I threw my second pitch. It slammed through the heart of the strike zone and made a loud thwap in the catcher’s glove. Dunn swung and missed by a mile.
“I’d call that strike one,” Coach Perez said quietly, smiling at Dunn. Strike one was quickly followed by two curveballs that hugged the outside corner, and Dunn went down looking.
“Aw, man,” Dunn said, slamming his bat on home plate.
I looked over to the bleachers and watched Justin do his own private wave. Finally, a good moment. The next two batters never had a chance. The inning ended, and it was someone else’s turn to pitch. I went into the dugout and collected my bag and jacket. I felt the need to flee. I walked over to the assistant coach and asked, “May I go now, Mr. Jefferson?”
“Yes, that’s all we need to see, Taylor.”
I began to walk away, but stopped, and took a few steps back toward Mr. Jefferson. “How’d I do?” I asked shyly.
“Well, to be honest, your pitches were in the right place. I’m just not sure about the rest of you. Heart is 90 percent of the game, if you ask me.”
“So I guess you’re saying ‘no,’ then.”
“Practice starts Monday at 3:00 on Field Two.” He smiled. “But make sure you bring your heart with you this time.”
After he said that, my heart did a little dance inside my chest while my body stood still as a statue. I was on the team! I tried to keep my usually sullen game face, though, as I walked away.
Justin was riding up to me on his bike when I reached the parking lot. “Need a lift?” he said, pointing to the handlebars.
“Thanks,” I said, smiling. “Thanks a lot.” And I meant it.
We’d only gotten about ten feet when we came face-to-face with the side of Rick Bratton’s car. Rick had purposely pulled in front of us as we attempted to leave the parking lot. Stacy was riding shotgun.
Now, as far as I knew, the only reason Rick hated me was because Stacy told him to. (And, yeah, okay, the carnival incident, too. That must’ve made Rick hate me even more.) And the only reason I thought Stacy hated me was because in elementary school, I was paired up with her as her reading helper, which basically meant she was an idiot who spelled “cat” with a “k,” and I was supposed to tutor her. Of course, she ignored me the whole time, which was probably why the only thing she read, even as a high school student, was her horoscope. I thought this was a stupid reason to hold a grudge, but then again, you had to consider who held it.
“Hey, Kennedy,” Rick said to Justin. “Nice ride.”
Justin smiled and answered, “Why thanks, Rick. That’s so very kind of you. Any time you need a lift, you know who to call.”
I tried to contain my laughter. Justin never let anyone rattle him.
Rick inched his car forward. “Maybe you could drop your girlfriend off at the softball field next time,” he said and sped out of the parking lot.
Justin shook his head. “He’s a charming guy, isn’t he?” he said.
“Sorry, Justin,” I answered, swallowing the lump that had been in my throat since lunch.
“Eh, don’t sweat it. In ten years, when he’s married to the supermodel, and I’m working at my dad’s carwash, he’ll be sorry.”
I cracked up. “I meant I’m sorry he called me your girlfriend.”
He began pedaling down the sidewalk. “Did he? I hadn’t noticed.”
CHAPTER 5
When I got home, Danny and Dad were already devouring dinner—a pepperoni pizza and a bottle of soda—our usual supper-time fare. They stopped chewing long enough for a quick, “Where were you?”
I wasn’t going to beat around the bush, so I boldly said, “Baseball tryouts.” I grabbed a slice of pizza and plopped down on a stool.
Danny jumped up. “Really, Taylor? You tried out? How’d you do? That’s so cool. Did you pitch?” I had to put up a hand to stop him.
“Coach Jefferson told me to be at practice on Monday, so I guess that means I made the team.”
Dad’s facial expression changed from one of non-interest to one of frustration. “Taylor, what’s this all about? I thought you hated baseball. What brought on the sudden interest?”
