Game Changer

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  “Like me getting sent here?” KT asked.

  Evangeline fixed her with a steady look.

  “When you step back and look at the big picture,” she said slowly, “you may have a totally different view of your own particular tragedy.”

  My own tragedy? KT wanted to say. Are you saying that there’s more to it than this?

  But she couldn’t ask that, because what if Evangeline answered?

  “It’s really hard to follow what you’re saying,” KT complained instead.

  “I get that a lot,” Evangeline admitted. “Even in this world.” She bit her lip. “I really would have thought it’d be different here.”

  Is Evangeline admitting that she did create this world? KT wondered. And that she made mistakes? Is it her fault that I’m here? Am I feeling guilty for nothing?

  Somehow KT couldn’t bring herself to ask any of these questions either.

  She swiped her hand across her forehead, wiping away clamminess this time, not sweat.

  “There’s a girl in there,” she began, pointing toward the room she’d just left. “Chelisha. In the real world she’s an awesome batter, and she was the last batter I faced before blacking out and waking up in this wacko world. Should I go say something to her? Ask her to send me back? Is she the key to me getting home?”

  Evangeline frowned and shook her head.

  “You don’t listen very well, do you?” she asked. “Are you even paying attention? This isn’t about Chelisha.”

  Paying attention, KT thought. Max talked about paying attention . . . .

  She remembered that she’d originally come here to tell Evangeline about Max.

  “Max found his way home,” she said. “Back to the real world. At least—I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. He’s all right, don’t you think?”

  She hadn’t realized she was going to ask that.

  “I think Max had the best chance of any of us for getting back safely,” Evangeline said. “I think he had the least to overcome.”

  This wasn’t what KT would have expected Evangeline to say.

  “Well, if you want to follow after him, I saw him make the change, and I think I know what happened,” KT said. “He figured out how he got here in the first place, and, boom! Just like that he switched back.”

  “ENNH,” Evangeline said, making a sound like a buzzer in mathletics. “Your hypothesis is incorrect.”

  “It’s not a hypothesis!” KT insisted. “It’s fact! It’s observation! It’s . . .” She sighed. “Why do you think I’m wrong?”

  “Think, KT,” Evangeline said.

  That was the last thing KT wanted to do.

  Now it was Evangeline’s turn to sigh. She leaned back against the wall.

  “I know you’re wrong,” she began, “because I also figured out how I got here in the first place. But did I change back? No. Two test subjects, same variable, different results—ergo—”

  “Don’t turn this into a science problem!” KT complained. “This is real life I’m talking about!”

  “Hmm. That may not be the first ‘given’ you want to start with,” Evangeline said. “In science you need to test every assumption—”

  “Stop it! Speak English!” KT commanded. “If I’m so wrong, how do you think Max got out of here?”

  “Okay, okay!” Evangeline said, waving her hands defensively in front of her. “Here’s what I think: It’s not enough to remember what got you here. You must also accept what got you here.”

  KT opened her mouth to argue. Then she shut it. She remembered the expression on Max’s face that morning when he’d cried out, I remember it all now! That is what happened!

  “He got hit in the head with a softball at one of my games,” KT said.

  “See? Not such a terrible thing to have to accept,” Evangeline said gently. “As long as the ball wasn’t moving too fast.”

  KT squirmed uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how hard the floor was beneath her.

  What if . . .

  She didn’t let herself finish the thought.

  “I think mostly Max just felt stupid that he let the ball hit him,” KT said, filling in the silence. “Because he was zoning out, playing some idiotic handheld game . . .”

  “I see,” Evangeline said. “Stupid, yeah, but hopefully not tragic.”

  KT didn’t like that word echoing between them: tragic, tragic . . .

  “So if you know so much, what’d you do to get here?” KT asked. “Let me guess, what’s tragic for someone like you? Oh, I know—did you get a ninety-nine instead of one hundred on some test? Or, wait, coming here must have been a reward for you, a prize, so—”

  “No,” Evangeline said, her voice slashing across KT’s rush of words. “This is pretty much torture for me. Because I know it isn’t real. Because it reminds me again and again what I’ll probably never have, because of what I did.”

