On Friday, when I walked into his office for my weekly therapy session with Sacamore, he was sitting at his desk, staring out the window. What a strange guy!
“Hello?” I said.
He turned to look at me and smiled. “Hi, Taylor. I forgot it was Friday.”
“Oh, I can leave if you’re busy.”
“Nice try. Have a seat.” As I sat down, he said, “Tell me what’s new. How did the homework assignment go?”
I thought back to what had happened in Justin’s basement. I wasn’t going to say anything about Justin. Besides, Sacamore had said I didn’t have to. I stood there for a moment, flushed, and said, “I thought I didn’t have to tell you about it.”
He rocked back on his chair. “You don’t,” he answered, “but you just did.”
Time to change the subject, I figured, so I scrambled for something else to talk about. “I pitched my first game this week,” I said, wondering if that was a good enough diversion from talking about Justin.
“Yes, I know. Do you feel good about that?”
Here we go again with the “how I feel” crap. “It was okay. I didn’t lose or win. The score was tied when I stopped pitching, but then the relief pitcher let in some runs, and we lost.” I sighed. “No one wants me on the team, though. All the guys hate me. They pretty much ignore me.” I was trying to act as if it didn’t bother me.
“Does that bother you—that no one’s rooting for you?”
“I’m used to it,” I answered quickly.
“What do you mean?”
I thought about how nobody at home or at school cared about me or knew I existed, except for Justin and Danny. I started thinking about what had happened at Justin’s house the other night. That had given me a bigger thrill than making the varsity baseball team. I was playing on a team where no one cheered for me, a team that tried to pretend I wasn’t even there.
“Taylor, what do you mean you’re used to it?”
“Mr. Sacamore,” I said. “Look at me. I’m just a plain old student. I get average grades. I have bad hair, bad clothes. No one notices me. I made the varsity baseball team, and still no one looks at me in the hall. In fact, most people look away when they see me coming. I’m some sort of a misfit freak.”
Sacamore just sat there, waiting for me to keep going. I felt like I was going to cry, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I slumped back in the chair and kicked at my book bag. We sat in silence until the bell rang. Man, this guy pissed me off.
“See you next week,” he said as I stormed out the door.
I headed toward the cafeteria. Why did that guy have to make me talk about what a loser I was? How was this helping me? He should’ve told me how to not be a loser. I felt sick to my stomach, so I decided to go out to the courtyard to get some air. When I reached the door, I saw Stacy and her group of followers, and they were blocking the exit.
“Scuse me,” I said, trying to slip by without being noticed. I did not feel like dealing with her right now. I was in no mood at all for it.
“There’s no excuse for you,” she said, laughing with her friends and not moving from the door. “So, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you on making the varsity baseball team.”
I waited, crossing my arms. This ought to be good.
She turned to her friends, giggling. “When you have no mother, I guess you turn into a boy.”
I felt my face growing hot. Did she just say my mother? I felt a burning pain inside my chest, and I wanted to scream or run or hit something. What did she know about my mother? I heard the girls laughing around me. I glared at Stacy. Why did my mother leave? Stacy’s head was turned toward her friends.
“Stacy, I’m really getting tired of your crap,” I said, letting my book bag slide to the floor.
She turned back toward me. “Well, I’m getting tired of you always being around wherever I go. I can’t even go to Rick’s games without seeing you. Is being on the baseball team your twisted way of finding a boyfriend?”
I started to raise my voice. “If you knew what was good for you, you’d just stop talking,” I said as menacingly as I could.
She moved closer to me and jabbed her finger into my shoulder, poking it over and over as she said, “If you knew what was good for you, you’d stay out of my face.”
“Get your hands off me,” I growled, pushing her arm away from my shoulder.
“Or what? You’re going to hit—”
Before she could finish, I swung a hard right toward her made-up face. My fist hit her perfect cheekbone with a loud smack. She screamed and fell to the floor, sniffling and grabbing her face.
“Excuse me,” I said calmly, my hands trembling. I grabbed my book bag and darted out the door.
I found refuge on the bleachers at the Little League park. No one else was there, so I sat and stared at the empty field. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting there, when I turned to see Justin climbing the bleachers. He sat down beside me and took off his hat.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“Tough day at the office, huh?” he said seriously.
“I guess you heard.”
“Oh, everybody heard. What in the world happened, T?”
I sighed deeply. “I just couldn’t take it any more. Why does that bitch torture me?” I began to get choked up.
Justin moved closer to me and bumped me with his shoulder. “Don’t let her bug you. She’s just jealous.”
“Yeah, right.”
“She is. You have the guts to do things she wouldn’t do because it doesn’t fit into her girlie social world. It’s easier to make fun of someone for being different than to be different yourself.”
I didn’t say anything. He kind of sounded like Sacamore. I knew Justin was trying to make me feel better, and it was sort of working.
“Can I ask you a question, Justin?” I glanced over at him.
“What?”
“Why do you hang out with me?”
“Taylor, what kind of question is that?”
