Game Changer

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  The ball rolled out of his hand and onto the grass.

  Good old uncoordinated Max, KT thought, almost fondly. It was just so nice to have Max acting the way she expected him to.

  But Max didn’t sheepishly pick the ball back up and keep talking, the way she expected him to. He scrambled up and backed away from the ball, as if he was afraid of it.

  “Is that what happened to send me here?” he asked. “At your softball game . . . could I have ignored everyone yelling ‘heads up!’ because a ball was coming into the stands? I could have . . . I did that all the time, because I figured Mom or Dad would stop the ball from hitting me if they had to. So I just kept playing my DS . . . .”

  He had such a look of horror on his face. Horror—and the beginnings of understanding.

  “But that day,” he said. “That day, that game, that inning . . . Mom and Dad had gone out to stand at the railing because they were so excited, they wanted to get as close as possible . . . . I remember it all now! That is what happened! It must have made me black out when I got hit, and everything was different when I woke up . . . .”

  “Max?” KT said, because he was scaring her. This was like watching some movie creature morphing into an entirely different life form. Max was still Max—same messy hair, same blobby face, same pudgy body, same math-themed T-shirt and shorts. But he was starting to stand up straighter now; he began looking down his nose at her instead of directly in the eye; his whole face had been taken over by . . . by . . .

  Disgust.

  “You woke me up with your stupid pitching, and you know I have mathletics club-team tryouts today!” he complained. It was heartbreaking how this could be so completely Max’s voice, without sounding a thing like him. “If I make a single mistake today, it will be all your fault!”

  He spun around and stomped away, each step as precise as a military maneuver.

  “Wait!” KT yelled after him, her voice splintering. “You were telling me . . . What else do you remember from the real world?”

  “This is the real world, you idiot!” Max snarled back at her without even breaking his stride. “Now be quiet and leave me alone!”

  He reached the sliding glass door at the back of the house. He jerked it open, stepped inside, and yanked the door shut behind him.

  He disappeared into the house.

  KT, sitting alone in the grass, didn’t move for a long time. She didn’t let herself analyze what had just happened, what she’d just witnessed. But her brain put it together anyhow. This was the easiest thing she’d had to figure out since she’d opened her eyes Monday morning.

  Max changed back, she thought numbly. Real Max must have gotten zapped back to the real world somehow. That nasty kid at the end? That was the Max that really belongs here.

  But how could real Max have left without her?

  Chαpter Twenty-four

  I still have Evangeline, KT finally thought, after a long while of searching desperately for something to buoy her up, something to hold on to. Unless she’s changed back now too.

  KT’s mind darted away from that thought, trying to avoid it entirely.

  If Evangeline’s still on my team, I’ve got to let her know what happened, she told herself.

  As far as KT knew, Evangeline was the only other person left in this crazy alternate world who might still remember the real world, her real self, and the real KT. But did that mean they were on the same team?

  This wasn’t like softball, where teams were clear-cut, color-coded. No matter who you played in softball, there were always only two sides: us and them.

  This is more like . . . like one of those really big, really complicated tournaments, where you might root for or against teams in other brackets, because it affects who you’ll play, how likely you are to win the championship, KT thought.

  That didn’t help. If she didn’t know which team Evangeline was on, she sure didn’t know what bracket she was in.

  Knowing Evangeline, KT had a feeling she’d be in a category all her own.

  Still, I’ve got to tell her about Max, KT thought. It’s what I’d want her to do for me.

  Besides, who else did KT have to confide in?

  Stiffly, KT stood up and began gathering up softballs—the one Max had dropped, the one that had flown into the neighbors’ yard, the pile trapped in the pitching mate’s net. She was lugging the whole basketful back toward the garage when the sliding glass door by the patio slid open again.

  “Make sure you pull that pitching-mate monstrosity back into the garage so it doesn’t kill the grass,” Mom called, poking her head out.

