It Starts With a Lie

by Mary Clare Lockman

  Sam O’Malley walked into the room and I tell you, Sally immediately glued herself to Sam. Whoosh. Sally couldn’t have been any closer to her if she had tried. She actually put her arm around Sam and guffawed. The whole class heard her.

  “Everyone, take your seats,” Mrs. Crenshaw said. I was already sitting so I looked straight ahead at the teacher. “We have next week off for Easter. Then it’s full speed ahead until summer vacation. All your teachers will tell you what they need to get done.”

  Great. Just like Mrs. Bosworth in sixth grade. She said school wasn’t over ‘till it was over. And, believe me, Mrs. Bosworth used every minute. My brain still hurt from the experience.

  The hall was an interesting place during the change of classes. People jostled, waved, and yelled at each other. If I tried to understand even a single word people were saying, all I could hear was a constant hum, sort of like a swarm of bees.

  “Colette.” I thought I heard my name above the chatter but I needed to go all the way to the other side of the building. I didn’t like being late so I just kept moving.

  “Colette.” I heard it again, this time louder. I turned around and there was Jake, waving. I stopped right in the middle of the hall and waited while people went around me.

  “Your dad offered me a job. Thank you.” His ever present smile stretched across his face.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I said.

  “You said I was a good worker.”

  “Oh, yeah. I did say that.”

  “Now I’ll have some gas money for my car. Thanks again.”

  “Sure. I’ve got to go to class.” At some point while I was talking to Jake, my face started feeling hot. I was red-faced, I was sure of it. I couldn’t cover my face with my hands because I was holding my books and anyway, I didn’t want my probably very red ears sticking out like a neon sign. “Bye,” I said as I turned and sprinted toward the end of the hall.

  It was my Saturday to work at our store. The store had originally been named Rossini’s. After my dad became partners with Gramps, it changed to Rossini and McGiver. Now that my dad was the main pharmacist and Gramps was retired, Gramps thought the store should be just McGiver’s.

  “No way,” my dad would say. “I like it just the way it is. It’s where Gemma and I fell in love. At Rossini’s.” My mom and dad had both worked at the store when they were in high school.

  “Think about it, John. It’s your place now,” Gramps said.

  “No, Antonio. It will always be your place.”

  The store had two large rooms. The soda fountain had a semi circular counter with ten stools around it. If the stools were all taken, I was really busy. I made malts, sodas, sundaes, and scooped ice cream cones until my hands were frozen. Literally frozen. My dad wanted to put a couple of booths in the corner. I pictured myself running to get the order, running to make the order, and then running with the malt or soda back to the booth.

  “Please don’t,” I said. “I just can’t run that fast.”

  “I may have to hire someone else for the weekends anyway,” my dad said. “We’re busier and busier.”

  “Mom and I can usually handle it.”

  “I know. You do a great job. But you’re not here every Saturday.” Since my mom still worked at St. Anastasia’s, a woman named Marie worked during the week. In the summer, Marie wanted to be home with her kids so my mom worked during the week and every Saturday.

  “Are you going to hire somebody for the weekends I’m not there?”

  “Marie said she’ll work every other Saturday so that’s okay for now. I can’t be filling prescriptions and checking people out at the register at the same time.” It was good that the store was busy because that meant my dad was managing the store okay without Gramps.

  There were two large refrigerators and a low freezer in the same room as the soda fountain. We had milk, pop, and beer in bottles, popsicles, ice cream sandwiches, and frozen juice.

  The second room had the pharmacy at one end, rows of shelves with supplies like diapers, band aids, aspirin, bandages, thermometers, candy, and the cash register. My dad wanted to add more shelves so that people could buy more when they were waiting for their prescriptions. As it was, when someone waited for a prescription they could get a free coke, phosphate, or any other soft drink at the soda fountain. It had been my Grandma Rose’s idea during the Depression and we still used it. Most people waiting just ordered the free drink but sometimes they decided ice cream would be better.

