The Laura Line

by Crystal Allen

  Chapter Thirteen

  The orchestra’s sitting on clouds above my head playing music they created for this special moment. Troy’s running in slow motion toward me, and I toward him, through a baseball field of yellow daisies. The closer we get to each other, the louder the music plays above us. Now angels have joined the orchestra with their harps. Troy’s arms stretch out for me and mine to him. I pooch my lips and prepare for my first kiss.

  KA-BLAM!

  I lie on the floor, still dreaming that we’re running together through the daisies as the alarm clock gets louder and louder. I open my eyes and stare at my shoes under the bed.

  I sit up and look around the room. No orchestra. No daisies. No Troy.

  Grandma calls to me from the kitchen. “Baby Girl, are you okay?”

  “I’m okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I’ve never fallen out of bed before. The floor’s cold, but I don’t mind. Sitting here is still better than going to school today. But I would like to know how Troy did in his game yesterday. I hope he won.

  “Laura, you better hurry! Your breakfast is getting cold.”

  Can’t be any colder than this floor. But I get up, zip through the shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, and head out. With only twelve minutes before the bus comes, I up the pace and pay the price for it when I’m all out of breath at the bus stop.

  Even though I’m huffing and puffing, I pull out my mirror and check my makeup. I don’t want to look like one of those Picasso paintings, all melted and swirled into a mess of something to make you scream.

  By the time the bus pulls up, I’m back on my game, breathing steady and looking great. I sit in the same spot, near the back, right where Troy spoke to me yesterday. When he gets on the bus, I open my mouth to speak, but he walks by as if I weren’t there.

  Did he just ignore me? He shuffles to the last seat in the back row. I turn around to check on him. He’s still frowning, with his arms crossed over his chest.

  When Shane gets on the bus, he sits in the front, and I now know something really bad has happened. Sage sits next to me, and I nod toward the back seats.

  “What’s up with him? This bus has been creepy quiet and nobody’s sitting near Troy.”

  She shrugs. “They lost their opener. Troy pitched and Shane caught. Between Troy throwing the worst pitches ever and Shane being the worst catcher ever, they looked like Pee-Wee Little Leaguers. It was pathetic and embarrassing.”

  I glance over my shoulder at Troy. His head’s down. “I feel so bad for him.”

  Sage grins. “Sunny, London, and Amanda were there, getting all kinds of attention. Even guys from the other team were trying to get their names and digits. I took pictures of Sunny rooting for our team. And then the most awesome thing happened.”

  I’m scared to ask, so I just look at her, which proves to be enough.

  “Sunny asked me if I was still interested in joining. I said yes. She told me they’d be in contact about initiation and I said, ‘No problem.’ How cool is that?”

  I don’t say anything, because to me, it’s not cool at all. When the bus driver pulls to the curb and stops, we get up and form a line in the aisle. Sage whispers over her shoulder.

  “But the Pink Chips were really talking about Troy in a bad way.”

  I grimace. “What did they say?”

  We step off of the bus and head toward school as Sage answers me.

  “Just stuff about him not being a very good pitcher and how he wasn’t representing the Blue Chips.”

  I frown. “If Sunny wants to talk about stuff, she should start with how much bogus stuff flies out of that mouth of hers.”

  Sage looks to see if Sunny heard me, then frowns. “Loosen up, Laura. It’s just her opinion. I’m going to fix my hair. You coming?”

  I shake my head. “See you at lunch.”

  My mind drifts to Troy. No wonder he’s not very talkative this morning. Shane needs to learn how to catch the ball. I bet most of that loss was his fault.

  I grab my first-, second-, and third-period books from the locker, and just as I’m about to load them into my backpack, I hear Sage calling me.

  “Laura! Wait!”

  Her eyes look wild. “Guess what I just heard! The Pink Chips put Troy on Blue Chip probation with one strike. And unlike baseball, Pink Chips say two strikes and you’re out.”

  My backpack slides from my fingers. “The Pink Chips control the Blue Chips, too?”

  Sage whispers, “Yes. They decide which guys stay and which ones get the boot.”

  I can’t believe it. “So Troy’s on boot alert because of one bad game?”

