Out of Left Field
Page 5
“So are you going to try out?” Sara asks. “I really think you should. No joking.”
I know she means it. I mean, Sara’s always supportive, but she knows how much anxiety I got playing softball. After we lost that fateful game, she spent the majority of her time dragging me off the sofa to cheer me up. So when she says I should try out, she’s not saying it just to say it.
“Do you really think I could do it?” I ask. “Do you think the guys would let me do it?”
“To your first question: yes. We played on the same softball team, and I see you pitch at the sandlot. And to your second question: who cares? What do you have to lose, anyway?”
“My dignity, for one.”
She laughs. “Well, if my opinion doesn’t count, take Cody’s. You know he wants the team to go to state more than anyone. And if he endorses you as his replacement…” Sara goes back to tying her dog toy. “Man, I would love to see Santino’s face if he saw that his attempt to thwart our team from state was itself thwarted…by a girl.”
Santino.
Right. Because there’s that problem too.
“What’s wrong?” Sara asks immediately.
I take a deep breath and lean across the table, gesturing for her to get closer.
“What?” she repeats.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” I whisper.
“Ooo, gossip time,” she says excitedly as she puts the dog toy aside. “My favorite part of the day.”
And then, as quietly as I can, lest anyone be listening in, I tell her about the dinner with Abram, Geanna, and Santino.
Her jaw drops. “And let me guess, you haven’t told Cody.”
I shake my head.
“You have to! Right now!” She points at the computer lab, where Joey and Cody stand over a printer.
“And be branded a traitor for the rest of my life? No thanks.”
“He needs to hear it from you,” she says. “You’ve got to rip off the Band-Aid. I mean, why not tell him?”
“Cody’s already upset about his arm and not being able to play, and I don’t want to pile it on. I mean, Santino and I are going to be related. Cousins. Or cousins once removed. Or step-cousins. Hell, I don’t know. But the fetus growing in Geanna’s uterus will be my cousin. Related by blood. This is a lifelong deal, and we all have to get along. What if Cody takes out his anger at Santino on me?”
“Cody wouldn’t do that. You need to tell him.”
I bite my lip. “I don’t know what Santino is like off the field yet, either. What if he starts taking out his jealousy and hatred for Cody on me?”
“That’s Santino’s problem. Not Cody’s. You need to tell him. And I wouldn’t wait too long.”
I give a tentative nod. “I know.”
I look over at the print lab, where Cody and Joey are in conversation. Based on their concentration, it seems like they’re arguing. Then Cody looks up, straight at me. A small grin appears on the corner of his lips, like he’s pleased to have caught me watching him.
If he’s smiling, maybe he’s not in a bad mood, and I can tell him about Santino. But as soon as he turns back to Joey, his grin fades, and he’s got irritation written all over his face.
I sigh.
Sara nudges my arm. “You know, from over here, the contours of Cody’s muscles look pretty badass. I mean, look at those calves. Damn.”
I snap my head toward her. “What?”
“Or was it his sexily disheveled hair you were ogling?”
“I wasn’t ogling.”
She scoffs. “Okay.”
“I wasn’t!”
“If you say so.”
“You were the one who brought up the sexy hair and muscles.”
“But I was reading your mind.”
“Stop.” Like I’ve got time to worry about her playing cupid between tryouts and Santino.
She cackles. Yes, cackles. As only Sara can. “You’re blushing, Marnie.”
“Shut up. I don’t care what you think you know about me or him. There’s nothing there.”
“I beg to differ. You’re all flustered. There’s something there, but you are chicken. And he’s chicken. And two chickens don’t make an un-chicken.”
“Shut up.”
She does, but she’s still got a satisfied smirk on her face.
And damn, does my face feel hot.
6
Cody’s pretty attractive, I guess. I mean, it’s not something you really notice when you grow up with someone. It’s like, every day you see them and nothing changes, but then one day, you just look at them and you’re like, wow, and you want to go to their parents’ house and congratulate them on their successful mix of DNA.
He’s got nice eyes. They’re not sparkly blue or bright green. They’re just brown. Light brown. So light that sometimes they look almost orange in the sun. Not that I spend an enormous amount of time staring into his eyes. I just noticed once or twice. And maybe a few more times after that.
He’s kind of buff too. Not like a weight-lifting burly type of buff, but he’s got nice, lean muscles that you can’t help but want to run your hands over. Not that I’ve ever done that, but you know, I’m only human. Sometimes I think things.
“What are you staring at?”
I tear my gaze away from Cody’s left calf.
“Nothing.”
We got a free period in English today after we turned in our papers. AP testing finished last week, so all our classes are pretty much do-whatever-the-hell-you-want. Cody and I asked Mrs. Sorren if we could go to the library. She didn’t care, and here we are.
We’re sitting in the same place as this morning. I thought I’d wanted to get away from our rowdy class, but apparently I just wanted to stare at Cody’s legs.