I wasn’t going to tell him the guidance counselor was blackmailing me, so I took the defensive route. “What the heck do you care? You never cared what I did before. Why the sudden interest?” I threw his words back at him—that would really annoy him.
“Danny, go upstairs,” Dad said as he glared at me.
“Aw, man,” Danny said and stumbled out of the kitchen.
“Young lady, I do not appreciate your choice of words or your tone. And I do not think this baseball thing is a good idea. Don’t you remember how you got so tired of baseball that you quit before the season ended? Do you think it’s fair to put another team through that? And this is high school. People take varsity teams very seriously.”
If he wanted a fight, he would get one, I decided, because I was pissed. I quit the team because I was bored? That’s what he thought? The heck with him!
“You actually think I quit because I was bored? Are you that clueless?” I pushed my stool away from the counter. “I quit because I heard you say what an embarrassment it was having a daughter who could outplay any boy in the neighborhood. I was eight years old, and I thought you were proud of me, but you weren’t. All you saw was a girl in a baseball uniform. You never said I was good. Well, I am good, and I’m playing, whether you like it or not.”
He looked at me, his mouth open, with nothing to say.
“I’ve got homework,” I said as I slung my book bag over my shoulder and headed upstairs. “Sorry I’m such an embarrassment,” I mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.
I tossed my book bag on the floor of my room. Homework—I couldn’t even think about it. I flung myself on the bed and cried. Why did Dad hate me? No wonder my mother had left. I wept until my sobs turned into a hacking cough. I had to stop crying because it felt like someone was piling bricks on my chest.
I sat up and grabbed the tissue that was crumpled up on my desk from the last crying fit. I blew my nose and stood up to look at my messy face in the mirror. My eyes were puffy, like an old lady’s.
I looked out my bedroom window. It had grown dark, and the moon was peeking through the clouds. I heard doors closing in the hallway—Danny’s and then Dad’s. I opened the window and sat on the sill to get some fresh air. Trying not to cry again, I breathed in the cool night air. My life couldn’t go on this way forever. It just couldn’t.
Somewhere outside, below my window, I heard a faint rustling that snapped me out of my emotional state. It sounded too big to be a squirrel. Then the noise came again, followed by a muffled “meow.”
Leaving my misery behind, I hustled out of my room and out the back door in the kitchen, quietly, so I wouldn’t wake or disturb anyone. I tiptoed around to the front of the house and stopped to listen again.
“Kitty, kitty,” I whispered. It was funny how I was able to put all my feelings on hold because an animal was in need. The thought that there was something more pitiful than me must’ve gotten me motivated or something.
I crouched down, made a soft kissing noise, and peered into the dark bushes. Out of the shrubbery waddled a small orange puff ball, crying and shivering as it circled my feet.
“Aww. Hi there, little guy,” I said, reaching down to pet the kitten. I picked him up, and he immediately clung to my neck for dear life. “What’s wrong? You hungry, cutie?”
Hugging his little body against my chest, I snuck him into the kitchen. My dad would have my head if he knew I had a cat in the house. Years ago, I’d begged to keep a stray cat, and he claimed he was allergic. I’d never heard him sneeze, though, when we visited my aunt, who had a dozen cats. Liar!
The kitten cried loudly, and I shushed him. “Shh, you’ll get me in trouble.” I grabbed a bowl, filled it with water, and placed it on the counter, along with the kitten. I turned away from him and opened the fridge. What could I feed a c
at? On a plate covered with plastic was some leftover chicken. I unwrapped it and started cutting it into little pieces on the counter. The kitten started licking and biting my fingers before I could finish cutting.
“Hey, okay. Here.” I broke up the rest of the chicken with my fingers and tossed the pieces toward him. I watched him wolf down the small morsels and sniff the counter for more. Suddenly, I heard a door creak on the second floor. Uh oh. I scooped up the kitten and the bowl of water and maneuvered my way out the back door. Sitting down on the brick steps, I held the kitten up high and looked at his face. I wanted desperately to bring him upstairs to my room and snuggle with him for the night. Sometimes I felt so lonely in my own house, and nights were the worst. The hallway was full of closed doors—closed not to keep the person inside safe, but to keep everyone else out.