  “Which was?” KT asked.

  Evangeline looked down. After a moment she let out a soft sigh.

  “I did write an e-mail to the principal and the athletic director and all the teachers and coaches,” she began slowly. “And after that, it wasn’t just kids who acted mean to me. It was, like, some of the adults turned on me, too, you know?”

  “I know,” KT said grimly. “The same thing happened to me in this world.”

  Evangeline dipped her head farther down and then back up, accepting this.

  “I was desperate,” Evangeline said. “I started using faulty logic. I thought, if my problem is that I’m too smart for everyone, I just . . . won’t be that smart. So I flunked this big math test on purpose, something that’s going to go on my high school record—”

  “Because you’re taking classes years ahead of everyone else,” KT said. “Right?”

  Evangeline nodded again. Her shoulders slumped, as if bowed by shame.

  “As soon as I walked out of that test, I knew I’d made a big mistake. The kind of colleges I’d want to go to—MIT, Caltech, Harvard, places like that—it’s not enough to be a genius. You have to be a genius and perfect!” Evangeline said.

  “Couldn’t you have just talked to the teacher? Retaken the test?” KT asked.

  “Not in that class,” Evangeline muttered.

  KT guessed the standards for grades in high school must be higher than in middle school.

  “Then couldn’t you just retake the class and replace the grade?” KT asked. “Maybe you’d be a little bored, and you’d just be two years ahead instead of three, but—good grief! You’re only in seventh grade! How could a college expect you to already be perfect by seventh grade?”

  “Where were you when I needed all this good advice?” Evangeline asked, and it only halfway seemed as though she was joking.

  “Probably out on some softball field,” KT muttered. “But hey, I’ve got your back now! There—problem solved!”

  Evangeline shook her head.

  “That’s not the end of it,” she said grimly. “That afternoon I went home, and I was so upset I started a chemistry experiment in the garage to cheer myself up.”

  KT decided not to point out that this was hardly the typical seventh-grader pick-me-up. She looked around.

  “So you created this whole alternate world as a science experiment in your garage to cheer yourself up?” she asked.

  “No, no—listen,” Evangeline said. But it was a moment before she went on. And when she did, her voice was different, as if every word she spoke threatened to choke her. “I don’t know, I guess I was too angry to measure everything carefully. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was in no condition to work with dangerous chemicals. Because what happened after that was . . . I kind of . . . I blew up the whole garage.”

  KT gasped.

  “Were you okay?” she asked.

  Evangeline flashed her a disgusted look.

  “The garage roof fell on me,” she said. “How could I possibly have been okay? Would I have ended up here if everything was okay?”

  Evan
geline didn’t create this world, KT thought. At least—not on purpose. Not any more than I did.

  “So you know all this about how you got here, and, and . . . you’re fighting with everything you’ve got not to go back home, aren’t you?” KT asked.

  “Exactly,” Evangeline said. “What if it turns out that I injured my brain somehow? All I ever was, was smart. What if it turns out that I’m not even smart anymore, back in the real world?”

  And, KT thought, what if it turns out that I . . .

  KT shut down this line of reasoning instantly.

  “So you can just live the rest of your life in this alternate world,” KT offered Evangeline. “You’re happy here. It’s designed just for you! You’re the star!”

  “KT,” Evangeline said gently, “this isn’t a real place. I’m not sure how much longer it can last. For either of us.”

  KT didn’t have anything to say to that.

  A man with a clipboard walked down the hallway.

  “Three-minute warning!” he called out. “Three minutes until the next tryout session starts!”

  Evangeline darted forward, surprising KT by drawing her into a hug. Then she let go.

  “You know, I was kind of jealous of you, back in the real world,” Evangeline admitted. “Sometimes I watched you and your friends in the school cafeteria . . .”

  “What? Why?” KT asked, stunned all over again. “I wasn’t that popular. I wasn’t like the cheerleaders and the football players or, I don’t know, the student-body president. I wasn’t even that smart!”

