Second, Sage is getting played like a clarinet and can’t see it. The more I point it out, the angrier she gets at me. She’s dying for popularity, especially since she hasn’t had it since third grade, before we got tagged as fat girls.
I don’t need this.
There’s only one thing I need to do right now, and I’m on my way to do it. I reach the pitching area Dad set up for me and grab my glove off the top of the bucket of baseballs. I don’t have much time left before it’ll be dark, so I drag the bucket closer to my pitcher’s mound, pick up a baseball, and get started.
Holding that little white ball with red laces in my hand takes me back to the last time I pitched to Dad. The pain returns, so I throw five straight heaters at the glove nailed to the tree above home plate.
BLAM . . . BLAM . . . BLAM . . . BLAM . . . BLAM.
I should’ve warmed up first, but since Dad’s not here to make me, I didn’t. Besides, I’m pretty warm inside already. Now that I know Grandma’s not going to cancel the field trip, I’ll have to work alone on getting that done. Or maybe I can force the shack to be temporarily closed. Yeah. Now there’s an idea.
BLAM . . . BLAM . . . BLAM.
I’ll get Sage to help me. She’s great at figuring things out. Well, except I haven’t really helped her with that Pink Chip invitation. How could Sage think I was jealous? Those girls are snakes! Just the thought of something slithering near my feet makes me check the ground before picking up three more baseballs.
BLAM . . . BLAM . . . BLAM.
And seriously, I have no intention of helping Sage become a Pink Chip. Heck to the double no. I’ll have to make her see my point. No matter what it takes.
BLAM . . . BLAM . . . BLAM . . . BLAM.
My arm’s hurting. Maybe I should’ve warmed up. I try to shake the pain away, but it’s not working. So I gather the baseballs and put them back in the bucket, drop my glove on top, and head to Grandma’s house. Before I open the door, I can hear Grandma inside.
“He was safe! That second baseman missed the tag! He’s not out! Hey, umpire, you need glasses. Here, you can borrow mine!”
I wait before opening the screen door. Mom’s face appears in my mind. I promised her I would try my best, and I am. But Grandma’s making it so hard. How can I go in there and pretend nothing’s wrong? I know. I’ll pretend I’m at school and just say nothing.
The television announcer is talking as loud as Grandma.
“Well, folks, he clearly missed that call.”
Grandma agrees. “Ya doggone skippy he did! That umpire can’t see doodly-squat!”
I wonder if all old people talk like that. But what’s really weird is . . . I understand her. When she sees me, she points to the television. “Baby Girl, I read in the book that if a guy is on a base, and he runs to the next base to steal, the infielder has to tag him in order for him to be out. Is that right?”
I nod and watch the replay. No doubt. The guy was safe.
Grandma leans back in her chair. “Then the umpires are cheating. They called that boy out, and I could see he was safe from here. That just burns my buns. Come sit down and watch the game with me. I’m beginning to catch on, and tomorrow, I’m going to try and keep score!”
What the what? She’s been reading and watching baseball for one day, and the look on her face tells me that I might have to make my own dinner tonight. Suddenly, the coach comes out of the dugout and starts screaming at the umpire. Grandma picks up what’s happening.
“Well, it’s about time somebody came to take up for that boy. He was safe.”
After just a moment of arguing, the umpire points over the stadium seats and the crowd goes crazy.
Grandma’s flipping through pages. “What just happened?”
I step closer to the television and jab my hands on my hips, then hold them straight out in the air.
“He got tossed! The umpire kicked him out of the park.”
Grandma’s furious. “For what, telling the truth?”
Then she leans back and sighs. “Well, now I know of two things that’ll get you kicked out of a ballpark.”
I don’t want to laugh, but I can’t help it as I think about those pork chop sandwiches. When I look her way, she’s got the cutest grin on her face, and there’s no way I can be mad at her.
“Looks like you’re really getting into baseball, Grandma.”
