Gabby Garcia's Ultimate Playbook

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Gabby Garcia's Ultimate Playbook Page 15

by Iva-Marie Palmer

He shrugged. “I like good statistics.”

  “I’m not mad or anything, but why did you push Coach H. to get me to sub in for Devon when you knew I had the talent showcase?”

  His face turned as red as his Piper Bell Penguins tie.

  Now he looked up at me and even if I told myself I didn’t have a crush, I thought maybe I could have a hypothetical one. “I just thought if anyone could handle it, it was you.”

  Or not hypothetical.

  The “thank you” I said came out like a dribble of weird syllables.

  “You should go,” Johnny said. “There’s still time.”

  I made it to the backstage area just before the show started.

  Howell Jefferson, the student body president, was onstage at the podium while three different cameras filmed him. There were also people in the audience with signs and banners for some of the performers—I saw people who, based on their banners, I guessed were Katy’s relatives, and Molly’s, and Sophia’s.

  I ducked backstage, feeling sweaty from the game. Or maybe from nerves. Or both.

  Molly was the first person to see me. Probably because she’s taller than anyone else.

  “Gabby?” Everyone turned to look at me, and I was surprised that they all looked happy to see me.

  “I came to see you guys,” I said, and wondered how grubby and crazy I looked since I was just on the mound and also seconds ago discovered I had my first crush. I kept hearing Johnny say, “I just thought if anyone could handle it, it was you.”

  The poetic term for what I was feeling is SWOON.

  “But you left us the poems. And those bomb cookies,” Sophia said.

  “We were kind of hard on you yesterday,” Katy said. “And you’re not that bad of a poet. I mean, you need work, that’s for sure, but nothing hanging out with me can’t fix.”

  “Katy!” Molly said, and I thought she’d be mad at Katy for bragging but then she said, “I’m the real writer here, so come on! I’ll teach Gabby what she needs to know.”

  Everyone started debating—but in a nice way—who was going to make me into a stellar poet, and just like that, I felt good again. Maybe I would even become a great poet.

  But then we heard Howell introduce Katy as a singing-dancing-songwriting dynamo.

  “Well, I guess it’s time for us to go win this thing, ya think?” Katy shook out her arms and legs and grinned at us. “Glad our good luck charm made it!” She blew me a kiss as she and her dancers ran out onstage.

  See the day

  Rise to meet it

  Every start is a fresh one

  And we’re gonna get it

  The lights and the booming sound made me feel like we weren’t in the school auditorium but at the halftime show of the Super Bowl. Beyoncé would have been impressed.

  If I have to predict the future, I’m pretty sure that Katy will be singing the national anthem at the World Series game I pitch in.

  The applause was huge and when Katy returned backstage, she threw her arms around me. “We’re gonna win this thing!” she said, looking at the computer monitor backstage that showed the votes coming in. One act in, we had the most of the four schools. By a lot.

  Then Molly read from her book and the audience was in tears. People voting must have been equally into the book, because the total votes rose again! Was I really a good luck charm? Nah, I thought. My friends are just super-talented.

  Molly looked at the monitor in disbelief. “We might get to go to New York. OMG.” It’s a big deal for her to say that, as she doesn’t like abbreviations.

  She smiled at me. “I’m sorry I said such mean things about your poetry,” she told me. “I can’t believe you wrote all those haikus.”

  I smiled back. “It’s okay,” I said. “It was wrong of me to lie. I should have just asked you guys to help me find a talent, or told you what happened with the baseball team.”

  “People don’t always say or do what they should. There’d be a lot less to write about if they did,” Molly said. “So did you win?”

  I shook my head. “No idea.”

  “What?? How do you not know? G, you better spill,” Katy said with a hand on her hip.

  “I left so I could come here,” I said. There was also one other thing, a secret I’d almost been keeping from myself. I really DID want to perform in the talent showcase. And for the first time, I had a poem I thought was the real deal. I’d written it the night before. “Also, I was hoping to read a new thing I wrote.” I wouldn’t have asked if the team was still mad at me, but since they weren’t, I felt ready to take the stage.

