The Laura Line

by Crystal Allen

  When I’m finished, I say, “Well, that’s the end of the tour. Any questions?”

  Of all the hands to go up, I never expected Troy’s to be the first. I point to him.

  “When you die, do you want to be buried back here with the other Lauras?”

  I don’t hesitate. “No doubt. I’m part of the Laura Line. It’s where I belong.”

  It’s quiet now, which to me is normal for a graveyard. But Mr. Adams begins to clap, and others clap with him. As I take a bow, Mr. Adams goes back into the shack.

  After my classmates head to the bus, Sage and I rush to the window to see what Mr. Adams is doing in the shack. He’s on his cell phone, bending over the basket of wood, picking up the pieces and examining them. When he spots us looking at him through the window, he smiles, ends his call, and comes out of the shack.

  He shakes my hand. “That was a marvelous presentation! I’m so glad I came to hear it.”

  I can’t help but grin. “Thanks, Mr. Adams. So did you find out anything about the chair?”

  His smile vanishes. “I just had a conversation with Kim and Ana from Furniture Restoration. I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for you.”

  My heart sinks. “What?”

  “Kim, Ana, and I agree. It’s not fixable, Laura. I’m so sorry.”

  It’s as if I just got three scoops of my favorite ice cream and dropped them in the dirt.

  Sage takes a few steps backward. I lock eyes with him.

  “You’re sure?”

  Sage’s face reddens as Mr. Adams nods. I stare at the ground because my next look will be at Grandma. And I need a minute to prepare myself before seeing her face. I push dirt with the toe of my shoe, trying to busy my mind with something else besides the need to cry.

  Finally, my eyes meet hers. She’s trying to hold a smile, but it keeps fading. She whispers to me, “It’s okay, Baby Girl. And I’m excited about that baseball game!”

  But it’s far from okay.

  Sage drags to the bus with lots of pain in her walk. Even from the back I can tell she’s crying. I turn to Grandma, not sure what to say, so I rush to the bus, leaving her, Mrs. Jacobs, and Mr. Adams standing at the shack. They can’t see me cry.

  I’m the last student to board the bus, and all eyes are on me. Sunny’s sitting next to London, and when she looks my way, she shouts, “Hey, Fat Larda, what’s it like owning a slave shack? How embarrassing.”

  A few classmates giggle, and I scan the faces staring at me. Sunny starts up again.

  “Answer me, Larda. What’s it like . . .”

  A surge of anger flows through me, and I’m ready to fight until a holler stops me.

  “Shut up, Sunny!”

  Heads turn. Students gasp. And I almost fall in the aisle when London stands and points her finger in Sunny’s face.

  “I got chill bumps in that shack. You’re the one who should be embarrassed for not figuring out that it’s the most incredible piece of history ever! Do you have anything like that at your house to celebrate your ancestors? Oh, wait. I can answer that. No! Laura’s got almost two hundred years of history right over there, and she let us see it. And I hope she invites me again.”

  London moves to the back and sits with Sage. The bus is still quiet, and I’m not sure what to do. All heads turn back to me. Even Troy looks my way. Everyone’s staring at me, and I’m beginning to mist. It’s time for me to find a seat in the back with Sage and London.

  As I move down the aisle, some kids continue to giggle, while others just stare at me. I hold my head up, Laura Line style, and walk to the back. Someone’s moving behind me. I turn to see Troy heading to the back, too. I take the seat in front of Sage and London. Troy takes the seat on the other side of the aisle from me and asks the first question.

  “So when your grandma tells you about the first Laura, are you going to tell us?”

  I shrug. “Sure, why not.”

  Troy grins and shakes his head. I turn to Sage, who’s wiping her face.

  “And, uh, Sage took awesome pictures and brought them to Mr. Adams’s office. That’s why he came. I’m sure of it. And now he’s going to help my grandma preserve the rest of the stuff in the shack. So Sage gets a bunch of credit, too.”

  London nudges Sage. “You helped Laura get that guy to come out here to see the shack?”

