Mr. Krimick nodded toward me. “Taylor, better take your things. The bell’s about to ring.”
I scooped up my books and quickly left the room. Justin was already halfway down the hall, laughing and beckoning to me. “Come on!”
I caught up with him. “Where are we going?”
“It’s lunch time. I thought we’d go someplace nice.”
“Justin, lunch isn’t for an hour. We’ll miss fourth period.”
He stopped. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I got everything covered. My buddy Jack’s going to tell Ms. Miller you’re at the nurse’s, puking and stuff.”
I thought a minute. “All right, but I have to be back by last period or they won’t let me pitch today.”
We hurried out one of the side doors and snuck quickly through the parking lot. Justin headed into the woods behind the school, and I followed. I knew kids always came out here to smoke and fool around when they cut class, but I’d never been out here.
We walked for a while, and then we came to a clearing by a little stream. Justin sat down on a fallen log and opened his backpack. He pulled out two deli sandwiches.
“Turkey or roast beef?” he asked.
I sat down next to him. I wasn’t hungry at all, just curious. But I said, “I’ll take the turkey.”
He handed me the sub and a bottle of iced tea. While he began devouring his sandwich, I sipped the iced tea and looked at the stream. After he’d eaten half his food, he took a big gulp of soda and turned toward me, wiping his hands on his jeans. “So, I guess this thing with you and me is a bust, huh?”
“What?” I said, surprised.
He twisted his bottle cap back on. “Well, ever since that day on the bleachers, you haven’t talked to me, so I figured you’re not interested.”
I was confused. “Justin, that’s not it. I’ve just been busy with baseball. And crap with my dad and Sacamore—”
He interrupted. “T, it’s okay. You don’t need to make excuses. I just brought you out here to tell you you’re off the hook. It’s cool if you’re not looking for a relationship. We can just be buds like we’ve always been.”
I was speechless. Of course I liked him. What was he talking about—let me off the hook? Maybe he wanted out, and he was turning it around on me. I wasn’t sure what to say. I just sat there stupefied, looking at the ground. I wasn’t going to tell him I was interested if he was looking for a way to just be friends again. I didn’t want to lose him as a friend. Our friendship had been the only thing that kept me from jumping off a cliff these past few years.
Justin spoke again. “So we’re still friends, right?”
I nodded and said softly, “Of course we’re still friends . . . if that’s what you want.”
“Good, I feel better.” He began eating again. “So, who are you pitching against today?”
I answered all his questions about the game. We were playing Mainland, and I was starting. They had a serious power hitter, Tommy Bucci. Yes, I was nervous. But as I spoke, all I could think about was what had just happened. I hadn’t wanted a boyfriend before all this stuff happened, but now was I supposed to go back to not kissing him? Go back to not thinking about kissing him? I couldn’t stand the thought. Maybe I should just tell him how I felt.
“I guess we should start heading back,” Justin said.
We made our way back to school. And, like an idiot, I said nothing.
I was not in the mood for baseball that afternoon. I downed a soda before the game, trying to wake myself from the coma I’d been in since lunch. I stumbled out of the locker room. I hated pitching home games. I actually felt better with the crowds at away games. I didn’t expect them to cheer for me, so their silence made sense and felt right. At home, the silence was uncomfortable. Even if someone wanted to cheer for me, they probably would’ve been made an outcast for doing so. This morning, I’d been looking forward to pitching, especially after my save yesterday, but I wasn’t excited now. I’d lost my game face. I trudged down the hall, toward the back door of the school.
When I rounded the corner by the trophy case, I was hanging my head so low, I ran right into Mr. Sacamore.
“Ooh, sorry about that,” I said before realizing who I’d run into. Then I looked up. “Oh, hey, Mr. Sacamore.”
“Taylor, this is a coincidence,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?” He looked me in the eyes.
“Sure, I guess,” I said, shrugging.
“You want to talk? I have some time.”
I looked out the door at the end of the hall and saw the guys warming up. “Uh, I can’t right now. I don’t have time. I’m starting today.”