  Sage shrugs. “They said he didn’t represent. I thought you should know. One more bad day on the mound, and Troy’s going to be yesterday’s Blue Chip. And from what I’ve heard, it’s better to have never been a Pink or Blue Chip than to get booted. Gotta run. If I hear anything else, I’ll tell you at lunch.”

  The cafeteria feels overcrowded. I don’t know why I’m feeling cramped but I am. Sage is going on and on about how she needs a new outfit before her initiation into the Pink Chips when a low murmur makes me look around to see what’s happening.

  It’s them.

  Across the room Sunny leads her entourage through the cafeteria table maze, walking so slowly that it makes me sleepy. Amanda and London sashay behind her. They don’t look at any of us, but all eyes are definitely on them. Their daily walk never seems to lose its draw. But I’ve got my own take.

  To me, Sunny’s name should have been Tsunami, because she doesn’t make people smile like a sunny day does. But she’s excellent at ruining people’s lives, just like a tsunami does. She smiles at Sage as she passes our table, and Sage speaks as if Sunny just cast a spell on her.

  “Cute dress, Sunny. How’s it going? See you later!”

  Troy’s at the table with his baseball buddies. They don’t seem to be upset with him about yesterday’s loss. Actually, they’re all talking and bumping fists with him. Just as the Pink Chips pass their table, Shane Doyles calls out, “Sunny, Sunny, won’t you be my honey? I’ll even give you money!”

  Sunny ignores him. Shane’s not a Blue Chip, so he’s just as ignorable as the rest of us. Even though most of the guys are cracking up, Troy’s not laughing. He’s glaring at Sunny.

  Amanda is the second most popular Pink Chip. She’s so thin I could use her to pick the coconut out of my teeth after my Almond Joy moments. Her skin is a beautiful brown and as smooth as my Almond Joy, minus the nut. But her microbraids set everything off, especially when she wears her pink jeans, black sweater, and black pumps. I have to give her props. She’s catwalk ready and I can’t hate on her.

  But if I had to pick a favorite Pink Chip, it would be London. She’s the only Pink Chip with bright red hair and freckles. Maybe it’s the green eyes that make her stand out. Even though pink clashes with her hair, she wears it, because Pink Chips have to wear something pink every day.

  London gives Sage hope because back in sixth grade London was called Raggedy Ann, like that homely freckle-faced doll. She was even more unpopular than Sage is now. But when we got to middle school, things changed for London.

  And I mean everything got better.

  She cut her hair into this cute little bob that surrounded her face and accented those amazing green eyes. Then she changed her wardrobe from drab to fab, wearing black vests over her pink tops, fingerless black gloves, and bangin’ black ankle boots.

  She worked hard to become a Pink Chip, and it paid off. Nobody calls her Raggedy Ann anymore. I glance at my best friend. She knows London’s story, and I bet she’s counting on being another chapter in the “unpopular girl turns popular” saga.

  I’m happy when the bell rings to end lunch. I’d rather go to fifth period than watch that dumb Pink Chip parade.

  After working in the office, I rush to history class like I always do. Except today, when I speak to Troy he doesn’t speak back. He sits at his desk and stares out the w
indow. I guess he knows he’s on probation and it’s bothering him.

  I want to give Troy a hug, tell him everything is okay. But since I’m Fat Larda, that would only make things worse for him.

  And I guess it’s brutal to the tenth power that Sunny’s sitting next to him. She’s the one who put him on probation—I’m sure of it. I could just walk up there and smack all the air out of her lungs. Soon, there’s a knock on the door, and Mrs. Jacobs answers it. It’s an office worker with a yellow slip. Mrs. Jacobs looks toward the other side of the room.

  “Troy, you’re wanted in the office.”

  He gets up and leaves. Dang, that boy is fine. Now that he’s gone, I don’t have anybody to stare at. I wonder if his dad has left him the key again. The other day in the hall, he told me he was picking up the house key. And what’s up with that? I mean, is he forgetful or something? I’m all in Troy’s business when Mrs. Jacobs snaps my concentration.

  “I’m still waiting for a few permission slips. Please get those back to me as soon as possible. And Laura, I’d like to speak with you after class for a moment, so please don’t leave.”