  “Hi, Colette.” I heard Jake’s familiar voice behind me.

  “Hi, Jake. I didn’t know you were working today.” My dad told me the night before that Jake was coming in. I didn’t dare touch the warmth rising from my neck to my face. I hoped my face wasn’t red.

  “Is your mom around?”

  “She’s in the back. I’ll go get her.” I hurried to the back room. “Mom, Jake’s here.”

  “Okay, thanks.” My mom didn’t look up which I was thankful for because my face was burning. I decided to stop in the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and a blotchy red face looked back at me. I splashed cold water on my face and looked again. Better. Definitely better.

  I walked out and Jake was still waiting by the register. “Mom will be right out. See you later.” I went to the refrigerator by the soda fountain. I filled the canisters with toppings for sundaes and malts. There were separate containers for strawberries, pineapple, cherries, hot fudge, chocolate, butterscotch, and caramel.

  My mom showed Jake the soda fountain, the pharmacy, and the shelves with all the supplies. They had to go to the back room where everything was kept in boxes. Jake would be responsible for keeping the shelves stocked. I was glad the day was busy with one customer after another. I didn’t have time to think, believe me.

  My mom and Jake stood by the counter. “So, we’ll start with two days a week after school. Can you be here by three?”

  “I have baseball practice every day after school,” Jake said.

  “That won’t work, then.” The store closed every day during the week at six o’clock and at five o’clock on Saturdays. “Okay, we’ll have to stick with Saturdays for now. How about every Saturday?”

  “I can do that.”

  “We’ll make it ten to four then. See you next week.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. McGiver. See you next week.”

  So Jake was going to be working every Saturday. I’d have to see if I could work every Saturday too.

  Chapter Twelve

  Keep Your Eye on the Ball

  Our first game started with all of us a little nervous. We didn’t know how we were going to play. There was nothing worse than losing a game without even a chance of winning.

  “What if I let the team down?” Suzy asked. She was almost panicky.

  “Catcher is a very hard position. You’re in the game with every pitch.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t be the catcher.” Suzy kneaded her hands together.

  “We’re all in this together. I’m not perfect either.”

  “Okay, girls, gather round,” Coach Richter said. “You all know what you’re supposed to do. We worked on it at practice over and over. So, let’s recap. You know where to throw the ball, when to steal second or third, how to keep your glove down on the ground, how to step into the ball when you swing, and how to swing level, not up at the ball. If you do all those things, we will have a good game. What’s the one thing that we know for certain?”

  “The game isn’t over until the last out,” several girls said in chorus.

  “Good. You were listening during practice.” Coach Richter took off his baseball cap and held it in his hands. “A quick prayer,” he said. “Lord, this is our first game. Thank you for bringing us here today. Help us to play hard and at the same time show good sportsmanship. Amen.”

  Coach Richter talked about sportsmanship a lot; every single practice. He got mad if you got mad. I thought that was kind of funny. He would say that there was no place for anger durin
g a softball game because it usually made you play in an inconsistent way. For instance, you might swing at a bad pitch and strike out. Or, you might throw the ball nowhere near the first baseman. He always gave us several examples like that. Then he would tell us that there were things absolutely prohibited on his team. No swearing for any reason and no yelling at a teammate. Cheering on a teammate was great and he wanted us to do that with enthusiasm.

  “Go out there now and have fun,” he said. “Positions. O’Malley—pitcher, Donohue—first, Zastrow—second, McGiver—third, Pearson—short, Flynn—left, Anderson—center, Schmit—right, and Malone—catcher. Let’s go.”

  We were the home team so we ran out to our positions in the field. Suzy tried to put on her knee pads quickly. One of the girls helped her with the chest protector. She put on the face mask and crouched down behind the plate with her glove ready.

  Behind home plate were a few stands for people to sit in. They were protected by a backstop between them and the catcher. I looked over and there were Aunt Florence, Gramps, and little Rosie. Gramps gave Rosie a ball glove for her first birthday. He held Rosie’s glove up in the air for me to see.

