“Yeah, right,” Joelle answered with a smile. “And what do the girls on the softball team say?”
Elizabeth paused. “Do you really want to know?”
“No,” Joelle said. “Probably not.”
Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
On Wednesday a crowd of kids gathered around the big double doors leading to the band room. “The new chair assignments must be posted,” Elizabeth told Joelle. She pressed closer to see the bulletin board. “All right! Sixth chair! I moved up!”
“Congratulations,” Joelle said. She wasn’t in any hurry to see her new chair assignment. It was one thing to sit at the end of a section with only seven clarinets. But now that she was in a band that had twenty-one clarinets, it seemed a whole lot worse.
“I knew it.” Kailey’s shoulders slumped as she moved away from the door. “Last chair again.”
“Bummer,” Joelle said. I guess that means I’m second to last, she thought. But when she stepped up to the door, she just about dropped to the floor in shock.
Eleventh chair!
Right in the middle—and in the second clarinet section rather than the third section. Joelle had never sat that far up before. How had that happened?
“Hey, you!” A baritone player nudged Joelle. “Can the rest of us see the list, too?”
“I can’t believe it,” Joelle told Elizabeth as they stepped to the side. “Eleventh chair.” Maybe she should reconsider quitting band.
“Hi, Elizabeth.” Brooke breezed past the two of them, her bassoon case in hand.
Joelle cleared her throat. “Uh, my name’s Joelle,” she said. “In case you’ve forgotten.”
Brooke whirled around. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” she said sweetly. “I’d just rather say hello to Elizabeth than to you.”
Elizabeth looked down at her feet.
“I’ve always said hello to Elizabeth,” Brooke went on, smiling. “It just wouldn’t be the same saying hello to you.”
What? Was that some sort of reference to me liking baseball better than softball? Joelle wondered.
“Yeah, well, talking to you is pretty much always the same,” Joelle shot back.
But Brooke was already gone.
Before the bell rang in social studies, Joelle felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around.
The frizzy-haired girl sitting behind her said, “Hey, Joelle. I’m Stephanie.” She was wearing a colorful tie-dyed shirt and her mouth was full of heavy silver braces. “So tell me,” she went on, “why won’t you play softball?”
Joelle just stared at her.
“Hey, I’m not trying to bug you or anything,” Stephanie added. “I’m just curious.”
Joelle hesitated. How should she answer this time? No one seemed to understand her softball-isn’t-baseball argument.
“Is it because you think softball is wimpy?” Stephanie asked. “Or do you just like playing with guys better?” She seemed genuinely interested.
“It’s nothing like that,” Joelle said cautiously.
“Well, what then?”
“I don’t know,” Joelle said, shifting in her seat uncomfortably. She felt like she was back in Mr. White’s office, trying to explain. “I … um … I like the way a baseball feels in my glove. It just fits, you know? And I like the crack of the ball when you get a good hit.”
“There’s a crack when you hit a softball, too,” Stephanie said. “Right?”
“No. I mean yes.” Joelle shook her head. “There is, but it’s different. I’ve always played baseball. I don’t even own a softball or a softball glove.”
“So buy them,” Stephanie said, shrugging.
“You don’t understand,” Joelle said. “It’s not really that simple. Not for me, anyway. We’re kind of a baseball family. My brother made All-State three years in a row. He has a scholarship to play baseball for the University of Minnesota. If I want to get one, too, then I need to play for my school.”
Stephanie still didn’t seem convinced. “But aren’t there scholarships for softball players, too?” she asked. “You can play softball in college. You can play it professionally, too. It’s even an Olympic sport. I saw it on TV.”
Joelle drew back. What was this, Twenty Questions? But she had to admit that Stephanie was right about all of those things. “Look, I never said softball wasn’t a real sport or a good sport or anything like that,” she said. “It’s just not my sport.” Plus, I can’t stand the captain, Joelle added silently as Brooke slid into the seat across from her.
“Well, okay. Thanks for trying to explain,” the girl said. “I was just wondering.”