Again, I heard a noise from inside the house. Someone was coming downstairs. I put the kitten down and listened. The kitten scampered into the bushes, hopped up the fence, and scooted through the next yard.
“No,” I said in a screaming whisper. “Come back.” But he was long gone. He’d disappeared in the darkness, and I was alone again. Why did I get attached to lost kittens so quickly? He had been here for only a few minutes, but I was heartbroken. I sucked back my tears and finally went to bed.
The next morning, I woke up groggy, still wearing my clothes and my sneakers. I peeked out my front window and scanned the yard for the kitten—no sign of him. Then I remembered I was scheduled to meet with Mr. Sacamore every Friday during study hall until I was cured or whatever. Great! I picked up my black hooded sweatshirt from the floor, threw it on over my t-shirt, and headed to school.
I sat in class all morning, zoning out and wondering what Sacamore was going to talk to me about. When study hall period rolled around, I took my sweet time getting to his office. After passing by his door three times, I finally stopped and knocked softly. Here goes nothing, I thought.
“Come in,” I heard from the other side of the door.
I stepped in quietly and said, “Hi.”
He just smiled and nodded.
“Taylor Dresden,” I said, unsure why he wasn’t speaking. “Remember?”
He gestured toward a comfy-looking chair and said, “Oh, I know who you are, Taylor. Have a seat.”
I sat down on the end of the chair and placed my book bag between my legs. I looked around the room, waiting for him to talk, but he just sat there quietly.
The office was stuffed with books, pictures, and paintings. Some pictures were hanging up, and others were leaning against the walls. The overall effect was that of an organized mess. Everything had its own pile. His desk had a jar on it with different packets of weird herbal tea. The flavors had names like “Soothing Cinnamon” and “Raspberry Relaxation.” Two brightly-colored stuffed bears were leaning against his computer. Long spider plants hung from the large window behind his desk, and the sun was leaving a glossy shine on the leaves. It was a warm, cozy room, especially compared to the gray hallway I’d just left. Maybe he lived in his office.
Sacamore was wearing jeans and a black sweater that was fuzzy from being over-worn. It seemed like hours before he said anything.
“So, how are you feeling today?” Sacamore said.
I nodded. “Fine.”
“Did you do that yourself?” he said, pointing to my hair.
“Yeah,” I answered shyly.
“Any particular reason?”
So my dad might notice I was alive. But I couldn’t tell Sacamore that. “Nope.”
“Okay.” He waited a few long moments, then said, “Baseball practice begins next week?”
“Yep.”
“How do you feel about it?”
What was he trying to get me to say? “A little nervous, I guess.”
Again he waited. Maybe he wanted me to say more, so I continued. “They put me on the varsity team.”
“Are you happy about that?” he asked.
“Well, at least I don’t know most of those guys, ’cause they’re not in my classes.”
I wasn’t happy that Rick was on the team. I was sure Stacy would be coming to all the games. I wished Rick didn’t know me.
“Not knowing anyone is a good thing?”
I shrugged. “It’s easier when no one knows you. You can lay low, you know?”
Sacamore nodded a bit. “Tell me about your friends, Taylor,” he said.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and looked at the floor. “What, like girl friends?”
“Girls, boys, whatever.”
“Well, my only good friend is Justin. I don’t really have any girl friends.”
“That’s okay, but why do you think that is?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Girls don’t seem to like me, I guess.”
He waited for more. I didn’t say any more. We sat there quietly for a while, and then he spoke. “Are you ready for your homework?”
What? He’s giving me homework? “Homework?” I asked.
“Yes. We’re in school, and you’re a student, so I’m giving you an assignment.”
“Okay,” I said reluctantly.
