choice.
Lisa rolled her eyes at Tiffany and tossed her hair over her shoulder.
Ed and I decided that I should pitch, he would play first base, Stinky second. Mike Herman would play shortstop.
First up at bat was Nathan Morgan. He stepped into the box and grinned at me. He knew I wouldn’t be easy on him.
“Show him what you’ve got,” Ed called. I saw him glance over at Sara Pulliam. He was probably hoping to impress her with his playing.
My first pitch was a little high, and Morgan wasn’t expecting it. He swung, and missed. The second pitch, another fastball, he hit to the outfield. Then he streaked to first base.
“Yea, Nathan!” Tiffany hollered from the batting line.
Next up was Tom Luther. He screwed up his face the way he always does when he’s really concentrating and stared at me, waiting for the pitch.
I wound up and threw him my curveball. Luther connected and slammed it high into the air. He ran for first base, but before he was halfway there we could see the ball curve into a foul. He walked back to the box and tried again, closing his stance a little. His face was so determined, so tense, I almost laughed. He’s as competitive as I am, I thought.
I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. I served up my fastball, and he hit a grounder to Mike Herman at shortstop. Mike snared it and fired it to Stinky on second. Stinky shot it to Mechtensteimer on first.
I leaped in the air and shouted, “Great double play, guys!”
“Fantastic double play!” Ginger whooped and danced in a circle out in left field. “What an amazing double play! Hey, Lizard?”
“Yeah?”
“A double play is when you get two guys out, right in a row?” I nodded. She nodded back. “Great double play, guys!” She gave them a thumbs-up.
Mechtensteimer laughed and shook his head at me. I grinned. At least Ginger was learning. Lisa and Tiffany couldn’t have cared less what a double play was.
Next up was none other than Lisa St. George. I couldn’t wait to strike her out.
She hauled the bat up over her shoulder and glared at me. I smiled back, and she frowned harder. “What’re you grinning at?” she asked.
“You want to play ball?” I asked her.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” she snapped.
“Then step into the batter’s box, why don’t you? Look where you’re standing.”
She looked down and saw that she was a foot closer to me than she should’ve been. She rolled her eyes, huffed loudly, and said, “Big deal.” She stepped back into the batter’s box and glared at me. “You going to throw that stupid ball or what?”
Oh, was I ever.
I wound up and fired my fastball. It was right down the middle, but she yelped and leaped backward. “You tried to hit me!” she shrieked.
“Strike one!”
“Lisa,” I said, “I didn’t try to hit you. If I’d wanted to hit you, I would have.” Right between the eyes.
“You wanted to mess up my face so I wouldn’t be chosen for the fashion show!”
“What?”
“You’re trying to keep me out of the fashion show!”
I didn’t know what to say. How do you argue with a prima donna who thinks she’s the center of the universe?
“Come on, Lisa,” Luther complained from the back of the line. “Just swing, will you? We want to play ball.”
To be funny, I bowed to her, then threw her a slow, underhand pitch. She swung too soon and missed it by miles. The guys all roared.
“Strike two!” Mechtensteimer hollered. “And, Lisa, that was about as polite as Lizard gets.”
“Very funny, Lizard,” she said.
“Here’s your last pitch.” I threw her my curve down the middle, and by some magic bit of luck, she swung and hit it. She stood there a second as if she couldn’t believe it. The ball dribbled up the middle of the field.
“Run!” Morgan and Luther yelled at her.
I have to admit that I was just as surprised as she was. But I recovered the ball and threw it to Mechtensteimer on first. Ed grabbed it and tagged the base before Lisa got there. Now we were up at bat.
Ed stepped up to the batter’s box.
“Eddie, Eddie. He’s our man. If he can’t do it, no one can!” Ginger shouted, and she rocked her hips back and forth.
I turned to her. “You want to keep it down, Ginger? Let him concentrate.”
“Oh, sure. No problem.”
Morgan served up a fastball, and Ed swung. He hit a long, high drive to center field, which I’m sure impressed the heck out of Sara. Tiffany, who was right under it, held up her hands. “I got it, I got it,” she said.
The ball landed in her glove and bounced out onto the ground. She frowned. “The darned thing just jumped out of my hands.”