  The first batter was up. Sam wound up and threw the ball across the center of the plate. The batter watched it go by. “Strike,” the umpire yelled. The batter dug in their shoes, swung the bat twice, and waited for the next pitch. The ball flew toward the plate and the batter swung too late. Suzy already had the ball in her glove. “Strike two.” Sam wound up again and the ball sailed toward the plate. It really was a thing of beauty to watch her. The batter stuck her bat out and got a piece of the ball. It stopped about a foot in front of the plate. It was Suzy’s ball but I didn’t know if she realized that. There she was, pulling off her mask and grabbing the ball. She threw the ball perfectly to first base and the batter was out. Suzy looked over at me and smiled before she put her mask back on. Sam retired the side easily since the next two batters struck out. It was our turn to bat.

  I was the lead batter. I got ready at the plate and swung the bat a couple of times while I stared down the pitcher. The first pitch flew by me. I didn’t swing. “Strike,” the umpire said. The next pitch came in right at the waist line. I swung and caught part of it. “Foul ball,” the umpire yelled. I had two strikes on me and I didn’t want to strike out. The third pitch came in a little lower but I swung anyway. I connected and the ball took off toward third base. I dropped the bat and dashed to first. I didn’t slow down as I ran through the base. I was on base.

  Coach Richter clapped his hands but didn’t touch the side of his nose. I stayed on first, waiting for a hit or a signal from the coach. Donohue hit a pop up so she was an easy out. O’Malley was the third batter. For some reason she swung at the first pitch and a grounder snaked to second base. The second baseman threw the ball to the shortstop who touched second base and then rifled the ball to first. Double play. Our side was out.

  The game was a real pitcher’s duel. Both teams had base runners at times but neither of us scored through five innings. We only played seven innings so somebody had to hit the ball soon.

  I had struck out my last time at the plate. It was my turn to hit again. I swung at the first pitch way too early. “Strike,” the umpire yelled. I had to get my timing down. I didn’t take my eye off the pitcher. Her arm went back and released the ball. I watched the ball coming in right above the waist. I stepped into it and swung as hard as I could. Crack. It was a line drive between short and third. I rounded first and ran toward second. I made it there, no problem. I hoped I would score because there wasn’t much I liked better than running across home plate.

  Donohue hadn’t had a hit the whole game so she really wanted to get me home. She finally hit the ball after four fouls. It was a sizzling grounder that went past the second baseman into right field. I was off like a shot, hoping the coach would tell me to keep running. He waved me on toward home. I ran as fast as I could. People yelled from the stands and my whole team was standing up, screaming. I knew it was going to be close. The ball had been thrown to the second baseman from right field. The catcher waited right by the plate so they could tag me out. I had to turn it on. I put my head down a little and ran even faster. Aunt Florence yelled, “Go, Colette, go.” My right foot touched the plate just as the ball landed in the catcher’s mitt. She tagged me. The umpire yelled, “Safe, you’re safe.”

  Our whole team cheered and patted me on the back. It was 1 to 0.

  That was the only run we scored the whole game. The other team tied the score in the seventh inning with a solo homerun. The next batter was up. Crack. The ball smoked toward third. If it got by me, the ball was in left field. I kept my glove close to the ground. The ball slid into my glove and I hurled the ball to first base. One out. Two outs away from an extra inning.

  The next two batters got on base. Sam was getting tired. There were runners on first and second. But not for long. They both took off for a double steal. Suzy threw the ball to second instead of third. Two outs, but there was a runner on third. Sam snapped her arm back and delivered a pitch into the dirt in front of the plate. It took a crazy hop and Suzy couldn’t hang on to it. Suzy ran to the backstop to get the ball. The runner on third dashed toward home and scored before Suzy could throw the ball to Sam who was covering home plate. The game was over.