“I want you to open up to someone. Anyone. Someone you already know or someone you just met. Over the next few weeks, show someone a little Taylor Dresden, and then see how you feel afterward. You don’t even have to tell me about it.”
Confused by his hippie-like weirdness, I asked, “Then how will you know if I did it?”
He smiled. “I’ll know,” he said.
Okay, whatever. Open up—sure, okay. We chatted for a few more minutes about baseball and my grades, and then the bell rang for lunch. We said goodbye, and I hurried down the hall to my locker, where Justin was waiting for me.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“It was weird.”
“You’re weird,” he said, teasing.
“You’re a freak,” I said back.
We headed toward the cafeteria. “You’re freaky and weird,” Justin said, “and your feet smell like Cheetos.”
I started to laugh and punched him in the arm as we walked. Thank goodness someone could make me laugh.
I spent most of Saturday hiding in my room, but by Saturday night, I had to get out of the house. I also felt like I should practice before Monday’s team practice. I was far from being in shape. I grabbed Brian’s glove and a flashlight, and snuck out the back door. Justin was at his dad’s house for the weekend, so I couldn’t visit him. I wasn’t about to go anywhere near the school or its windows, so I headed to the park. I found a good-sized tree and figured it would make a perfect strike zone. Unfortunately, I had only one ball, so I had to throw the pitch and then run to pick it up. This was one reason I needed more friends.
At least all the running would help me get in shape.
CHAPTER 6
Monday after school, I tried to get myself ready for baseball practice. Did Coach say to report to the weight room? Oh, crap! I didn’t remember.
I changed in the girls’ locker room with the softball players. I felt the vomit building in my stomach. I was already so nervous about the team, and it was only practice. Trudy Harris, a sophomore who was changing across the aisle, stared at me and asked, “Are you on the softball team with us this year?”
“No, baseball, actually,” I answered, swallowing back the barf.
“Seriously?” She looked interested.
“Yeah, for the moment.”
“Wow, great way to meet guys, huh?”
Oh, the thoughts that were running through my head. Should I call her an idiot or just let it slide? She was trying to be nice, and I was too nauseated to get into an argument with her. So I closed my locker, and walking past her, simply answered, “I guess.”
She quickly added, “Hey, after games, we always meet for pizza across the street, if you wanna come some time.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, though I had no intention of going. I hadn’t told Sacamore the whole truth when he’d asked me ab
out girl friends. The truth was, girls made me feel uncomfortable. They were so feminine and talkative. Even when girls tried to befriend me, I kind of pushed them away. It was easier to be alone. The last time I had a girl friend was in elementary school—Latasha Hendricks. And the only reason I liked her was because she used to make the boys eat dirt. But then she moved.
I went into the weight room. I was less nervous than I thought I’d be. I was there with a few skinny freshman pitchers and Mr. Jefferson.
“All right, Mondays and Wednesdays we’re in the weight room,” Mr. Jefferson said. “Tuesdays and Thursdays we scrimmage until the season starts. We have two weeks until our first game.” He walked over to the free weights area. “I’m going to show you what exercises would be most helpful to you, and then you can experiment on your own. Just be careful you don’t lift too much weight or you’ll be too sore to pitch tomorrow.” He ran through the exercises and posted a schedule on the wall. “Okay. Get to it.”
I’d never lifted a weight before in my life. I stood there, confused, as the boys jumped on the machines.
“Need some help, Dresden?” Mr. Jefferson said to me.
No one had ever called me by my last name before. I liked it. “If you don’t mind,” I said.
He laughed and said, “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” He showed me what to do, one step at a time. He made small talk with me as he taught. “You’re right-handed, right? You have a mean curve, I hear.” I wondered why he was being so nice. Maybe the evil guidance counselor, Mr. Sacamore, had threatened him.
After a while, I was actually starting to get comfortable with the weights. Lifting them made me feel strong. I liked the idea of being tough—usually I felt like a weak mess.
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