He raises an eyebrow at me, and I think he can see into my mind. I’m afraid he’s going to accuse me of checking him out, but all he says is, “So you ready to show off your mad pitching skills to Chizz?”
I wanted a change of subject but not this subject. “That’s a loaded question,” I say.
“You have to at least try out.”
“Why would I subject myself to that kind of pressure when I would turn him down in the end?”
“That’s a loaded question.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Turning down Chizz suggests you expect him to offer you the position.” Cody rests his elbows on the table and leans forward. “What are you so freaked out about, anyway? You’re always bragging about how good you are.”
“Only because it’s fun to brag. I don’t actually mean it.” Talking the talk is indeed easier than walking the walk.
He throws me a bullshit look.
“Okay, so maybe I’m a good pitcher. But I’m not you.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“Everyone on the team will want me to be.” I remember what Joey said this morning. “Not even Joey will be on my side.”
Cody doesn’t refute this. “He’s just worried you’ll choke again, but—”
“What? I thought he didn’t want me to intrude.”
Cody cringes, like he realizes he shouldn’t have said anything about Joey.
I backhand his shoulder. “Joey thinks I’m gonna choke?”
He shrugs. “Well…his exact words were, ‘We’ll lose if she pitches.’”
I nearly shoot out of my chair. “What?”
“Marnie—”
“That unsupportive asshole. And here I thought he was just being possessive.”
“He’s that too.”
“After all the ball we’ve played together, he doesn’t think I could do it. If he’s worried about me getting on the team, doesn’t that negate the fact that he thinks I suck?”
“He doesn’t think you suck. He thinks you’d make the tea
m, but he doesn’t think you can handle the pressure since you haven’t played on a team in so long, and since you haven’t played on our team.”
I sit back in my chair, mulling this over. They are valid concerns. But still. After I’ve gone to all his games, played ball with him at the park, let him copy off my homework…
One time I mess up, and he thinks I’ll always choke.
I stand, picking up my backpack.
“Where are you going?” Cody asks.
“To pay Joey a visit.”
“There are still ten minutes before the bell.”
“I’ll wait for him outside his classroom.”
Cody sighs. “You don’t have to go running to pick a fight every time someone insults you.”
“Oh, it’s not someone. It’s Joey.”
“Don’t you think you’ve fought with him enough over the years to let this go?”
“That’s exactly the reason I shouldn’t.” I’ve learned a lot about my friends over the years, and this is what I’ve learned about Joey: you have to give him a piece of your mind, or he’ll keep walking all over you. And I am not one to be walked over.
“Marnie—”
“Stay here if you don’t want to pick sides. I’ll see you at lunch.”
“Marnie—”
But I ignore him and head out of the library. I’m not going to try out for the dumb baseball team, but I’m going to let Joey know that it’s not because he doesn’t want me to.
• • •
When the bell rings signaling the end of fourth period, Joey is the first one out of his Spanish classroom. He’s talking to Brie—who he is still majorly lovestruck by and close with even though they broke up. I grab the sleeve of his shirt and pull him to the side of the hallway by the windows.
“So you think I’d choke,” I say, not even trying to hide the accusation in my voice.
He lets out an annoyed huff. I don’t know if it’s because of what I said or because Brie has continued down the hall, not even giving him a second glance. Then he says, “I knew Cody would tell you.”
“And you think I’d make the team lose.”
“Probably just to spite me too.”
“You know, a few days ago, you were desperate for me to pitch for you at the sandlot.”
Just then, Sara emerges from a classroom down the hall. She spots me and Joey, and scurries over. “What’s going on?” she asks, sounding nervous because she knows shit is about to go down.
“That was different,” Joey says, ignoring her. “That was for fun. This is for real.”
I cross my arms. “You don’t think I could pitch for fun and for real?”
“Guys…” Sara says, then nods at the staring bystanders.
Joey stands up straighter. “No, I don’t. Because I know you, Marnie. You like to play the big shot, but you get scared as easily as anyone else. You can’t live up to the better-than-thou shit that comes out of your mouth. Remember that softball game? Like I’d let that happen at our sectionals game and ruin our chances to get to state.”
All the muscles in my body tense as the rage surges through me. This is so classic Joey, insulting me because he can’t think of a better way to process his emotion, like, oh, I don’t know, being a rational person.
“You know I’m right,” he says. “That’s why you’ve got nothing to say.” Then he walks away.
I start weaving through the crowd of students after him, and Sara pulls on my backpack. “Marnie, don’t listen to—”
I yank away from her and catch up to Joey, matching his long strides.
“You’re not helping your case,” I snap at him. “You should know better than anyone that telling me I can’t do something is the best way to make me do it. I was going to tell you that I wasn’t going to try out and that it wasn’t because you didn’t want me to. Except now I think I will. And when Chizz chooses me, and we win sectionals, then you’ll have no choice but to admit that you were wrong.”