  Sophia grabbed me by the shoulders. “You have to go back to the game, though.”

  Molly nodded. “Yeah, you shouldn’t be here. We can’t ruin this for you.”

  “I took myself out of the game,” I said. “I wanted to be here.” I pulled the folded-up poem from inside my jersey. “Plus, this.”

  Coach Raddock stepped forward. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, sounding just like a coach in a movie at a key dramatic moment. “You’re going to read that, and then you’re getting back on that baseball field.”

  She was right. Because as I thought about Devon and Bobby and even Mario, I didn’t want to let them down either. I was out as pitcher. Once a pitcher came out, that was that. But I could help in some other way.

  WHY, OH WHY, COULDN’T I BE EVERYWHERE AT ONCE?

  As Arlo finished his rousing speech and the monitor showed our votes tick up again, Coach Raddock nudged me out onto the stage.

  I wasn’t quite ready. I was still sweaty and red-faced and I’d only read the poem in my bedroom. Actually, I’d only read it under my covers, right before I fell asleep. But as the audience looked up at me expectantly, and Katy whispered, “Read!” from her place in the wings, I found my voice.

  The thrill of victory

  Is too big to rhyme

  With anything

  Because it’s not just some word

  It’s not even a thing at all

  Victory is everything along the way

  You pick up the ball

  And you throw

  And it goes goes goes

  And when the batter swings

  They can’t touch it

  And that’s one little piece of victory

  When the crowd claps for your team

  That’s part of the win

  You feel it rise up through your mitt

  Into your arms

  It slips beneath your cap

  Into your head

  And slides through the button of your jersey

  Into your heart

  So it’s not just a scoring play

  Or a W on your stats

  Or even your team carrying you off the field

  It’s knowing you did things

  Exactly right

  It’s knowing you didn’t

  Let anyone down

  And the day

  Belongs to you

  And that’s too big to rhyme

  With anything

  And then the audience clapped. And cheered. And gave me a win.

  It was good. My poem was good! But better than good, it was honest. I was crying a little but I pretended it was sweat.

  “That kicked butt,” Katy said. “THAT was your poem! But now you have to go back, G!” She was already pulling me by the elbow off the stage.

  “It might be over by now.”

  “Well, you have to find out, don’t you?” Molly joined us on my other side and pulled me along too. “You wouldn’t let us miss our chances at greatness.”

  Back outside, it was like we had an unspoken agreement to make a mad dash for the field.

  That ESP really was coming through all over the place.

  And the game was not over. Far from it. It was the top of the ninth. Lailah was having an awful inning. There were players on every base. The Firecrackers had scored a couple runs, too, so it was 5–2.

  Johnny, who was standing behind the backstop,
looked up at us and grimaced. “You’re back.” He paused. “Things are bad. She did okay after you left until a few minutes ago. She needs to get someone out. They could tie the score with one decent hit.”

  As if he was getting advice from Johnny, the batter at the plate swung big and hit a nice shot to right field. Madeleine was jogging for it, she was under it, her glove was out.

  And then she smashed into the outfield wall.

  Yup.

  Nose first.

  At least this time there was no blood. She threw the ball toward home, but the batter drove in three runs. The score was tied. And the batter made it to third—scoring position. And then Madeleine’s nose started to bleed.

  At least I wasn’t responsible.

  (Though maybe it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t left the game.)

  I ran to the dugout as Coach Hollylighter called for a time-out so she could pull Madeleine.

  She looked surprised when she saw me, and even more surprised when she saw Molly and Katy run up behind me.

  “You came back?” she asked.

  I couldn’t tell from her expression if she was happy about it or not.

  “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry I left. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She looked at my friends behind me. “You had to support both your teams,” she said. “Do you think you can take over in right field? And Madeleine’s spot in the batting order?”