She nods. “And I never would’ve known if I hadn’t tried.”
The only sound in the room is coming from the television. I know she’s trying to throw me a message about the shack—I’m just not trying to catch it. She reaches in her blouse again, and I step back. She pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and I exhale.
“Order us a big pizza, Laura. I didn’t get around to cooking anything. The number for Pug’s Pizza Palace is on the refrigerator.”
I order our pizza, and we demolish it while watching the game. When it’s over, I shuffle off to my room to finish my science and English homework. Digging through my backpack, I accidentally pull out my permission slip for the field trip. I stare at it like it’s my number-one enemy, ball it up, and stuff it in the desk drawer.
Even though it’s just a piece of paper, to me it’s giving free access to a terrible time in my family’s history. It’s hard enough to take the cruel jokes about my weight. But if jokes are made about whatever’s inside that shack, it may hurt even more than being called Fat Larda, because what they say about me is one thing. What they say about my family or our property is fighting words.
And I can’t get suspended from school for fighting, especially over something as ridiculous as that ugly shack.
That settles it. I’ll have to handle this myself.
Chapter Twelve
Yesterday, Mrs. Jacobs stopped me in the hall before school started. Today, I’m looking for her. There she is, on her way to the teachers’ break room.
“Mrs. Jacobs!”
She turns around and waits for me. “Good morning, Laura. Everything okay?”
My heart’s pumping double beats, but I’ve got to get this off my chest. I look behind me, hoping no one notices I’m hanging out with a teacher.
“Can we talk in private somewhere?”
She looks around and points to the band room. “Sure. Let’s go in there.”
Once we’re inside, I close the door, take a breath, get my serious face on, and unload.
“I’d like to talk to you about the field trip.”
She grins. “Are you excited?”
I keep the serious face working. “I think you should cancel it.”
The edges of her grin straighten and the mood immediately changes to uneasy. I grab the ends of my pigtails and twist them as Mrs. Jacobs crosses her arms.
“I thought you’d be thrilled, since it would put a spotlight on your ancestors.”
I look away. “Mrs. Jacobs, please don’t be mad at me, but I don’t want my classmates visiting the shack. If they see it, I’ll be the laughingstock of the whole school.”
Her head tilts to the side. “What do you mean? Didn’t you hear the excitement in class when I made the announcement?”
“You heard excitement. I heard jokes. I mean, it’s one thing to study slavery in class, but now you’re making it personal. In case you don’t know, I’m not the most popular girl in school, and the field trip is just going to make things worse. They’re going to laugh at me, Mrs. Jacobs. Everybody’s going to laugh.”
She’s got a spacey look on her face, and I know she doesn’t get what I’m saying. I fight the urge to cry because I’m so tired of being made fun of. I hate the fat jokes and the dumb names. And just like my classmates are mean, I think mean things happened in that shack to my ancestors. So eventually the fat jokes will turn into slave jokes, and the dumb names will turn to names like Fat Shack Larda if I don’t get this canceled.
“Mrs. Jacobs, I just want to be . . . normal.”
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “I don’t know if you’ll ever be
normal, Laura. And I say that as a good thing.”
The warning bell rings, and we both look out the small window in the door as students scramble toward class. Mrs. Jacobs switches her stuff back to the other arm.
“Tell you what—let’s talk more about it after class today. How’s that?”
I nod, open the door, and leave. What a waste of time. I’m not talking to her after class. Heck to the double no.
I’m cautious going down the hall, expecting a bunch of jokes about the field trip. But no one says a word about it. All they talk about is today’s baseball game. But during history, things get out of hand. Sunny is the first to irritate me.
“So Laura, did you find the shack Mrs. Jacobs was talking about?”
I ignore her, take my seat, open my history book, and try to look busy. She’s got four of our classmates with her, and they’re giggling as she continues.
“You don’t have anybody still living in that thing, do you?”
I roll my eyes. “Why? Are you looking for a new home?”