He stops abruptly and snaps at me, “You’ve got a big mouth on a big head, and I definitely know I’m not wrong about that. But fine, play if you think you can. Just don’t expect any special treatment just because Cody personally requested you take his spot. We all know his crush on you makes him biased.”
Normally I’d freak out over that five-letter C-word, especially coming from the mouth of Cody’s best friend, but I know it’s not true. Joey will say anything to provoke me. I won’t rise to it. “You know what I think?”
“Not really, and I don’t particularly care,” he retorts.
“I think you can’t stand me doing anything better than you.”
“I can’t stand you being a bigheaded prat.”
“Takes one to know one, Joseph.”
“Guys!” Sara shouts, shoving us apart. “You are in public! Act civilized, for God’s sake!”
“Jerk,” I snarl at Joey.
“Takes one to know one,” he mocks.
I make a lunge to shove him, but Sara pulls me back again. “Marnie!”
Around us, some kids start chanting, “Fight, fight, fight, fight—”
“Keep walking, freshies!” Sara shouts at them, pulling me away from Joey, who stalks off. “What is with you?” she asks, basically dragging me down the hall. “It’s just Joey.”
I stay silent and let her pull me along to the caf. Joey also has lunch this period, and even though we always sit together, I have a feeling he’s not going to be making an appearance today.
In a way, I should probably thank him. I’ve made my decision. Maybe I am a bigheaded prat with a loud mouth and no substance. Or maybe the real reason I don’t want to try out is because I’m afraid I’ll choke.
So after school, I make a beeline to the girls’ locker room, put on my gym clothes, and psyche myself up for tryouts. Maybe to show Joey that I can make the team. Or maybe just to show myself.
7
On the first day of kindergarten, I was one extremely pissed off five-year-old.
Here’s why.
Nick was going into first grade, and he wanted the electric-blue backpack that my mom bought on clearance at Target. But I wanted the electric-blue backpack too. So we’re screaming at each other, playing tug-of-war with it, while my mom shouts at us to stop, because there is only one blue backpack. But after she wrangles it away from us, she gives it to Nick because he’s older, and I get the stupid red backpack that he used the year before.
Then on the ride to kindergarten, my mom says she’s not going to stay with me at this new place. There’s going to be other kids my age and a teacher who’s going to take care of us, and I’m supposed to listen to this teacher and do what she says. But my mom’s not going to be there with me. She’s leaving me.
We pull into the parking lot at the school, and I can already tell it’s gonna suck. There’s a dingy, little playground on the side—nothing compared to the playground by my house. They’re going to make me play on that pathetic playground. I just know it.
My mom drags me out of the car, and the only reason I’m not crying is because I spent all my tears on the blue backpack that I didn’t get.
Inside, we find my classroom, where fifteen other kids are already running around, throwing blocks at one another, eating crayons, and crying for Mommy.
A tall woman with red hair and glasses comes over and talks to my mom, and then she kneels down so she’s at my eye level. “Hi, Marnie. My name is Mrs. Walburn. I think we’re going to be really good friends this year.”
Even five-year-old me knows she’s lying through her teeth, so I grab my mom’s leg and tell her to take me home.
After much prying and pleading, my mom removes me from her leg, sits me down at a table, and tells me to be good. No fighting, she says. Then she says it again: “No fighting.”
And then she’s gone.
So, silly me, I do what she says. Without talking to him, I sit and start making my own tower.
He glances at my tower, and I glance at his, and the next thing I know, we’ve silently established a competition for the tallest building. His is almost his height. Mine’s getting there too. He eyes my tower enviously. He eyes me suspiciously. And you know what the little runt does?
He backs into my tower, collapsing it like the Holy Roman Empire. Totally on purpose too.
That was the last straw. I didn’t get my backpack. My mom left me. And this jerk face knocked over my tower. I shove him, hard, and he stumbles into his own masterpiece. He and it fall in one swift timberrr!
And that, my friends, is the story of how I met Joseph Myrtall.
• • •
“I want to hang him by his toes and beat the pulp out of him,” I say as I dig through the bag of school mitts in the equipment room.
“Well, you’re always saying he’s the second brother you never had,” Cody says, drawing on his cast with a Sharpie.
“And here I thought my fights with Nick were bad.”
“He’ll come around. You know he always does.”
I throw aside another mitt that’s too big. “I should’ve run home to get my own.”
Cody kneels beside me and pulls one out. He gives it to me.
I try to take it from him, but he doesn’t let go. “What?”
His gaze lingers on me for a second longer than necessary before he releases the mitt. “Nothing.”
“If you think this is a bad idea, let me know now please.”
He shakes his head.
I slip my left hand into the mitt. It fits perfectly. “Then what?”
He bites his lip, drawing my attention to how soft his lips look.
Dammit. Not now.
“I’m just glad you’re doing this” is all he says.
I give my mitt a few punches to get a feel for it. “I don’t even know if I’m allowed to try out,” I say.