  I nod and immediately open my history book to avoid all the stares that I know I’m getting even though I’m not looking up to actually see them. One part of my forehead feels warm, and I think that must be the spot Sunny’s staring at.

  When the bell rings, I sit still and wait for the classroom to empty. Mrs. Jacobs strolls down the aisle and sits at the desk across from me.

  “Let’s finish our conversation. And if you miss your bus, it’s okay. I’ll take you home.”

  Oh heck to the double no she won’t! Being seen with a teacher outside of school is an automatic diagnosis of Teacher’s Pet Disorder, and that’s the last thing I need.

  So I get to the point. “Are you thinking about canceling the field trip?”

  She shakes her head. “You haven’t been in the shack yet, have you?”

  I feel as though someone shone a light in my face. “Why would you ask me that?”

  She shrugs. “It’s obvious. If you had, we wouldn’t be having these secret conversations.”

  Is she trying to use psychology on me? I get up, strap on my backpack, and head to the door.

  “Mrs. Jacobs, the shack is wrong, and going inside won’t make it right. Slaves were forced to live there. Now you’re trying to force me to go in it, too. And I’m not going to do it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dad would be so proud of me. I’ve thrown every day since he’s been gone. Not because I just wanted to throw, but because the drama in my life is so strong that I can only relieve my mind with pitching.

  And today is no different.

  I open the screen door and spot a meat loaf cooling on the kitchen counter. There’s a bowl of green beans next to it. On the table is the yummiest-looking pasta salad with those squiggly, telephone-cord-shaped pasta pieces, black olives, tomatoes, and little squares of cheese.

  I stroll into the living room and find Grandma asleep with the baseball book in her lap and another day game playing on the tube. She’s really getting into this baseball thing. It’s almost scary how she just took to it like it was a part of her that’s been missing. I tiptoe away without waking her.

  In my room, I put on my sweats, get my earbuds, and wrap them around my neck. I grab my iPod Nano and clip it to my sweatpants. Sometimes I like to throw pitches in silence. But not today. I want the volume pumped up and rattling every part of me as I throw gas at Dad’s glove.

  Outside, I grab the handle on my bucket of baseballs and carry them to my pitcher’s mound. When Dad’s face appears in my mind, I know what he wants me to do. I put the bucket down, lean against a tree, and stretch. As I pull my arm across my body, I think about how much I miss him.

  I turn up the music and let Beyoncé change my mood and relax my mind. I wrap my fingers across the red laces and stare down my target. Then I zing a fastball over the square and into Dad’s glove.

  POP!

  Perfect. Beyoncé’s jamming in my ears, and I begin to sing along. I even add a few of the steps from a video I’ve seen on MTV before I throw two more fastballs.

  POP! POP!

  Yeah, those were nice. Since I’m feeling as if my life has taken a major curve, I think I’ll throw a few of those, just to see if they open up my thoughts. I can’t believe how Mrs. Jacobs read me so easily.

  POP!

  Grandma probably told her I hadn’t gone into the shack.

  POP!

  That curveball was pretty good, but it didn’t hit the mitt like I wanted. I throw another one. It cuddles inside Dad’s glove for a moment before falling out, and I know, if I were a pitcher, that curveball would send batters back to the dugout. I reach into my pocket. I better eat my Almond Joy before it melts. After this one, I’ll only have three left, so I don’t want it to go to waste. I rip the paper off and hold that almost melted chocolate bar between my lips while I get another ball. It’s so hot out here that the chocolate’s melting on my mouth. Mmm.

  I work my lips to push the candy onto my tongue without using my hand, then chew and dance to the rhythm of the music playing in my ears before throwing another curveball.

  POP!

  My sweatshirt’s wet. I’m misting much more than I thought I would. I lift my elbow and sniff my armpit. Whew! Suddenly, Sage’s favorite song blares through my earbuds.

  What am I going to do about Sage? She’s in for a huge letdown. But even worse, she thinks I don’t support her. But I do! It’s Sunny I don’t support. She doesn’t care about Sage. Sunny cares about Sunny; end of story. I pick up a ball from the bucket to throw a knuckleball, then lift my left elbow to sniff that pit before continuing. While I’m sniffing, my eyes roam between the trees and over near the shack.

