Singled Out

by Sara Griffiths

  “Yeah, you too.”

  “You’re the pitcher, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Yeah, I read about you in the paper a couple times.”

  She had? Maybe she was just saying that to be nice. Of course, I had done a lot of interviews before school had ended in June. “Uh, thanks,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. I had never heard of her, so I just stood there and let an awkward silence happen. Damn, I wish I were better at this social crap.

  Gabby turned to Mrs. Richards. “So, me and Taylor sharing, or what?”

  “Oh, no, let me show you what we have to choose from.”

  “Cool. Taylor, peace,” she said, pointing in my direction as she left the room.

  Gabby seemed like the type of girl who had lots of friends, and so she probably thought I was an anti-social weirdo, which I suppose I kind of was. I’d have to brush up on basketball. At least then, I would have something to talk about with her.

  Later that morning, our school uniforms were delivered to our rooms. I heard Gabby, who had ended up next-door, groan through the walls. “I don’t even think a supermodel could look good in this stuff!” she said.

  There was a selection of white shirts: two short-sleeve polos, two long-sleeve button-downs. There was also a pullover v-neck sweater and a cardigan, all with a navy blue “H” emblem trimmed in gold. There were a few pairs of pants in navy blue and two skirts. I was no slave to fashion, but even I thought I’d look like a guy in these outfits. During recent school years, I’d been a jeans-and-fitted-t-shirt kind of girl. In the summer, I wore tank tops and board shorts.

  Before long, Gabby reappeared in the doorway. “Hey, Taylor, you think this is acceptable?” She wore the new school skirt with her tank top, the cardigan tied around her waist like a belt. She actually looked decent.

  “I think that works,” I said, laughing. “I’m sure the boys would approve.”

  She looked at herself in the mirror hanging on the back of my closet door. “Oh please, I have a boyfriend,” she said. “Not that I’m married, but I don’t think these guys would know what to do with a black girl.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure if what she said was supposed to be funny. I gave it a half-laugh. I was afraid of the uncomfortable silence coming again. Ask her about something, anything, I thought. Her boyfriend. “How long you guys been together?”

  She shut the door. “Oh, let’s see, I think it’s been about eight months.”

  “That’s pretty serious.”

  “I guess. He promised to pick me up every Friday after school, which should keep him honest.”

  It sounded as if I’d be the only girl here alone on the weekends. “So how come you decided to come to Hazelton?” I asked her.

  “Two words: college scholarship. You?”

  “Pretty much the same.”

  “My parents made me come here,” she said, stepping away from the mirror.

  “Ditto.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “Well, I got to go make my room livable. Can you believe all this old-fashioned stuff? It’s like a museum in here.”

  “I kind of like it,” I said, feeling a bit embarrassed.

  “Oh, you’re out of your mind,” she said with a laugh.

  I shrugged. “I just like things simple.”

  She walked out into the hall. “Well, give me ’til tomorrow, and you can come check out my room. Bet you’ll change your mind.”

  “Have fun,” I said.

  Later that afternoon, we had to go to the class orientation meeting. We basically sat in a big auditorium and listened to different teachers and other important people give speeches about how important learning was and how great Hazleton was. Gabby and I sat together in the back so we wouldn’t get too many stares. We figured the boys could have their chance to ogle us tomorrow, on the first day of classes.

  I was happy to be stuck in the boring lecture, though. It was so weird being here, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing. I hoped the next few days would be just as structured and busy, so I wouldn’t think about the fact that I was away from home and missing my dad and house, and even my goofy brother.

  Following the lecture was a tour of the campus for new students. Most were freshmen, except for the three amigas: me, the basketball star, and Tara Kwan, the brain. Kwan was petite and quiet. When I said hello to her, all she did was sort of nod and look down at the ground.

  Then we were quickly huddled together for a picture—the local paper was there to document the first female students ever to attend Hazelton. The three of us had to stand out on the steps together. I was amazed that the newspaper had nothing more interesting to write about. Maybe it was bigger news than I thought to have girls here.