“No problem,” Joelle said. “Nice talking to you.” She turned around in her seat again, feeling a little awkward. She’d been afraid the girl was going to make fun of her or start arguing.
But she hadn’t.
Maybe I am getting paranoid these days, Joelle thought.
“So how are our two attorneys doing?” Mr. Hawkings asked after the bell rang. His eyes fixed on Joelle and Brooke. “Have you been putting your cases together?”
“I’ve got my witnesses already, Mr. Hawkings,” Brooke said. She shot Joelle an I’m-so-much-better-than-you look.
Joelle really wanted to beat Brooke in this trial and wipe that smirk off her face. But the truth was, she hadn’t talked to anyone yet about being a witness for her.
She’d better get down to business. Fast.
Joelle had already decided not to put Goldilocks on the stand. A defendant didn’t have to testify. A prosecuting attorney—especially one like Brooke—could really make a defendant look bad. Joelle decided to concentrate on other witnesses—Goldilocks’s teacher, Goldilocks’s neighbor, and maybe the Bears’ neighbor—to build her case.
Unfortunately, finding kids who were willing to play those roles wasn’t easy. When Mr. Hawkings gave them in-class time to work on the case, Joelle discovered that a lot of her classmates had already said they’d testify for Brooke. And others just plain refused to testify for Joelle.
“Sorry,” one girl told her. “I’d rather be on the jury, so I can’t be a witness.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” another girl said. She didn’t even know Joelle. But she was obviously a friend of Brooke’s.
Was everyone in the whole class friends with Brooke? Was that girl so popular that no one would help Joelle’s case? Even though it was a stupid school assignment?
Yikes. Maybe I should try one of the guys, Joelle decided.
The first boy who caught Joelle’s eye was Ryan. He was hunched over a book on his desk, his hair hanging over his face. He seemed oblivious to everything that was going on around him.
Joelle swallowed hard. She was still mad at him and he was probably still mad at her, too. But maybe it was time to clear the air.
She marched over and plopped down in the empty seat in front of Ryan. “Hey,” she said.
Ryan looked up. “Hey,” he said warily.
“Um …” She scratched her head. Unfortunately, she didn’t really know what to say to clear the air. Probably she should apologize. But apologize for what? What had she said that was so wrong?
For a long moment, neither of them said anything at all.
Joelle was about to leave when Ryan shoved his book aside and pushed the hair out of his eyes. “Listen, Joelle,” he said finally. “I’m sorry about the other day. But I know my dad a lot better than you do. I know how to deal with him, and you—”
Joelle immediately opened her mouth to protest.
“Can I just finish here?” Ryan looked annoyed.
“Sorry,” Joelle said sheepishly. She motioned for him to continue.
“My dad’s really big on rules. And order. And doing the right thing.”
But the right thing is to let me play! Joelle thought.
“He’s got a really strong sense of what’s right and what’s wrong. That’s why I really thought he’d come around eventually. But he got mad at me for standing up for you. And t
hen you started dissing him—”
“I did not!”
“You did, too!”
Joelle thought back to what she’d said the other day. She was pretty sure she had called Ryan’s dad sexist. But that was the truth.
“Hey, I know he can be tough,” Ryan said. “But he’s still my dad, you know?”
Joelle lowered her eyes. Yeah, she knew. And she wouldn’t like it if anyone put either of her parents down. Even if what the person said was true.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll try not to put your dad down anymore,” Joelle promised. She hesitated. “So, can you do one thing for me?” she added.
“What?” Ryan asked, sounding a little suspicious.
“Be one of my witnesses for this trial?”
Ryan seemed relieved. “Sure. Who do you want me to be?”
Joelle opened her notebook and scanned her list of possible witnesses, looking for the perfect part for Ryan. He’d be good in just about any of them. “Well, you could be the pastor at Goldilocks’s church. You can tell everyone that she goes to church and Sunday school every week, picks up litter on the side of the road, and volunteers in the soup kitchen.