  Sage shrugs. “It’s the least I could do.”

  London looks over at me. “Now that’s a real friend.”

  I agree. “Yeah. My BFF.”

  I’m through with this conversation because I’ve got a hot date tonight, and that superfine Hunky Chunky is sitting right across from me. And he just took up for me like a Hunky Chunky should.

  Maybe tonight, at the game, we’ll get to know each other even better. And when they play “The Star-Spangled Banner” and the fireworks light up the night, he’ll hang a kiss on me bigger than the rockets’ red glare or bombs bursting in air.

  Tonight, I’m wearing extra lip gloss.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I’ve got my classic Astros jersey on again with my Levi’s and orange Sketchers. I stare at my last two Almond Joys sitting in that big bag alone. Well, this is a special occasion, so I’m eating one. I take my time, enjoying that chocolate and coconut. But when it’s gone, I look at the lone one in the bag. Maybe I’ll take that one home with me.

  I’m putting lip gloss on when the telephone rings. Grandma shouts to me.

  “I’ve got it!”

  But I grab the telephone receiver off the wall and put it to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Dyson, it’s me, Troy. My dad and I aren’t going to make it tonight. Sorry.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Dad won the bid on a huge job, and we’re on our way to get started on it right now. This is big-time for Bailey and Bailey. And Dad always tells me businessmen have to handle business before pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow when we come and cut the grass. Tell Mrs. Anderson we’ll pay her back for the tickets. Bye.”

  Click.

  I’m in the kitchen, holding a dead phone, wondering why I ever liked Troy Bailey. He’s lying about that big job. I know why he’s not coming. He doesn’t want to be seen with me.

  And to think I taught him my best pitches. I listened to his family drama. I even went inside the shack so we’d have something to talk about. I thought he was beginning to like me.

  And then, when he complimented my dress today, I just knew . . .

  I hang up the receiver and take a seat at the table. Grandma stands in the archway of the kitchen with her Astros hat on. I break the news.

  “It was Troy. They’re not coming.”

  Grandma puts her arm around me. “I know you’re disappointed, but it’s going to be okay. I’m sure they had a good reason. We’ll still have a great time. Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready.”

  Grandma’s talking about the starting pitchers and who she thinks will win. I’m half listening to her because I’m so mad at Troy that I can’t concentrate. She keeps talking.

  “And this time, I brought money for our snacks. No pork chop sandwiches.”

  “Okay.”

  Grandma gets a good parking spot, and soon we’re in our seats watching the game. She’s shouting stuff that I usually shout, but tonight I’m just not into it. I glance at the empty seat next to me. “The Star-Spangled Banner” comes and goes with fireworks in the air but none for my lips. Wait until I see him tomorrow. After I finish going to the left on him, he may not ever speak to me again.

  Grandma stays awake for the whole game. She even buys one of those big foam fingers with WE’RE NUMBER ONE! written across it. All the way to the car she talks about how great the Astros did in their win over the Yankees. Occasionally I try to add something to the conversation, but I just want this night to be over.

  When she turns onto the gravel road, the conversation changes.

  “Baby Girl, I can tell you didn’t enjoy yourself.”

  I force myself t
o perk up. “Yes, I did, Grandma. And thanks for getting the tickets.”

  She keeps driving. “There’s a reason for everything. You need to remember that, okay?”

  I don’t say anything, because Troy had a rotten reason—and I didn’t like it.

  I go to my room and take off my jersey to get ready for bed. Tomorrow my parents will be here, and I can’t wait to see them. Maybe I’ll get up early and go throw, just to get this sadness off me before I see them. There’s no way I’ll let Troy ruin that, too.

  Early Saturday morning my cell buzzes. I tap Answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey! It’s Dad! How are you?”

  Sleep leaves me, and I turn my body to sit on the side of the bed.

  “Dad! It’s about time you guys called me! When are you coming home? I’ve got so much to tell you. Guess what! Grandma and I went to an Astros game last night. She got tickets! You wouldn’t believe how much she knows about the game. And I went into the shack and—”

  “Whoa! Slow down! It sounds like you’ve been very busy. Save some of that conversation for me and your mom when we get there. We’re about two hours away!”