“If something’s on your mind, you better clear it up before you get on the field.”
I looked at Sacamore. I looked outside. I thought about my dad and about Justin. I dropped my head and felt the tears well up in my eyes. What was I thinking? I couldn’t pitch right now. I stammered, “I just . . . I just can’t do this any more. I can’t do any of this. Everyone hates me.”
I turned, walked quickly in the other direction, and pulled my hat down so no one would see the water works that were about to start. I pushed open the gym door. It was empty, thank God. The bleachers were pulled out for the teacher vs. student volleyball game scheduled for later. I ducked behind the bleachers and walked under the dark wood until I was out of sight. I sat down against the wall.
I was so numb, I couldn’t get the tears to come out. I would hide in here, I decided, and somebody else would have to pitch. To my right, I heard the sound of the gym door creaking open. Shoot—Sacamore. Maybe he wouldn’t find me.
“Taylor?” he said in a loud whisper. “You in here?” He walked toward the center of the gym. As he neared the other end of the bleachers, my eyes followed the sound of his footsteps. The waxed gym floor squeaked when he stopped to peek under the bleachers. He smiled when he saw me.
I was actually relieved he found me. I was such a sucker. I was really starting to like Sacamore. He seemed to truly like me, and that was something I needed. Carefully ducking his head, he stepped over the metal frame of the bleachers. He settled himself next to me and opened the water bottle he was carrying. Pointing to the bottle, he offered me a sip, but I shook my head. He sighed. We just sat there.
Finally, he said, “I’m going to tell you a secret, Taylor.”
I turned my hat backwards and faced him, waiting.
“It doesn’t matter who likes you. There are always going to be people who don’t like you. Heck, there are even people who don’t like me.” He snorted out a laugh. “What matters most is that you like yourself.”
“What’s to like?” I said glumly.
He got to his feet but stayed bent over so he wouldn’t hit his head. “Well, that’s something you have to figure out yourself. Now, I believe you have a game to pitch.” He began to walk away, but he turned back to say, “I’ll tell you one thing I like about you—you’re not a quitter. You haven’t given up on fixing things with your dad, and you haven’t given up on this team yet, either.” He spoke firmly but seemed a bit disappointed. I didn’t want Sacamore to hate me, too.
And with those words, something took over my body like magic. I stood up and headed outside.
Because of my detour under the bleachers, I was late getting out to the field, so I had little time to warm up. Jamie London was catching for me today. I always felt like he threw the ball extra hard back to me, just to be a macho jerk. He hardly ever gave me signs on what to throw. He didn’t care about winning—he just cared about his own batting average.
I jogged out to the mound for the first inning. I kicked at the rubber, cleared the dirt off it, kicked it again, and cleared more dirt off, trying to focus.
“Batter up!” the ump yelled.
Not only was I feeling horrible, but I was armed and dangerous. The first batter was nearly beheaded by the high fastballs I was hurling. I walked him on four straight pitches. The next batter took one on the shin a
nd was awarded first base. Great! Two on, no outs. Now the crowd was getting interested.
“Take her out, Perez!” a fan yelled.
“She’s gonna kill somebody!” another parent screamed.
But Perez left me in. Before facing the next batter, I paced around. Stop thinking about Justin. Stop thinking about Dad. I looked for Justin in the crowd. He wasn’t there. Nobody was ever there for me.
I wound up and delivered the ball. I’d never thrown so hard before. It was as if all my anger was in that ball. It flew way over London’s head, forcing the umpire to duck, and slammed into the fence. It didn’t fall to the ground, but lodged itself in the mesh wire. Both runners advanced because of the wild pitch.
“What the . . .” I heard from the crowd.
The umpire walked toward the ball and examined it like it was a rare fossil. He waved for Perez to come out of the dugout.
“This girl is too wild, Coach. I think you should consider taking her out,” the umpire said. Perez headed toward me on the mound.