“Or you could be her elderly next-door neighbor. Goldilocks always rakes leaves and shovels the sidewalk for him and she never enters his house without an invitation.”
“Sounds like Goldilocks is a really, really good person.” Ryan cracked a smile.
Joelle smiled back. “Yep, she is.”
“Any other parts?” Ryan peered at the other possibilities in Joelle’s notebook. “How about if I play the doctor who testifies that Goldilocks was weak with hunger, severely dehydrated, and probably not in her right state of mind when she entered the Bears’ house? Or the Bears’ neighbor, who finds Goldilocks in the woods and takes her to the doctor?”
“The Bears’ neighbor is good,” Joelle said, nodding. “He’ll probably be important because he could be a witness for either side. He’s the one who finds Goldilocks, but he also knows the Bears, so he might have to testify about their characters.”
“And everyone knows those Bears are evil, right?” Ryan said with a smirk.
“Right.” Joelle laughed.
“Well, I don’t know,” Ryan said seriously. “You’re trying to paint Goldilocks as a perfect citizen. And I bet Brooke will do the same thing with the Bears. But the truth is, neither side is totally evil. It’s just like in real life. Both sides have a point.”
“Yeah, sure,” Joelle said. But she wondered: Was Ryan talking about the trial? Or the whole crazy baseball mess?
Chapter Ten
The phone was ringing when Joelle arrived home from school on Thursday. She jammed her key into the lock, banged the door open, and lunged for the receiver.
“Jason?” she answered, out of breath. It had to be her brother. She hadn’t heard from him in a week.
“No,” said a girl’s uncertain voice. “I’m looking for Joelle Cunningham. Is this the right number?”
“I’m Joelle.” It sounded like the girl was around her age.
“Who’s this?”
“Well, you don’t know me. My name’s Mandi Burns. I live in Greendale but I don’t go to Hoover because I’m home-schooled. Anyway, I’ve been reading all those letters in the paper.”
“Oh.” Joelle sat down at the table. “Right.”
“I don’t normally call people up like this,” Mandi said.
“But I really like baseball, too. My aunt played for the Colorado Silver Bullets.”
Joelle nearly dropped the receiver. The Silver Bullets were an all-female professional baseball team that had been started in the 1990s. “Really?” she said, impressed.
“Well, she only played one season,” Mandi replied. “But yeah. She’s the one who taught me how to play.”
“You mean, you play baseball?” Joelle asked. Another girl—finally!
“Just in the summer,” Mandi said. “Parks and Rec has a summer league. It’s not a big deal, no tryouts or anything. Anyone who wants to can play.”
Joelle switched the receiver to her other hand. “So, did other girls play?”
“My friend Leah did. There were a couple of others from our homeschool group, too. But you know what? Parks and Rec put the girls on separate teams, so no one team was stuck with all of us.”
“That stinks! Are any of you playing baseball now?” Joelle asked eagerly.
“There’s no place to play. I’m dual enrolled, which means even though I do my schoolwork at home, I can still use school resources and participate in after-school activities. My mom wanted me to do softball this year, but I didn’t want to. It’s not the same, you know?”
Ha! Joelle did know.
“But I’d play baseball if I could,” Mandi went on. “So would Leah. You should meet her. She’s really good. She’s short but she’s incredibly fast. Last summer she stole more bases than anyone else in the whole league.”
“Cool,” Joelle said.
“Hey, maybe you’d want to hang out sometime?” Mandi asked hesitantly. “I could bring Leah, too. We could meet at a park and play a little ball.”
“That sounds great,” Joelle answered. She and Mandi made plans to meet at Center Park on Saturday morning.
“Okay,” Mandi said. “See you then.”
“See you then,” Joelle echoed. “Bye.”
As soon as she hung up, she remembered that Saturday mornings were when Ryan and the guys played at the park by her house. She hadn’t gone last week since she and Ryan weren’t speaking, but she had planned on going this week.
Meeting Mandi and Leah sounded fun, though. And she’d still be playing baseball.
Well, sort of playing.