  “I will,” KT said dutifully, thinking, Hate that alt-world Mom. Hate her!

  “We’re about to leave to take Max to his club-team tryouts,” Mom said. “It’s at Brecksville South. We’ll probably be there most of the day.”

  “Okay,” KT said, thinking, Alt-world Max was really exaggerating, saying I woke him up with my pitching. If they’re leaving already, he would have had to get up early anyhow.

  Either that or KT had spent a lot of time sitting alone in the grass after he left her.

  “This is only the biggest moment of Max’s life, up to this point,” Mom said. “It would be nice if you’d come in and wish him good luck. But I’m not going to make you if you can’t do it sincerely.”

  What was KT supposed to say to that?

  Mom hesitated for a moment, probably trying to make sure that KT got the full force of her glare. Then Mom started sliding the door shut.

  “Wait!” KT cried, just before Mom had completely shut her out. “Do you know—is Evangeline Rangel going to be at the same tryouts?”

  “Oh, so you are concerned about Max’s competition?” Mom asked nastily. She kept the door open just a crack. “I guess that’s something . . . . Yes, Evangeline will be there, but he won’t have to worry about going up against her for the same spots. Because of the age cutoff, they’re trying out for different teams.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” KT said.

  Mom narrowed her eyes at KT, but then just shut the door.

  KT stayed in the backyard until she heard the garage door roll up and down and then the car engine hum off into the distance. She didn’t think she could stand even looking at the new alt-world Max without wanting to punch him.

  But . . . how he acted toward me . . . wasn’t that pretty much how I usually acted toward him in the real world? some rebel part of her brain asked her.

  She shoved that question over with all the others she was trying not to think about. Three years ago KT had had a coach who really liked making the girls run obstacle courses during practice, no matter how much they complained, “We’re not football players. We’re not soccer players. We don’t usually have to dodge things during games. We just have to run fast. So why are you making us do this?”

  As far as KT could remember, he never gave any better answer than “because I said so.” And then one of the girls had broken her ankle racing through rows of tires, and all the parents had complained, and that was the end of that.

  KT had hated those obstacle courses. She believed running was for straight lines and precise angles: home to first to second to third to home. But now she felt like her brain had turned into that same kind of obstacle course, her mental censor constantly warning her: No, wait—don’t think about anything in this direction! You’ll bump up against what Evangeline said yesterday, about how are you sure you’d still be happy in the real world anyhow . . . No! No! Not that direction either! You’ll start thinking about last night’s dream! . . . And whatever you do, don’t start climbing any web of thoughts that goes from “Max ended up in alt world because he didn’t notice something important” to “Was there something important that I failed to notice too? Or . . .” Stop! Come down from there! Think something else . . .

  Once again KT opted for action instead. She put the basket of balls and the pitching mate back into the garage. She took a shower, brushed her teeth, scarfed down a breakfast she
could barely remember five minutes later. She called up directions to Brecksville South on her iPod: It was five miles away.

  So that shower was a waste of time, she thought, lacing up her running shoes. So what?

  She took off at a fast pace. The problem with running was that it was such a great accompaniment for thinking, and KT didn’t want to think. She kept running faster and faster and faster, trying to outrun her own thoughts.

  So when she arrived at Brecksville South, she was drenched in sweat and panting hard. Tidy, prissy mathletes and their parents gave her startled glances as they streamed past her. A cluster of boys in starched oxford-cloth shirts and precisely ironed khakis waved their hands in front of their faces, as if trying to wave away the smell of her perspiration.

  It’s just good, honest sweat, KT thought, glaring back at them. Get over yourselves.

  Still, she waited outside the school for a few minutes, trying to cool down before she went in to search for Evangeline. She fanned her soaked T-shirt back and forth; she smoothed back the sweaty tendrils of hair that had come loose from her ponytail; she pulled out and re-twisted her ponytail rubber band.