“I’m not taking you out, Dresden. I refuse to take anyone out in the first inning. I’m just out here to humor the umpire. Get it together, and get out of the inning,” he said, and then jogged back to the dugout. He gave the umpire a big thumbs-up. The ball was still stuck in the fence, so the ump threw me a new ball.
I tried to push away my feelings so I could focus on pitching. Just get the ball over the plate. Relax, and get it over the plate. The next batter made contact, and his weak pop-up was easily caught by our shortstop, holding the runners at second and third. Thank goodness! At least we had one out now. I was breathing hard. The next two batters grounded out to end the inning. Phew, that was close. At least they hadn’t scored . . . yet. I hurried back to the dugout to hide.
As I rounded the fence, I saw Sacamore standing on the other side of it, looking concerned. Great! Not again! He waved me over to him.
“Taylor, relax out there,” he said, his fingers sticking through the chain link fence.
I shrugged. “I can’t stop thinking about stuff,” I said. “It’s messing me up.”
“What stuff? Did you talk to your dad?”
“Yeah, that was a disaster. And now Justin is blowing me off or something. I can’t do anything right.”
“Taylor, there was more to that secret I started telling you about under the bleachers. No matter what else is going on, you have to remember that you’re good at baseball. You’re a great athlete. Maybe nobody has ever told you that before, but it’s the absolute truth. If this is the only thing you think you have going for you, then use it. Put all your positive energy into pitching. Make it your passion, and everything else will fall into place.”
I thought about what Sacamore was saying, and I smiled. No one had ever told me I was good. He had a point. I was pretty good. But today, I was destroying myself out there. But just because everything else was going wrong didn’t mean baseball had to go wrong, too.
I sat down on the bench, slipped my jacket onto my right arm to keep it warm, and put my head on my hands. I sat there, trying to breathe and relax. It was usually considered bad luck to talk to the pitcher between innings, but to me, at that moment, Sacamore’s talk was the good luck I needed. I sat there and tried to think about nothing except getting the ball in the strike zone. “Just pitch,” I told myself. “Just pitch.”
I heard the scuffling of feet around me, and I knew it was the second inning. Jamie tapped me on my leg with his glove—his way of saying “It’s time.” After adjusting my hat and tossing my jacket on the bench, I jogged confidently to the mound. I had found the focus I’d always needed.
I threw the next inning as if there was a string going from my arm to Jamie’s glove. A whole series of perfect strikes—three batters up, three batters down.
The next innings went just as quickly. I didn’t let anyone get on base. In the fifth inning, my arm was starting to feel like mush. I got two quick groundouts, and then I walked a guy. I struck out the next batter for the third out, making my strike-out total for the game ten batters. As I hustled back to the dugout, I heard it. A small section of the crowd was clapping. I looked up and saw the top row of the bleachers standing up and clapping softly. Some boys, girls, and parents were standing there. I didn’t recognize any of them, but they were cheering for me. Before I reached the dugout, I tipped my hat just a little to thank them. They had no idea how much it meant to me. A smile stretched across my face. I didn’t care about looking tough in front of the team. I let myself feel good for once.
Perez took me out before the next inning, which was fine with me. He was always afraid I’d throw my arm out. I sat on the bench, spitting sunflower seeds with Louis, happy as a pig in slop.
Louis turned to me after a while. “Dresden,” he said quietly, “nice pitching out there.”
I nodded, spit, and simply said, “Thanks.” But inside, I was doing cartwheels. Tony walked by, stuck his hand out, and gave me a quiet low-five, so only Louis and I could see.
We won the game 6-0. It was my first win, and my first shutout. After the game ended, I headed back to the locker room to collect my stuff. I actually held my head high as I walked back toward the building. I wanted to find Sacamore and hug him, to thank him for giving me a chance. Instead, I ran through the halls like a crazy girl, banging my glove against the long row of lockers and jumping up to smack the lights. Winning wasn’t everything, but it definitely was something!
The locker room was buzzing. The softball team had won by ten runs, and all the girls were dancing to the radio in celebration. I walked in and had to laugh. Trudy was standing on the benches with Denise Rodriguez, singing at the top of her lungs.