There are chuckles all around me as more classmates gather at my desk. Sunny frowns. “You’re the one with the slave shack, Laura. And you’re too ashamed to admit it.”
I snap at her. “You don’t know anything about me!”
“Then why’d you lie about it on the bus yesterday?”
The crowd goes silent. All I see are eyes zooming in on me. I’m trapped, and Sunny knows it. Then Mrs. Jacobs walks in and closes the door.
“Please take your seats so we can begin.”
Sunny gives me a long, evil glare before walking back to her desk. What am I going to do? She called me out, and I’ve got to come up with a good reason for lying. I look through my history book and pretend to read as Mrs. Jacobs talks. On one page I see a picture of men signing the Declaration of Independence. On the next page a king and queen seem happy with all their servants around them.
Wait. That’s it!
I close my history book and move around in my seat until I can see Troy. I sure hope Sunny asks about the shack again, because I’ve got an answer for her.
And when the bell rings, I get my wish.
I slide out of my desk and take my time gathering my stuff, trying to give Sunny an opportunity to reach me. She comes with a crowd, but when Troy eases over and joins the group, my brain fogs and I bite my lip to focus. Sunny goes straight for the knockout.
“So back to the question I asked before class. Why’d you lie, Larda?”
“Wait a minute.” I jam my left hand on my left hip and shift all of my weight to my left leg. Whether or not I’m lying is no longer the issue. It’s a war of words between me and the Pink Chip princess, and nobody’s ever had enough guts to take her on.
Until now.
My right pointer finger shakes back and forth in her face as I tell her what’s on my mind.
“You must have me confused with one of those potato chips you hang out with.”
She corrects me. “Pink Chips.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. An-y-way, you need to be careful who you call a liar. I didn’t lie. It really isn’t a slave shack. It’s a storage shed, full of important documents and . . . and things . . . antique stuff worth thousands of dollars. And the last thing I want is a bunch of wannabe-important, grubby-handed haters touching our stuff or, worse, trying to steal it.”
Sunny shakes her head to get her bangs out of her face and frowns. “Are you calling me a thief, Larda? You owe me an apology.”
I don’t have any bangs, so I rub my hand across my hair to smooth it down, then match her look. “And you’ll get one right after you apologize for calling me a liar, Sunny.”
A few in the crowd chuckle as Sunny turns cloudy. I hear Troy whisper to someone, “I can’t believe Larda said that to Sunny!”
Mrs. Jacobs calls from her desk, “Is everything okay back there?”
I’m dead red on Sunny. “Everything’s fine, Mrs. Jacobs.”
Then Mrs. Jacobs looks my way. “Laura, did you still want to talk about the field trip?”
Her timing couldn’t have been worse. I need her to leave or I could really lose this war.
“Not right now, Mrs. Jacobs. I’ll talk with you later.”
“Okay, just let me know. I have some ideas you might like.”
I rush through the crowd and out into the hall. Sunny and a few others follow me. I get to my locker and open it. If she wants to go head up with me, then I’m down. As I get my stuff to go home, I push Sunny’s button one more time.
“Are you here to apologize? If not, you need to bounce.”
Sunny grins. “I’ll want to check out this ‘storage shed’ for myself . . . before the field trip.”
I cut her off. “Heck to the triple no you won’t!”
But she keeps going. “And if I’m wrong, then I’ll apologize to you in front of the entire class. But if you refuse to let me go in before the field trip, then you’ll be known as Fat Larda, the big fat liar.”
There’s a hush in the crowd. All eyes zoom in like spotlights. Blood whooshes through me, and my heart pounds so hard, my whole body thumps. I blink away tears, but soon there’s mist on my arms, as if those tears were determined to find a way out. I slam my locker closed and rush by Sunny and her friends without a comeback. The only thing I can think of to say is really lame, but I say it anyway.
“I’ll think about it.”
I’m on the move. I don’t want to stand around so they can see the shock in my face. I’m rushing down the hall, eyes as big as headlights. What did I just do?