  After years of playing on an all-boys team, I was strangely used to nosy newspaper reporters. One asked us a few quick questions, mostly about where we were from and if we liked the school so far. Another reporter asked Gabby what she thought of the Abernathy incident.

  “Who’s Abernathy?” Gabby asked. “Is he a basketball player?”

  After hearing the exchange, the headmaster told the reporters that the Q&A was over, then escorted us into the building. “Sorry about the annoying questions, ladies,” Dr. Colton said as he closed the door behind us. He seemed a bit flustered by the reporters and I wondered why, but I didn’t ask because I was looking forward to seeing the rest of the campus.

  About sixty freshman boys in golf shirts followed the tour guides, while we three amigas pulled up the rear. The gym annex was our first stop, and Gabby’s eyes lit up when she saw the court. “I have died and gone to heaven,” she said, loudly enough to turn most of the heads of the freshmen.

  “It is nice,” I said, which got the heads to turn again. The floor was so shiny with lacquer I could almost see myself in it. Instead of bench bleachers, there were real seats on both sides. The electronic scoreboard looked like something the Knicks would have, and the ceiling had to be twice as high as that of a normal gym. “One problem with this joint, though,” I said to Gabby.

  “What?”

  “No girls’ locker room,” I said, pointing to the “Men” sign.

  “I’ll just get changed with them,” she joked. “No problem there.”

  The rest of the campus was just as perfect. The Hazelton baseball stadium was gorgeous. It was like a miniature version of a big-league stadium—seats that wrapped around the entire field, an electronic scoreboard, and real dugouts below the playing field. I couldn’t wait for spring.

  After the tour, Gabby and I sat on one of the benches in the courtyard. “Hey, Gabby?” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “What kind of grades you get back at your old high school?”

  “Eh, not great. Mostly B’s, some C’s.”

  “Sounds better than me.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Just wondering,” I said. As we walked down all the clean, wide hallways, I began to wonder whether doubt that I belonged in such a beautiful place. I wasn’t smart enough, and there were plenty of girls out there who had busted their butts in school and deserved this opportunity far more. What was I good at? All I could do was throw a baseball.

  “There are plenty of athletic girls out there who have good grades,” I said. “So why us?”

  “I think we’re the only ones who have experience playing against boys.”

  I nodded. “I guess. But why not just give academic scholarships? Why’d they want us on their sports teams?”

  “Never thought about it,” Gabby said. “I heard it was to honor some woman who was a big shot at the school and died or something. Maybe it was her dying wish or something.”

  I laughed. “I find it hard to believe any woman from around here cared about me throwing curve balls.”

  “True. Well, maybe it has something to do with making money,” she said. “That’s usually what all these stuffy people care about.”

  Chapter 4

  Classes began the
next day at 7:45. I put on the white polo shirt and navy blue pants, because there wasn’t much else to choose from. I certainly wasn’t going to wear the skirt.

  In order to not look like a total boy, I added the string choker necklace that Justin had given me before he went away to college. The brown string had a little circular medallion with a grizzly bear’s face etched on it. He said it was for strength, and sometimes I wore it underneath my uniform when I thought I was going to have a tough day on the mound. Strangely enough, I hadn’t put it on in over a year. Today, I thought I might need it.

  Gabby was already downstairs in the kitchen. She had chosen the same outfit, but she looked a lot more like a girl than I did. She had put on big hoop earrings and shiny lip gloss. Some people have style, and some, like me, don’t have a clue. Gabby was finishing a bowl of cereal, but I was too nervous to eat.

  “You ready?” I said to her.

  “Let’s do it.” She pushed her chair back and we made our way toward the front door. I appreciated how quickly Gabby had sort of adopted me as her friend.