“Hey, Taylor!” Trudy said. “I heard you guys won, too! Congratulations!”
“Thanks. Same to you guys,” I said.
“We rule!” Denise screamed as she jumped down and skipped toward the showers.
“You’re coming across the street to celebrate with us today, right Taylor?” Trudy said, giving me a friendly tap on the arm.
I was so high from the win, I said, “Sure. I could eat some pizza.” And I actually went.
When I got to the pizza place, all the girls were squished into two booths in the corner, downing slices of pizza. Trudy and Denise waved me over.
“Taylor, back here!” Trudy yelled. She was always so chipper.
“Hey, Trudy,” I said, squeezing in next to her.
“Help yourself,” she said, shoving a paper plate toward me.
I folded the pizza in half and took a bite. We ate pizza all the time at home, but it never tasted as good as this.
“So, I’ve got a good trivia question for everyone,” Trudy said.
“Okay, go,” one girl said.
“What pitcher has the most career wins?”
Everyone started yelling out names. “Ryan.”
“Johnson!”
“Are you talking about softball or baseball?” I asked.
Trudy laughed. “Oh yeah, like there are so many famous softball players. Baseball, silly.”
I held up my hands as if to say “duh.” I knew the answer. “Oh. Well then, Cy Young.”
“Ding, ding! You win!” she said. She proceeded to take an ice cube from her drink and put it down the back of my shirt.
“Oh, you little . . .” I said, reaching into my own glass and flinging a cube her way. A few other girls followed suit by grabbing for ice.
“Hey, knock it off!” yelled the man behind the counter. “You girls can finish your food outside!”
We were all cracking up as we grabbed the pizza box and ran out of the restaurant.
Still laughing, I said to Trudy and Denise, “I should get going.”
“Here,” Trudy said, reaching into her purse for a pen. “Give me a call. We might see a movie or something on Saturday, and you can come.” She wrote her number on a napkin and handed it to me.
“Uh, okay,” I said. “See you guys.”
CHA
PTER 17
The next morning, I hurried to Bio class, suddenly remembering we had a test on that stupid dead pig. I had let my lab partner do all the dissecting, and all I knew about the pig was that it smelled like vomit. The hall was packed with people rushing to class, and I was trying to maneuver my way through the crowd. I bumped into a few people, and then I found myself face-to-face with Justin.
“Hey!” he said enthusiastically.
I was still rushing forward but said, “Hey, I got a test.”
“OK, talk to you later. I heard you had a good game,” he yelled as I reached the stairs.
I waved and ran up the stairs. When I got to Bio and had the test in front of me, I finally had time to think. I answered everything I knew in about ten minutes, so I had time to relax and pretend I was thinking about dead pigs. That had been a bad way to see Justin. He probably thought I was ignoring him. This getting-to-class-on-time thing really interfered with my social life. Maybe I should write him a letter about what was going on. Yeah, right—a letter? What was I thinking?
Before I knew it, the bell was ringing. I tossed my test with the others onto Mr. Dewey’s desk and then walked to Algebra class, still thinking about Justin.
Later that day, which was a Friday, I headed to Sacamore’s office, as usual. Maybe I’d experienced a “breakthrough” when he talked to me by the dugout. I’d begun to believe in myself, and it had worked. I remembered the good feeling I had after really putting my heart into the game.
I knocked on his door and slowly opened it. He was sitting at his desk, scribbling something.
“Hey,” he said casually. “Big T . . . Come on in, sister.”
I still thought he was a weirdo, though I was starting to like his hokey greetings. He made me feel as if there were more good guys out there besides Justin Kennedy. I sat down on the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table. I sighed, thinking of Justin.
“Why the sigh, Ms. Dresden?” Sacamore asked, looking up from his paperwork.
I’d never really told him about Justin. I’d said we were friends and all, but I’d never told him about the relationship stuff. Sacamore did help me with the baseball thing, though. Maybe he could help me with Justin. I figured I’d give it a shot.
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