It was kind of hard to do much with just three people. Joelle decided to invite Elizabeth to join them.
“Hey, I’m not into baseball, remember?” Elizabeth said when Joelle called her. “I’m not even that great at softball.”
“You are, too,” Joelle insisted. “All you need is some confidence. We’re just going to toss a ball around, maybe hit a few. No big deal. It’ll be just like what you and your dad and I play in the backyard. Please? It would be a lot more fun with four people than three.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll go. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Almost as soon as Joelle and Elizabeth arrived at Center Park on Saturday, they spotted two girls talking near the fence.
One was about half a head shorter than Joelle with shoulder-length, light brown hair. She swung a bat in a lazy arc at her feet and chomped on a wad of gum. The other girl was even shorter. Her straight black hair hung just past her shoulders.
Both girls glanced up as Joelle and Elizabeth approached.
“Hey, is one of you Joelle?” the taller girl called.
“I am,” Joelle called back. “And this is my friend, Elizabeth.”
The girl suddenly reared back and fired a fastball straight toward them.
Joelle jumped, but Elizabeth stuck out her glove. The ball slammed in.
“What do you mean, you’re not a baseball player?” Joelle said, grinning at her friend.
Elizabeth shook her head and threw the ball back. “Just luck,” she said.
“Not bad.” The taller girl nodded her approval when Joelle and Elizabeth reached her. She totally reeked of grape bubble-gum. “I’m Mandi. This is Leah.” She jerked her thumb toward her friend.
“Hi!” Leah waved.
Joelle stared at Mandi’s thumb. She wiggled her own thumb, then looked back at Mandi’s. “Hey, tip your thumb back again,” she said.
Mandi bent her thumb back at almost a ninety-degree angle.
“Eeew!” Elizabeth made a face. “How do you do that?”
Mandi blew a bubble, then sucked it back into her mouth with a pop. “I’m double-jointed,” she said proudly.
“Makes for some pretty interesting pitching,” Leah added.
“You’re a pitcher?” Joelle asked
. Mandi hadn’t mentioned that when they spoke on the phone.
“Uh huh.” Mandi nodded. “Whenever our homeschool group gets together, I pitch and Leah catches. How about you guys? What do you play?”
“First base,” Joelle replied immediately.
Elizabeth looked down at the ground. “I don’t really play baseball,” she said, scuffing her foot in the dirt. “I play softball. Right field.”
Mandi grinned. “Pitcher. Catcher. First base. Right field. Hey, we’ve almost got half a team right here.”
I wish, Joelle thought. “So, do you guys want to hit a few?” she asked.
“Sure,” Mandi said. “I brought a batting helmet and stuff.”
“Great!” Joelle said. “Let’s go.”
They all took turns pitching, batting, and fielding.
“You guys are good,” Elizabeth told Mandi and Leah.
“So are you,” Mandi replied as she rotated from the pitcher’s mound to the outfield.
Leah took her place on the pitcher’s mound. “Too bad we don’t have anyone here from Greendale Academy,” she said, throwing the ball to Elizabeth. Elizabeth caught it and threw it back. “I’ve heard they’re all really good.”
Joelle picked up the bat and tapped it against home plate. “What’s Greendale Academy?” she asked.
“Remember? I told you about them,” Elizabeth said from behind the plate. “That’s the private school. Their softball team won the state championship last year.”
“Oh yeah,” Joelle said. Hmm … that gave her an idea.
Greendale Academy surely had a baseball team. And a private school would have different rules than the public school, wouldn’t they? If she couldn’t play baseball at Hoover, maybe she could play at Greendale Academy. If she could get her parents to send her to private school, that is.
“Hey, how much does it cost to go to Greendale Academy?” Joelle asked the other girls.
Leah snorted. “About ten thousand dollars a year.”
“And that’s if you’re a day student,” Elizabeth put in. “If you board, it’s a lot more.”
Well, forget that idea, Joelle said to herself. Her parents didn’t have that kind of money. And she wasn’t the type of student who’d win any kind of academic scholarship.
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