  Madeleine, who was holding an ice pack to her nose, nodded. “Yeah, there’s no way I’m going back out there,” she said. “Maybe ever.”

  I hate playing right field. No one really wants to play right field, because nothing ever happens in right field. Or hardly ever.

  Well, unless you’re Madeleine, I guess, but what happened to her is hardly good.

  “Sure,” I said.

  I pulled on my mitt and headed for right, trying to get my bearings for this spot on the field. I was proud of myself. Old Gabby would have been embarrassed to go from pitching a unicorn to standing in right field.

  Lailah was pitching to a left-handed batter. Left-handed batters often hit to right field. And the batter smashed the ball on Lailah’s first pitch. The ball was a fast-moving grounder and it was coming my way.

  I dropped down to field the ball but bobbled it a little. Ugh. I steadied myself, grabbed the ball, and hurled it to home. But it wasn’t enough. The third-base runner hustled and slid on his stomach just as my throw reached Ryder’s glove.

  “Safe!” the ump yelled.

  Franklin was up 6–5.

  Another thing that was my fault.

  Coach Hollylighter pulled Lailah and put in Casey Dotson, a reliever who hadn’t played much this season. We were at the weak spot of the Franklin batting order and Casey managed the out.

  But the inning had left the team shaken.

  Bob: Did Gabby make the worst mistake ever by leaving this game?

  Judy: Bob, if I knew the answer to that question, Gabby wouldn’t need to keep both of us around.

  So we were only down one run, but that was a big deal. A bad inning could destroy a team. One bad inning on the field could turn a whole good game into a roller coaster ride of doom. And right now, the Penguins looked like they were on that coaster and like every last one of them was going to be sick.

  In fast-moving sports like football or basketball, all the running and moving means every second could be a drama. In baseball, the story unfolds slowly sometimes. Things could go really great for a long time, but just when it seems like the game is going to one team, a bad break could mean everything gets messy.

  It’s one of the best and worst things about the game.

  Coach Hollylighter was trying her best at a pep talk, but she was having a hard time. She was nervous, too, because we were starting the inning at the bottom of the batting order with Samuel Jinkins and now Casey Dotson. No one wanted to tell the weak batters that they were the weak spot, but they knew it too.

  We were all silent as Samuel and Casey took their at bats.

  And both struck out.

  We were back at the top of the order, but things could go either way. But then Ryder hit a line drive to center and hustled to first. Danny Pettuci managed a walk. We had runners on first and second.

  And I was up in Madeleine’s spot.

  Goal: Win the game.

  Action: A home run to drive in Ryder and Danny. And me.

  I could see it now.

  Movie-Moment Gabby, saving the day.

  My whole body was tingling. I could fix everything, make everyone happy, with one big hit.

  At the plate, I stared coolly at the pitcher.

  The first pitch was a fastball, right in the strike zone. I swung huge, thinking GOGOGOGOGOGO, hoping the ball could hear me.

  I missed.

  The second pitch . . . same thing. I looked at the outfield wall, imagining my hit soaring over it, and everyone celebrating ME.

  SCREECH! My mind halted the daydream. I was still trying to make things perfect and WIN everything all by myself. If I kept swinging like this, I was going to strike out.

  I thought about what my dad said and what Johnny said and what Diego said.

  If you can’t do everything, you do what you can.

  I just thought if anyone could handle it, it would be you.

  It’s not a weakness to just say what you want sometimes.

  I knew what I needed to do. I needed to NOT try to hit a home run.

  Small ball.

  Small ball.

  It wasn’t about the home run.

  It wasn’t about me.

  It wasn’t about the perfect thing happening.

  I just needed to get on base.

  When the pitcher let go of the ball again, I swung, but not like I was trying to crush the ball into a million pieces. Instead, I did what I could.

  CRACK!

  And the hit was good, a low-flying ball between center and left field.