  “What?”

  “Yep, we wanted to surprise you, so we waited until we couldn’t anymore. We’ll see you in a couple of hours. Hold on, your mom wants to talk to you.”

  “Baby Girl?”

  “Hi, Mom! I’m so excited! Guess what? I went in the shack.”

  Silence. Then:

  “I can’t even tell you how happy I am, Laura Eboni. I know your grandma is, too.”

  I get up and walk as I talk. “She is. So you’ll be here in a couple of hours?”

  Mom giggles. “In a couple of hours.”

  I bite my lip, thinking about everything that’s happened since she’s been gone.

  “I can’t wait to see you.”

  “I can’t wait to see you, too, and hear about all the things you did while we were gone. I love you. See you soon.”

  I end the call, bubbling inside, knowing my parents aren’t far away. But another part of me hurts. I got dumped on my first date. We were so close to making it happen. I can’t believe Troy Bailey . . . bailed on me.

  I reach into the drawer and pull out a pair of old sweats and clip my iPod to my pants. On my way through the kitchen, Grandma offers me breakfast. I rush over and hug her.

  “Mom and Dad are on their way! They’re two hours from here.”

  “Hot diggitty dog! I’ll put more biscuits in the oven and fry up more bacon!”

  I drink a glass of orange juice and take a bite of toast. “I’m going to throw before Mom and Dad get here.”

  Grandma gives me a thumbs-up. “Sounds like a plan.”

  I push the screen door open and walk toward my pitching area. Dad said to throw until everything makes sense. How long am I going to be out here? All day?

  Once I get my earbuds in and turn the music up, I grab a ball, split my pointer and middle fingers away from each other, and grip that thing like crazy. With everything I’ve got, I hurl a heater at the target as I think about how Troy canceled on me last night.

  POP!

  After all I’ve done for him. Seriously, the only good pitches that boy has are the ones I taught him. I pick up a ball and throw another heater.

  BLAM!

  I even listened to his sob story about wanting to spend time with his dad. I felt sorry for him and tried to make him smile when he didn’t have anything to smile about.

  BLAM!

  Fastball after fastball bangs the target until my arm feels like cooked spaghetti. There were at least twenty baseballs in that bucket. Now it’s empty.

  I lean against a thick oak tree as my shoulder throbs from hurling fastballs. Catching my breath is another issue. I threw too fast. But I couldn’t help it. I shuffle over to the tree and put the baseballs back in the bucket.

  There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I almost throw an elbow because the first thing that pops into my mind is a snake dangling from a tree.

  “Whoa, you almost hit me, Dyson!”

  I turn around. It was a snake. A low-down, dirty one. He’s grinning, showing those dimples. I take my earbuds out as he grabs a ball from my bucket.

  “How was the game last night?”

  Right now, I think his dimples are upside-down pimples. “You’d know if you had been there.”

  He tosses the ball in the air and catches it. “Yeah, uh, couldn’t help it. But Dad locked up that new contract last night. We’ve got another lawn gig. Hey, you got a minute?”

  Why should I give him a minute? He couldn’t find one for me last night. Unless he had a hundred acres to cut, he could’ve made the game before we finished singing the national anthem. Where was he during the rockets’ red glare and bombs bursting in air?

  His head tilts. “What’s wrong with you, Dyson?”

  I unload. “If you’re too embarrassed to be seen with me, Troy, then just say so. You don’t have to go around acting one way with me when you’re here and then a totally different way when we’re at school.”

  He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

  I’m trying not to cry, so I just clam up. “Nothing. Forget it.”

  Now he’s staring at me.

  “We had a new client, Dyson. And then Dad and I were busy last night working on something. We worked until midnight, but we got it done.”

  I roll my eyes. “Good for you.”

  He steps closer. “No, Dyson. Good for you. Here, take this.”

  He hands me a flyer.