  That’s when I see him and freeze midsniff.

  What’s he doing here? I put my arm down as Troy eases through the flower bed with a cylinder can connected to a hose, spraying the flowers in front of the shack. There’s a shiny green bicycle with the kickstand down not far from where he’s spraying. It’s the ugliest bike in the galaxy with a big black basket on the side of it.

  I’ve never seen Troy with a blue bandana tied around his head like the one he’s sporting now. And he’s got a white cloth hanging from the back pocket of his jean shorts, which must be his shirt since he’s not wearing one. In my mind, the arrow on his Hunky Chunky meter is spinning out of control.

  But as much as I want to be excited about seeing him, I’m just the opposite, because:

  1. Troy’s working in front of the number-one most embarrassing thing in my life right now, and I didn’t have any warning that he’d be here.

  2. I’m all misty, and I bet my hair is sticking up all over my head.

  3. I may have wet armpit stains.

  4. He may have seen me sniffing ’em.

  I shuffle toward him, even though I have no idea what I’m going to say when I get there. It’s too late to hide the shack, so I’ve got to act as if it’s no big deal. In trying to be cool, I say the lamest thing ever.

  “Hey! There’s a Blue Chip in the flower garden!”

  Troy ignores me. So I go for something normal.

  “Whatcha’ doin’?”

  He keeps spraying. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Oh. Is that bug spray?”

  “No, it’s people spray.”

  What the what? I’ve got my hands on my hips now.

  “Are you always this rude? I mean, ding, I just asked what you were doing. Since you’re going to be all nasty about it, I’ll just come right out and ask you: What are you doing here?”

  Troy puts his can down, wipes the sweat from his forehead, and grabs a Gatorade sitting on the shack steps. “Sorry. I’ve kind of had a bad day. Yeah, I’m working.”

  He chugs his drink, but I’m confused. “I thought your dad owned the Home and Garden Store on Main and Jensen.”

  Troy sets his Gatorade back on t
he step before answering. “He did, but the economy got bad or something; I don’t really know what happened. Anyway, people stopped buying stuff. So he doesn’t own that store anymore. This is what we do.”

  He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a business card and gives it to me.

  “Bailey and Bailey Lawn and Landscaping. I’m the second Bailey on the card.”

  I stare at it, then slip it into my pocket. He turns to me and grimaces.

  “What were you doing over there?”

  I look over my shoulder and realize he can’t see my stadium because of the trees. I’m scared to tell him the truth since Shane’s already called me double creepy for knowing so much about baseball. But I can’t lie either, because Troy and I are standing in front of the biggest lie I’ve told this year. Oh, I know what I can say!

  I smile. “I was just stretching and practicing.”

  He’s staring at my lips, and I’m thinking good things are about to happen until he bursts my bubble.

  “Practicing what? You don’t chew tobacco, do you? What’s all that dark stuff on your mouth? It looks like you did a face plant into a big pile of . . . Did you fall?”

  Silence.

  A fly buzzes near my mouth and I swat at it. I forgot about the melted chocolate on my lips. I turn and let my tongue sweep across my mouth like the world’s fastest windshield wiper.

  I turn back to him, hoping I licked it all off.

  He starts spraying again. “So why’d you lie about the shack?”

  Dang. He just jumps from one hard question to another. And it’s not like I can lie again, especially when he’s standing beside the big ugly thing.

  I shrug. “Wouldn’t you? I mean, I hate it.”

  His head tilts. “You’re part of the Laura Line, aren’t you?” Suddenly, a smile spreads across his face, and his dimples wave at me as he talks.

  “That ledger’s got to be the coolest thing ever.”

  He drops the spray can and holds up both hands. “No disrespect to the Lauras. I’ve never touched it, I swear!”

  I know he’s saying something to me, but my mind isn’t anywhere close to this farm. I’m standing at the altar with him, dressed in the prettiest white gown ever, and he’s sharper than a two-edged sword in his white tuxedo. Then the minister says, “Is there anyone who believes these two should not marry? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”