  “When you’re a catcher, you’re supposed to catch the ball,” Sam shrieked. She stood right in front of Suzy.

  “I’m sorry,” Suzy said. She looked down at the ground.

  “You should be. You lost the game for us.”

  Sam had thrown her glove down and her fists were clenched. “You’re so stupid,” she said. “And really a bad catcher.”

  Suzy looked like she was ready to cry.

  I said, “If you ask me, that was a wild pitch. A professional baseball player couldn’t have caught it.”

  “Shut up, just shut up,” Sam said. Her fists were still clenched and she was biting her bottom lip.

  “There is no place for that on my team,” Coach Richter said. “You threw a bad pitch. Let it go.” Sam looked like she was going to say something and then changed her mind. The coach said if she ever did that again, she wouldn’t be pitching the next game even if it was the last game of the season. “Part of playing sports is learning to lose,” he said. “Graciously,” he added. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow at practice. Now go shake the other team’s hands.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Keep the Change

  It was my weekend to work again. I was more than looking forward to it because I’d be working with Jake all day. Gramps, my mom, and I were eating breakfast before Mom and I went to the store.

  “Mom, do you like Jake?” I asked in a casual way. I took a bite of toast with homemade strawberry jam on it.

  “I do and so does your dad.”

  “He sounds like he’s a good addition,” Gramps said.

  “On the Saturday Colette doesn’t work, he could be very valuable. We’ll have Marie in the summer if we need her too.”

  “I told dad I can start working every Saturday. We don’t have softball practice on Saturdays.” I didn’t say I really don’t have enough to do since Sally and I don’t have our all day talks anymore.

  “You need one morning to sleep in, Colette. Jake can do the major stocking on the Saturday you work and then we might have other jobs for him on the other weekend.”

  My mom had finished her breakfast and was cleaning up. “Colette, are you coming with me this morning? I’m leaving in ten minutes.” The store was about two miles from our house so my dad walked there on Saturdays. He liked to get everything ready before opening at ten o’clock.

  “I can be ready.”

  I had been practicing conversations with the mirror so I could keep from blushing. I pretended that Jake said, “You look nice today, Colette.” I responded with “Thanks.” When I answered imaginary Jake with “So glad you noticed,” my face turned red. So I went back to just plain “Thanks
.”

  I looked at my thick, wild hair and there was nothing I could do to change that other than sleeping on rollers. I had brush rollers with picks that I had to stick through the roller into my head until the roller didn’t move. I didn’t sleep all night, believe me. Suzy told me she used orange juice cans with bobby pins and it worked great. Somehow she hooked the bobby pin onto a binder. She promised she would show me how to do it. For today, a pony tail was going to have to do.

  Jake walked in right at ten o’clock. He wrote his time down on his time card. “Hi, Colette. How’s softball going?” He asked.

  “Great. Your sister’s a great pitcher.” I guess I was going to answer great to everything he said.

  “She is. She practices in our back yard all the time. We have a home plate set up. Sometimes I use it too.”

  I tell you, I could have listened to him all day. I had lots and lots of questions. Did you always pitch? Does your arm get sore? What do you do then? What’s your best pitch? How do you throw a curve ball? Instead of asking him any questions, I said, “That’s so cool.”

  “Jake, let’s start in the back,” my mom said. She turned to me. “Colette, you may have to handle the soda fountain and the register until I come back.”

  “Sure, no problem.” I looked around. There was no one in the store so at least for now it was no problem. Usually, I worked in the soda fountain while my mom was at the register. In a pinch I could ring the register but there were certain items like cigarettes I was not supposed to ring up.

  I was still waiting for a customer when my mom and Jake came out of the backroom. He had a pad with him and a pencil. They went over to the shelves and he wrote down what was needed. Then they went to the backroom to find the merchandise. I was happy to see customers because I liked to be busy at work and it kept me from staring at Jake. I went back and forth from the soda fountain to the cash register.