  PERSONAL TRYOUT INVITATION

  We are excited to offer you

  an opportunity to try out for the first

  BROOKS COUNTY SELECT BASEBALL TEAM.

  Tryouts will be held on Saturday, April 25th

  from 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m.

  Please be prepared to pitch, hit, and catch. After tryouts the coaches will make up a roster, contact the players who made the team, and send out a practice schedule.

  We look forward to seeing you at tryouts.

  Sincerely,

  John Bailey, Coach

  I read it twice and still want an explanation.

  “What is this, Troy?”

  He sighs. “Haven’t you ever seen a flyer for baseball tryouts?”

  I’m still confused. “Yeah, but why are you giving me one?”

  “Quit playin’, Dyson. Your pitches are filthy! You’ve got to play on our team.”

  I shake my head. “A girl on an all-guys team? I’ll get clowned. It’ll be pure torture.”

  He pulls another flyer from his pocket. “But you’re a ballplayer, Dyson. And a good one! This is what Dad and I were doing last night after the new job. And not everybody’s getting one of these. Only the good players. You’re the first person, well, after me, who got an invitation. So are you going to try out or what?”

  I put my glove on my hip. “Dang, I just got it! Now you’re rushing me for a decision? I mean, I can already hear people making fun of me.”

  Troy spits in the dirt. “Seriously? I know guys who would give their right arm to get their paws on one of these flyers.”

  I look him in the eye. “But I’m not a guy, and I don’t have paws.”

  He turns away from me, points to the cemetery, then glares me down.

  “You’re not a guy, but you’re a descendant of Laura Ann. What about all that bragging you were doing the other day? Now’s your chance to back it up. I can’t believe you’d quit before you even tried. Anyway, I’ve got grass to cut.”

  He walks away, and I’m left holding the flyer like it’s sacred. I’ve never had the opportunity to try out for a real team. What will Dad say?

  I go back to my pitching area and sit on my mound, staring at the invitation. I turn it over, hold it up to the light, and even smell it. It’s legit.

  Suddenly, a horn honks from the bottom of the hill. They’re here.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I fold the flyer and stuff
it into my pocket and rush toward the house. Dad barely makes it out of the car before I wrap my arms around his waist. He grabs my arms and twirls me until my legs leave the ground.

  “Stop, Dad, you’re making me dizzy!”

  We both laugh, but he keeps holding on to me.

  “Look at you! Something’s different. Have you grown? You look even prettier than you did before I left. That must be it!”

  I give him a shy smile because I have grown, but it has nothing to do with my height. Mom stands and looks over the roof of the car. We’re eye to eye, and I’m careful not to reveal anything. She’s got a black belt in Eye-ish.

  “Oh, Laura, come here!”

  Gravel scatters beneath my feet as I rush to feel her arms around me. She smells like home.

  “Mom, I missed you so much.”

  Grandma waits patiently for her hugs and gets them from both Mom and Dad. She opens the screen door.

  “Y’all come on in. I’ve got brunch ready.”

  There’s a feast on the table and it all smells good. Mom and Dad take off their military hats and wait for me to wash my hands before coming back to the table. I sit between them as we dig into Grandma’s good cooking.

  Dad leans back in his chair. “So how did things go?”

  I scoot fruit from one side of my plate to the other, waiting for Grandma to spill her guts and get me in big-time trouble for what I did. But instead, she lifts me up with what she says.

  “Today is one of the saddest days of my life. I’ve enjoyed having Laura Eboni here with me so much that I don’t know what I’m going to do when she’s not here.”

  Mom reaches over and hugs me. Dad puts his arms around my shoulders and chuckles.

  “See, I knew you’d be okay.”

  I scoot back from the table. “I’m finished. I think I’ll take a walk.”

  Dad nods as he chews. “Have you been throwing?”

  I nod. “Like crazy.”

  I step outside and walk toward the shack. Pain streaks across my chest as I realize this time tomorrow I’ll be on my way home. I won’t be able to just walk over here and hang out whenever I want.