  We walked across the campus toward the main building. “Look,” Gabby said, pointing to the steps. There were two TV camerapeople filming our entrance and a reporter standing nearby with a microphone.

  “Geez, they really are desperate for a story around here.” I tried not to look at the cameras, but Gabby waved and winked.

  I wished I was that bold.

  Unfortunately, Gabby and I did not have any classes together. Gabby figured they wanted to spread out the girls, make it look to the press like there were more of us.

  Classes at Hazelton were small, usually only about twelve students. It was not unusual to find juniors and seniors in the same classes, with even some extra-smart sophomores here and there.

  My first class of the day was Trigonometry. I never understood why they didn’t just call it fancy math. No matter what it was called, I would be lucky to pull a C in Trig. I had the sinking feeling that the work here would be even harder than at my old high school.

  Since it was the first day of school for everyone, the teacher, Mr. Moesch, assigned seats. The desks were in rows, and I was so happy when I was directed to the back chair by the window. The boy to my left smiled, raising his hand in a friendly wave. His light brown hair was in a bowl cut that just about covered his eyes. I nodded hello back at him.

  “I’m Ben,” he whispered.

  “Taylor,” I replied.

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding, “we know.”

  I gave him a nervous half-smile.

  Mr. Moesch immediately started his lecture, and I struggled to take notes fast enough. My hand began to cramp after twenty minutes, and I took to picking at my hangnails. I had no idea what he was talking about anyway.

  When the bell rang, I was abruptly brought back to reality. As I inched toward the door, I fumbled through my bag, looking for my schedule. Mr. Moesch smiled and said, “Welcome, young lady.” Ugh, I hated that term—“young lady.” I forced a smile and headed out.

  Ben was sort of hanging back in the hall. It appeared he was waiting for me. With the way everyone was staring at me, but trying to act as if they weren’t, I felt like a circus freak. I wished I were on the mound pitching. It would be so much easier to face all these preppy guys with a ball and a glove in my hand. I could take them all down.

  I thought back to the advice of my old guidance counselor: When you’re nervous, just imagine the batter’s behind in the count, with no balls and two strikes. You have the advantage.

  But before I reached the Ben guy, he was suddenly pulled aside and into the men’s room by a taller, more attractive lookalike. I wondered if the guy was his brother, or if the resemblance was just my imagination. All the guys sort of looked the same around here. Whoever the look-alike was, he looked pissed. I hung back for a minute to see if Ben would return, but he didn’t. I had the strange feeling this had something to do with me. But how could it? I just got here. Oh well, I thought as I looked down at my schedule and stared down the hall at the classroom numbers. Time for Spanish.

  The morning dragged on, and by lunch, I felt overwhelmed and exhausted. The café at Hazelton—“cafeteria” wasn’t snooty enough—looked far nicer than any school eating-place I had ever seen. It was more like a lounge. There were round tables, and even sofas and coffee tables to sit at. It was a lot less pressure for a new kid to sit at one of these than at the typical long cafeteria tables that forced you to make friends with whoever was there.

  Here, I bought a sandwich and sank down into one of the couches. I didn’t need friends anyway. Having gotten by with so few all these years, being alone was kind of comforting, like an old pair of slippers. It was a lot less pressure not having to impress anyone or make small talk. Still, I was happy to see Gabby finally appear in the café, and I waved her over.

  She plopped her large shoulder bag next to me. “I’m going to grab a bite. Be right back. Want anything?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  When she returned, she started talking. “Can you believe this place? I don’t think I ever got so much homework on the first day of school, and I’m due in the gym for tryouts today, which I assume are just a formality, right?” she said in one breath before taking a big bite of her sandwich.

  “I guess,” I said. “I assume we both have to try out just in case we got really bad over the summer or something.”

  “Well, I played on a summer team, so I feel good to go. You do summer league down in Evansville?”

  “Yeah. It sucked, though.”

  “What else do you do down in South Jersey?”

  “Not much.”

  “You got a big family down there?”