  I ran as fast as I could to first. Ryder and Danny sprinted to the next base. Bases were loaded. And Mario was up.

  He looked like he was going to be sick. And I was going to ask him, of all people, for what I wanted.

  “You can do this,” I shouted to him from my place on first as he left the dugout, taking a few lackluster swings on his way to the plate.

  He turned. “And if I can’t, we’re done.”

  “You can. Pretend the pitcher is me.”

  “What? No way. That’s a horrible idea.” Now he looked genuinely scared.

  I shook my head. “You’re DUE to get a hit off me. I know it. So pretend this is your hit off me.”

  “You’re crazy, Garcia,” he said. “But I’ll try it.”

  By now, I could see more of the talent squad in the stands. And they looked happy. I already had a feeling that I knew why. But I had to keep my head in this game for now. Everyone was on their feet on both the Penguins’ side and the Firecrackers’ side.

  Bases were loaded and Mario was our best batter.

  This had just gone from small ball to possibly big-deal ball.

  I think I stopped breathing as the pitcher threw a curve and Mario swung. And missed.

  Bob: Did you ever think Gabby Garcia would be hoping Mario Salamida would get a grand slam?

  Judy: Bob, I think we’ve learned that we can’t predict anything!

  The umpire called the next two pitches balls. The fluttery feeling in my stomach moved up into my chest. Could we win on a walk?

  But on the next pitch, Mario swung. It wasn’t going to be a grand slam, though. The ball was a grounder that wasn’t going to make it out of the infield. It was not the hit we needed.

  But, over or not, the bases were loaded and we had to run anyway.

  So we did.

  The ball was rolling right for me and the second baseman was looking to get it.

  I hopped over it and then threw myself into a slide to second.

  I peeked through the dust around me and saw Ryder cross
ing home and Danny rounding third and heading there. But if I was out first, Danny’s run wouldn’t count.

  I touched the base with my fingertips a split second before the second baseman reached it.

  “Safe!” the ump yelled.

  SAFE! SAFE! SAFE!

  We’d won, 7–6!

  “We’re going to regionals!” Coach Hollylighter yelped, louder than I’d ever heard her say anything. She ran onto the field, smiling for maybe the first time in her life. The rest of the team was behind her, beaming.

  I pitched us into regionals! Or, okay, I partly pitched us into regionals. And then I hit us into regionals. Or kind of did. And then I pep-talked us into regionals. Sort of.

  No, WE—the Penguins—got us into regionals.

  REGIONALS!

  The field was a mess of people. The baseball team hugged and high-fived. Madeleine seemed to forget her nose problems and dropped her ice pack to spin around with Devon. Mario was fist-bumping everyone in sight and Ryder Mills’s whole family had him locked in the center of a hug. Molly and Katy were talking to my parents.

  And I heard them say something about my poem. And NEW YORK.

  NEW YORK and REGIONALS???

  Please, don’t let them be the same day, I thought.

  Nope, I was celebrating everything and not going to let what might happen next ruin anything.

  Then someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around to see . . .

  Johnny Madden.

  I swear his eyes had gotten greener over the last few innings. I didn’t think this day could get better!

  “That was a great game,” he said. “I mean, I thought it would be.”

  Whatever calm feelings I had today were gone because I had the new, not-calm feelings of perhaps, maybe, having a crush.

  Bob: Whoa, Judy, this is brand-new territory for Garcia.

  Judy: But Bob, how great is her day going? She’s got her friends back, she’s got the win, and Johnny Madden is probably crushing on her right back. Plus, she’s headed to regionals!

  Bob: And New York! What a win streak! Piper Bell Academy was a solid move for Garcia, it seems. To think she wanted to go back to Luther.

  Yeah, Bob, I thought. My win streak was back, I couldn’t help but agree. And I felt like I was right where I belonged more than I ever had in my life. Weird, crush-having, barfy feeling aside.

 

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