Sage calls out to me as she stands next to a stack of school newspapers. “Don’t forget I’m covering the baseball game today. Laura? Laura?”
I wave before turning the corner. The bus leaves soon, and I didn’t even get a chance to wish Troy good luck in his game. I wanted to tell him to make sure he never throws fastball, changeup, changeup, no matter what Shane says.
Maybe I could have given him some pointers, like inhale on your windup and exhale on the throw. I mean, he talked to me yesterday, didn’t he? A ball player’s a ball player. That’s what he said on the bus.
But no. Here I am, rushing to get away from Sunny instead of wishing my Hunky Chunky the best game of his life. And it’s all because of the shack. I was too busy defending it, and now I’ve got to defend myself.
When the bus stops in front of Grandma’s mailbox, I step off and wait for the bus to roll away before I start my hike down the gravel road. I’m kicking more rocks than I step on. The little pebbles dig into the bottoms of my shoes, and it’s almost like walking in sand. I can’t get a good stride, and I hate all the noise I’m making with each step.
CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH.
That’s how Sunny made me feel today.
CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH.
My cell phone’s vibrating my backpack. I stop and answer it while I check the road for snakes. The caller ID shows Larry Dyson.
“Dad! Hello?”
“Hey! How’s my little pitcher doing?”
I exhale. “I’m . . . okay, really. How’s Mom?”
“She’s right here, trying to take the phone from me. Hold on.”
I hear chuckles, and that makes me feel better, knowing that they’re not all tight and tense. Suddenly, Mom’s soft voice drifts into my ear.
“Laura?”
My face twists, and I bite my lip to control what I say and how I say it. I don’t want her to know I’ve got drama. She calls to me again.
“Are you there?”
I hesitate before answering. “I’m here.”
There’s a quiet between us that tells me I’ve probably set her knower in motion. I hear Dad in the background questioning her. I bet her smile faded.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Mom.”
Silence.
“Laura Eboni, if you don’t talk to me, I’m going to worry until you do.”
I can’t hate on her knower, because usually it’s on
point, just like it is right now.
As I open my mouth to speak, it’s as if my throat has narrowed, only allowing so much of my drama to come out. But I think it’s the biggest piece.
“Grandma and Mrs. Jacobs planned a field trip to the shack for my history class without telling me about it. I don’t want the field trip to happen, Mom. And they won’t cancel it. I mean . . . my classmates already make fun of me. And now I’m never going to live down the fact that we have a slave shack on our property.”
Silence.
I’m waiting for Mom to say something, and when she does, her voice is on high volume, and I wish I had kept the whole situation to myself.
“Then put all of your energy into getting that field trip canceled. Even though you’ve never gone inside to see what the shack is all about, nobody else should have that opportunity either. Don’t you agree?”
Mom only uses that voice and tone when she’s being sarcastic. She’s got me all wrong.
“That’s not what I said, Mom.”
“It’s exactly what you’re saying.”
“So you think just because I’m the only person who doesn’t want the field trip to happen, that makes me wrong?”
Mom sighs. “No, but it’s exactly what your classmates are doing to you. They see a young girl who happens to be bigger, and they judge her based on what she looks like on the outside, not what’s overflowing on the inside. You have a major opportunity here.”
I take a step and the crunch makes me think of what Mom just did to me. She crunched me using my life! How can she compare me to the shack?
I sniffle, wipe my face, and exhale. “Mom, I gotta go.”
“Okay, but hold on a minute. Your Dad needs to say something to you. But before I go, I want you to know I love you so much, okay?”
“I love you, too.”
There’s a short quiet before Dad gets on the phone.
“Laura, I don’t know what’s going on, but by the look on your mother’s face, you’ve got a situation. Am I right?”
“A big situation, Dad. What am I supposed to do?”
I’m expecting another lecture, but instead he just says two words.
“Go throw.”
The Laura Line Page 7