  “It’s just me and my dad and my brother,” I said.

  “Where’s your mom? Your parents divorced?” said Gabby.

  “Sort of. My mom just bailed on us when I was five. Haven’t seen her since.” I didn’t want to make Gabby uncomfortable with my broken home story, so I added, “But it’s no big deal, really.”

  Gabby nodded, and was quiet for a minute. She took a sip of her soda before asking, “So, what class do you have next?”

  After the day ended, I walked back to Dr. Rich’s house. It felt strange sharing the place with his family. I figured I would wait a few weeks, and then ask if they could find me a private room in one of the dorms. Being in a house made me miss home more. Maybe the dorm would be more businesslike, and I wouldn’t miss my dad and my brother so much.

  Overall, my first day was boring and, aside from all the staring, uneventful. My book bag was certainly heavier than when I started, and I forced myself to go up to my room and organize my desk. Maybe I would even look at my Trig homework, but I didn’t make myself any promises.

  When Gabby returned from tryouts, she was wiped out. She tapped on my door to deliver the news.

  “How was it?” I asked.

  “It was tough, but the coach had good things to say. They post the list tomorrow. Practice starts the next day.”

  “Sounds like you’re in,” I said.

  “Let’s hope,” she said. “I’m gonna hit the shower.”

  “K. See you down at dinner.”

  Gabby, it seemed, was well on her way to making the team, which boded well for me. I slept well that night in my new blue room.

  Chapter 5

  Things got weird the next day. After Gabby and I walked to the gym to see her name proudly posted on the basketball team’s varsity list, we parted ways to head to our first-period classes, and I noticed that the boys who’d been staring at me the day before were intentionally avoiding eye contact today. It was as if I’d been labeled some disease they didn’t want to catch.

  The second day of school was also when I figured out which student was really in charge. I admit that when he first appeared, he struck me as something to see. I wasn’t usually one to go ga-ga over a guy’s looks, but the first time I saw him walking toward me in the hall, I felt as if I needed an extra brea
th of air. I soon realized he was the same guy who’d shoved Ben into the men’s room yesterday, but yesterday I hadn’t gotten such a good look at him.

  He was at least six feet tall, and thin, with wide shoulders, like those of a swimmer. His face had a strong, defined bone structure, like a model’s. He had dark brown eyes and hair that looked black from far away. It was cut short in the back, but hung down just enough in the front so he would feel the constant need to brush it out of his face.

  I also couldn’t help noticing his hands. That second day, I was reaching for the door to my chemistry class at the same time he was doing the same, and so we touched hands, ever so briefly. His hands looked as strong as a grown man’s, but felt soft like a child’s. He had barely beaten me to the knob, and he turned his shoulder into me as he opened the door and held it for the guys behind him, leaving me squashed between the door and the wall.

  Since it was the first day of Chemistry, the teacher called roll. I paid close attention to who raised their hands when their names were called.

  “Samuel Barrett?” the teacher called.

  “Present,” said the boy who had squished me against the door.

  Throughout the lecture, it was obvious that all the other boys in the class looked to this Barrett guy before doing anything. I assumed he must serve some important role at Hazelton. He had to be a senior, too, because only seniors were in this class. He seemed pretty full of himself, and based on how often he answered the teacher’s questions, he was obviously pretty smart as well.

  From that second day on, I felt a coldness every time Samuel Barrett was near me—as if, without speaking, he was saying, “You’re not welcome here.” He never spoke a word to me, and he looked over my head whenever I passed him in the hall. And it seemed he had told everyone to treat me the same. I decided his behavior was not my fault. I chalked it up to him just being an over-privileged snob and a sexist pig. That was easier to deal with than thinking there was something wrong with me.

  From listening in the halls and gossiping with Gabby, I found out that Sam had a reputation for being both a star student and a star athlete. Ben Barrett, the guy I met the first day of school, was, in fact, his fraternal twin.