I stared out into the empty field. “Seriously. I mean, I’m a freakin’ disaster. I’m not fun to be around. I’m miserable all the time. And all I do is complain. Why would anyone want to be friends with me?”
“You have your happy moments,” he said.
“I can’t remember the last one. Can you? I think you must enjoy torture or something, spending all this time with me.”
I slid back onto the bleachers so my butt was on the footrest. I felt defeated.
Justin slid back to match my posture. “I’ll tell you why I hang out with you, T, but I don’t want you to think it’s pity, ’cause it’s not.”
“What?” I said. What did he mean by pity?
“Well, I don’t think you were old enough to remember this,” he said, “but I guess I was about seven, and you were about five at the time.”
I sat and listened, confused.
Justin continued his story. “We were at one of those block party picnics with all the neighborhood families. It was probably pretty soon after your mom left. Your dad was throwing a baseball with your brother, Brian, and you were watching, waiting for your turn. After a long time waiting, you ran over and picked up the ball they were using. You had the biggest smile on your face, and you were about to throw the ball when your dad stormed over and grabbed it from your hand. He said, ‘Taylor, Daddy and Brian are playing.’ You were so hurt, you went and sat behind a tree and cried. I remember thinking how messed up that was, even though I was only seven. I felt really bad for you. I walked over and asked if you wanted me to push you on the swings. I put you on a swing and pushed you until you laughed so hard you got the hiccups.”
“I don’t remember that,” I said.
“I do,” he said softly.
“So, the reason you’re my friend is you feel bad for me ’cause my dad’s a jerk?”
“No, that’s not why. I knew you’d misunderstand,” he said, shaking his head. He took a deep breath. �
��Listen, the reason I hang out with you is because that day, when I made you laugh, I felt really happy. And I guess I like that feeling. Making you happy makes me feel like I’m on top of the world. I know it’s weird, but it’s true. I want you to be happy.” He reached for my hand. “Can’t you be happy, T?”
I sat back up onto the seat and thought about what Justin had just said. He slid back up next to me. “You’re crazy,” I said. “And why do we keep ending up holding hands?”
“’cause it makes you smile,” he answered. And then it happened—practically in slow motion. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek, and then slowly moved his mouth to kiss mine. And I kissed him back.
It wasn’t like striking out a batter, but it was pretty darn close.
CHAPTER 12
When I got home that evening, I started thinking about what Justin had said about my dad. Why was Dad so involved with my older brother all the time and totally annoyed and disgusted with me? He wasn’t home from work yet, so I snuck into his room and started poking around. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but I needed something to keep the whole Stacy Downbaer incident off my mind. I was sure Dad had gotten a phone call from the school, and I was in deep trouble with him already, so getting caught going through his stuff couldn’t make my situation much worse.
I didn’t know much about my mom or why she’d left. Dad never talked about it. Brian always said she was never happy, and he figured she’d found something to make her happy, so she left. It was funny. I’d been so mad at my dad for hating me that I wasn’t mad at my mother for leaving. I was happy she’d been able to get away from this miserable place. Someday, I’d get away, too.
Digging around in the back of Dad’s closet, I came across a photo album I’d never seen before. The only picture I had of my mother was their wedding photo, and in that picture, she was all made-up like a doll, so it was hard to see what she really looked like. I’d always assumed Dad had thrown away all other pictures of her.
I flipped open the album. It seemed to be full of pictures of my mom when she was younger. In many of the photos, she had long, stringy brown hair, just like mine. I knew her parents had died before I was born, and she was an only child. I continued looking at the different shots of her—in a school uniform, blowing out birthday candles . . . and then, I found it—just as my father walked into the room.
“What are you doing in here, young lady?” he demanded.
Stuffing the album under my shirt, I ran to my room and slammed the door, locking it behind me.
He followed me. “Taylor Dresden, open this door! And what is this I hear about a fight at school? Do you know I have to meet with the principal at 7:30 Monday morning about this? Young lady, if you do not open this door, you’ll have bigger problems than suspensions.”
I opened the door. He was standing there, red in the face, with his hands on his hips. “So what do you have to say about all this?” he said.
“I hit some girl,” I answered, looking at the floor.
“Yeah, I heard that part,” he said, obviously upset. “For any particular reason?”
All of a sudden, I didn’t care any more about making him mad. I wasn’t afraid of him. “For the particular reason that she’s a bitch.” I began to laugh.
He paused, unamused, and took a breath. “Two weeks, no TV, no visits to Justin’s. Be waiting in the car at 7:00 Monday morning. Good night.” He went into his room and closed the door.
I sat on my bed and pulled out the picture. It was a shot of my mother in a softball uniform. She looked about fifteen years old, and her jersey said “Lowell High School.” I turned the picture over. Someone had scribbled “Ellen’s first win.”
CHAPTER 13
Monday morning was as bad as I had expected. Dad didn’t say a word to me on the ride to school. When we got to the vice-principal’s office, we had to wait twenty minutes before he called us in—it seemed like years.
“Mr. Dresden?” I finally heard as the vice-principal came out. I watched my father shake his hand. “You and your daughter can step inside now.”