  The constant stream of mathletes heading into the school slowed to a trickle and then stopped. From inside, KT heard a mechanized buzz, probably marking the start of a new tryout session.

  No! KT thought. Now I’ll probably have to wait until Evangeline finishes this session . . . .

  She pushed her way through the front doors and came face to face with a trophy case that was even bigger than the one back at Brecksville North.

  Chemademics champions three years in a row . . . Unbeaten in Geo-find four years in a row . . . The kids at this school must all be as scary-smart as Evangeline!

  KT made herself look away. She followed the excited buzz of crowd noise down the hall toward a cafeteria. The room mostly contained parents conferring nervously over Styrofoam cups of coffee. But there were a few kids scattered here and there doing stress-relieving neck stretches or rattling off warm-up formulas. KT recognized the tension in the air, that combination of panic and fear and exhilaration and hope and dread that she’d always felt at softball tryouts. She felt herself getting keyed up just from the atmosphere.

  “Are you here to try out?” a voice asked behind her.

  KT turned around to see a pack of girls all wearing matching headbands, the wide swaths of fabric covered in numbers and mathematical symbols.

  Really, you think that’s cool? she thought. Really?

  But there was such an air of menace in the way the three girls were standing, like they were warriors honor-bound to defend their turf from intruders like KT.

  “N-no,” KT found herself stammering. “I’m not trying out. I’m just here looking for a friend.”

  The girl at the front of the pack muttered something to the others—KT thought maybe it was “Someone like you would never find a friend here” or “Who’d want to be your friend?” or something like that. The other girls laughed.

  “I hope you get cut in the first round,” KT said. “I hope you flunk out of high school. I hope you’re never academically eligible—I’m sorry, athletically eligible—to play your favorite ac in college.”

  She tossed her head, enjoying the thump of her sweaty ponytail against her back.

  “How dare you—,” the lead girl said, advancing toward KT.

  “Is there a problem here?” a man asked, stepping between them.

  “That girl threatened us!” the two sidekick girls complained in unison.

  The man glanced at KT, then turned his back on her.

  “Sabrina,” he said. “Alexis. Katasha. Focus on the math. Don’t get caught up in any tryout-day drama. Remember what happened the last time?”

  KT walked away from all of them. She was surprised to find that her knees were shaking. She tried to flip around the whole scenario in her head.

  If someone like Evangeline showed up at softball club-team tryouts in the real world, nobody would be mean to her, she thought. Softball girls aren’t nasty like that. Are we?

  It was yet another question she didn’t want to think about.

  KT walked toward a table with a huge sign taped to it proclaiming REGISTER HERE.

  “Name?” the woman behind the table asked automatically without looking up.

  “I’m not trying out,” KT said. “I just want to know which room my, uh, friend is in so I can, uh, cheer her on. Can you look up Evangeline Rangel?”

  Now the woman glanced at KT. She seemed to decide instantly that KT wasn’t some whacked-out opponent of Evangeline’s, like that one Olympic skater who’d arranged to have her top competitor’s leg broken.

  There are some definite advantages to looking like a straight-A student, KT thought.

  “How nice that you support your friends in their acs!” the woman said in an overly sweet voice. She looked at a laptop screen. “Evangeline isn’t in a tryout session right now, but she’s already checked in, and she’ll start in room 109 in twenty minutes. She’s probably back there waiting. It’s down that way, all right?”

  She pointed, but the undertone in her voice seemed to be saying, I’m really not sure you’re bright enough to follow that simple instruction. Not the way you look.

  “Thanks,” KT said. She resisted the urge to tell this woman, I hope your kid washes out at these tryouts. I hope your kid flunks out of high school. I hope your kid never gets to play acs in college. KT already had enough problems as it was.

  She headed down the hallway. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to run into Mom or Dad or Max, so she ducked her head down and turned her face to the side every time she passed a classroom. Still, she could hear the voices spilling out of each room, confident or trembling, filled with fear or hope: “4x over 3 . . .” “Cosine—er, no, I mean tangent . . .” “The area of that rhombus would be . . .”