I walked into the office and sat in the first empty chair I saw. Sacamore was already sitting in the office, sipping coffee. He introduced himself to my father without saying anything about our Friday sessions.
The vice-principal addressed me first. “So, Taylor, do you have anything to say for yourself?”
How did adults want you to respond to this question? I gave it a shot. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, but she was saying mean things to me, and I guess I lost my temper.”
“We do not tolerate physical violence at this school,” he answered. “You will be suspended for two days. I wanted to remove you permanently from the baseball team, but Mr. Sacamore has come to your defense.”
My father spoke up. “Sir, if I may interrupt, I think that taking Taylor off the team would be a good idea. Taylor has seemed distracted since this whole baseball thing started. Maybe the team is too much for her to handle.”
“But, Dad—”
Mr. Sacamore interrupted my protest. “Mr. Dresden, I’ve known Taylor for a while, and I don’t support removing her from the team. I think baseball, most of the time, keeps her away from negative actions. I believe that some of the girls provoke Taylor. Do you agree, Taylor?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled.
“Why don’t you tell us what Miss Downbaer said to you that made you so upset,” Mr. Sacamore said.
My father looked at his watch—twice.
“She was talking about my mother,” I answered.
As he rose, my father looked impatient. “Gentlemen, I’m late for work, unfortunately. I’ll take Taylor home to serve her suspension. Are we finished here?”
“If you agree to the terms, Mr. Dresden, they will stand,” said the vice principal.
“She made her bed, and now she can lie in it,” my dad said.
He didn’t even try to defend me.
He dropped me back home, and as he drove away, all he said was, “And don’t spend all day watching TV.”
I went up to my room, flopped on my bed, and fell asleep. I slept for most of the day. Suspension was great for catching up on sleep. I felt good that Sacamore had stuck up for me today. But I wished it had been my father.
CHAPTER 14
Wednesday morning, I was back at school. For once, I was kind of happy to be there. I hadn’t thrown a ball in a week, and I was looking forward to the game after school. I wasn’t scheduled to pitch, but I never knew when Coach might put me in to close the game or pitch in relief.
I passed Stacy on the way to my locker, but she didn’t look at me. She still had a bruise on her left cheek. I felt kind of guilty about it, but kind of good, too—maybe she’d stop bothering me now.
I entered Sacamore’s office a few seconds after the bell rang for first period. I wondered what he’d say about my dad, and waited to thank him for helping keep me on the team. It felt good having something to do after school every day.
“Good morning, Taylor,” Sacamore said.
“Hi.” I sat down in my usual chair.
“Sorry I pulled you out of class, but I thought we should chat.”
“It’s okay.”
“How were your couple days off?”
“Uh, they were pretty quiet. I just stayed in my room.”
“I want to talk about the meeting we had with your father on Monday morning. Would that be okay with you?”
I shrugged. “I guess so.”
“So, tell me about that morning. What were you feeling?”
“I was pretty numb the whole couple of days. It was like I spaced out after the thing with Stacy. I don’t remember thinking anything, except . . .” I shifted in my seat.
“Go ahead. What?”
“I wanted to thank you for sticking up for me, Mr. Sacamore. That was nice of you to stick up for me.”
He just looked at me and didn’t say anything.
“No one ever says anything
nice about me,” I said. “Teachers always say I’m quiet and I do my work, but that’s not really a compliment.” I looked at my feet. “What did you think of my father?”
Sacamore leaned forward. “It’s not important what I think. I don’t have to live with him—you do. What do you think of your father?”
I paused for a moment to think what response would satisfy Sacamore and get him to stop prying. But then I realized something. Sacamore wasn’t a teacher. He got paid whether he “healed” me or not. He wouldn’t repeat what I said to anyone. I was in a place where I could say anything I wanted. No detentions, suspensions, or groundings would be issued. I could probably curse, and Sacamore wouldn’t tell. I might as well be honest.
“I think he doesn’t care if I live or die.” He raised an eyebrow at me, as if to say “enough with the drama, Taylor.” I went on. “I just feel like no matter what I do, good or bad, he’s mad at me. He’s a complete ass, and he sucks as a father.”
Sacamore perked up. “You should tell him that.”
“What?”
“That he sucks,” Sacamore said.
“He already grounded me for two weeks. I don’t need to spend the rest of my life in my room,” I answered, almost laughing.
Sacamore smiled. “Listen, Taylor, don’t tell him in those exact words. Try to be calmer. Tell him you feel he treats you unfairly, and ask him why he does it. You shouldn’t be angry with him until you hear his side of the story.”
“What do you mean his side?”
“Maybe he doesn’t think he’s being harsh. Maybe something’s bothering him. There are two sides to every story. You only know your side. Give him a chance to explain.”
“I guess you have a point,” I said. The bell was about to ring.
“Good. Let me know on Friday what he says.”
“What? I thought we were just talking. I didn’t know you were serious!” I stood up in shock.
He stood up and placed his hand on my shoulder. “It couldn’t hurt to just talk to him. Now get to class.” As I headed for the door, he said, “Taylor, you can do this,” and smiled.
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