  Not my scene, KT thought, with a little pang in her heart. Not my people. Not my tribe.

  Such a loud burst of applause came from one room as she passed that KT couldn’t resist peeking in. She almost fell over in surprise at the sight of the kids lined up in the front of the room. KT stood there gaping for a moment, then tugged on the sleeve of an official-looking man standing with a clipboard by the door.

  “That . . . that girl with ‘sixty-four’ pinned to her shirt . . . is that girl named Chelisha?” she asked.

  The man laughed.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “You’ve heard of her, have you? She’s the most amazing mathlete I’ve ever seen. But don’t worry—nobody here’s actually competing with her today. They just brought her in to let everyone see what the kids from this region might eventually be up against, if anyone gets that far. The play in this room is strictly for exhibition purposes.”

  This Chelisha was wearing horn-rimmed glasses and the same kind of “Nerds ‘R’ Us” combination of plaid and argyle as the other mathletes around her. But KT knew it had to be the same amazing batter she’d faced across home plate at the Rysdale Invitational back in the real world. As KT watched, Chelisha bowed her head slightly, accepting the applause. Obviously it was all for her.

  “She . . . she . . . ,” KT stammered.

  “Hey, don’t let it get to you,” the man with the clipboard. “Personally, I think it was a mistake bringing her in today—nerves are already running high enough—but, really, she’s in a class by herself, so you can’t take it personally.” He glanced again at KT. “I hear she’s a really good student, too, so her college scholarship is guaranteed!”

  KT backed away from the man, out of Chelisha’s room. Her head spun. It felt like worlds were colliding.

  It’s not fair for Chelisha to be great at math and softball, KT thought. It means she can be happy in both worlds. And if Evangeline is right, I can’t be happy in either.

  KT didn’t want to think about that. She stumbled to the left, as if physically trying to dodge the thought. But this just made her slam into the hallway wall. She was so dizzy. Sh
e let herself slide down the wall into a crouch.

  “Not fair,” she murmured. “Not fair for her to have so many talents! Not when I only have one!”

  “How can you be so sure?” a voice said above her, echoing oddly in KT’s ringing ears. “When have you ever given anything but softball a chance?”

  Softball! KT thought. Somebody here in this crazy, sports-forsaken alt world actually said the word ‘softball’!

  She looked up eagerly, sending herself into another spiral of dizziness. It took a long moment for the face looking down on her to swing into focus. And when it did, disappointment slammed through KT.

  It was only Evangeline.

  Behind Evangeline, other people were starting to crowd in, asking, “Did she faint?” “Do we need to call an ambulance?” “Have you sent someone for orange juice? If her blood sugar’s low, orange juice will help” and “Can’t she handle the pressure?”

  Evangeline waved them all away.

  “She’s fine! Just give her some air—and some privacy! What are you, a bunch of vultures?”

  She spoke so authoritatively that in seconds the crowd melted away, and KT and Evangeline were left alone in the hall.

  KT blinked up at the other girl.

  “You are . . . on my team,” KT said. “We’re on the same side.”

  “Well, duh,” Evangeline said, shaking her twin pigtails back away from her face. “Couldn’t you tell that yesterday?”

  Chαpter Tωenty-five

  KT sat up a little straighter, outrage winning out over the dizziness.

  “No, Evangeline, I couldn’t tell that yesterday,” she said. “All you did yesterday was make bizarro comments and tell me I couldn’t be happy. And then you shut the door in my face.”

  “I didn’t tell you you couldn’t be happy,” Evangeline said, sitting down beside her. “I said—”

  “I know what you said!” KT exclaimed. She didn’t want to hear it again. “I was—what’s it called?—paraphrasing.”

  “Well, you really should paraphrase accurately,” Evangeline said prissily. “Sloppy thinking can lead to all sorts of disasters and tragedies.”