  “Oh, the cheerleaders and the football players and the student-body president were miserable—why would I be jealous of them?” Evangeline said. “I watched them, too, and you could tell. They were always worried about what other people thought of them. They were always trying to be somebody they weren’t—skinnier or prettier or funnier . . . . You didn’t care what anybody thought. You were just happy being yourself.”

  “I was always trying to be a better softball player,” KT corrected her. “I wasn’t happy unless I won.”

  Evangeline laughed.

  “Well, you almost always won, didn’t you? That’s all I saw,” she said. She stood up. “Come talk to me after tryouts. I mean, if you’re still here.”

  KT felt dizzier than ever.

  If you’re still here, if you’re still here, if you’re still here . . .

  Where else could she possibly go?

  Chαpter Twenty-six

  Evangeline turned away and started walking toward room 109. Kids and parents began pouring out of the other classrooms, switching between tryout sessions.

  Can’t stay in this hallway, KT thought dazedly. Might run into Mom or Dad or that awful version of Max.

  She couldn’t face any of them right now.

  She sprinted into a side hallway that didn’t seem to be in use. She dashed all the way down to the end and pushed out the door. She was behind the school now.

  KT had been to Brecksville South before for softball games, and it was almost as big of a jolt here as at her own school to see a blank, open lawn where the sports fields were supposed to be. KT took off running: running away from the missing softball diamond and the missing soccer fields and the missing football stadium and track; running away from everything Evangeline had told her; running away from everything she didn’t want to figure out on her own.

  Somehow it had gotten colder since KT had last been outside—evidently it was going to be one of those days where the temperature dropped all day long. Stepping in and out of shadows, KT could feel the pale, weak sunshine trying to warm things up, and completely failing.

  Oh, well, it’s not even spring yet, KT thought. But we’re almost there. And spring’s always the best time to play softball . . .

  Except, maybe not this year. If what Evangeline said was true—if what KT herself was trying not to think was true—then KT might not even get to play softball this spring. Not at all. Not even if she found her way back to the real world.

  No! KT thought, almost doubling over in pain. No!

  She straightened up, put on a burst of speed.

  That thought had sneaked up on her. She wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  I’ll . . . I’ll try again to come up with a way to play softball here in this world, KT thought. I won’t use Facebook this time where I ruined things by sounding creepy. I’ll go old-school—I’ll put signs up all over town. I’ll send letters to all the middle schools in the area. Maybe to the high schools too. That’ll work!

  But she could hear Evangeline’s voice echoing in her head, saying: This isn’t a real place. I’m not sure how much longer it can last. For either of us. No matter how hard KT tried, it was possible that she wouldn’t get a chance to play softball here. She might run out of time.

  But this world feels real! KT told herself. I have on real running shoes! My feet are pounding real pavement!

  And yet as soon as she thought that, everything around her started seeming less real. In reality you didn’t have to keep reminding yourself what was real. More and more, her easy strides felt like running in a dream. The scenery flowing past her—houses, trees, grass, street, cars—seemed blurry and indistinct.

  And . . . slightly unreal.

  KT’s pace flagged. In her mind she let herself inch toward one of the forbidden obstacles, one of the thoughts she’d been trying not to think.

  How bad could things actually be in the real world? she thought. She let herself remember the flash she’d gotten again and again, the sense that she’d been hurt somehow, was maybe even in the hospital. Even if it’s a broken bone—bones heal. Athletes get injured all the time. And sure, they might have to miss some practices and games—or even a whole season—and that’s awful, but they go through rehab and physical therapy and then they’re back, good as new.

  Even if it was something truly horrible—even if KT had been in some sort of accident where she’d lost a limb, an arm or a leg—well, even that wouldn’t stop her from playing softball. She’d just become a standout wheelchair athlete, or she’d be like that baseball pitcher who lost his right arm to cancer and started pitching left-handed instead.

  How could I have lost an arm or a leg? KT wondered. The last thing I remember in the real world, all I was doing was throwing a ball.

  Her mind skittered away from that thought, and she started running faster again, so fast she didn’t have room in her mind for anything but Stride forward. Pump your arms. Run! Run! Run!

  An unwanted thought crept in anyway.

  What if I wasn’t the one who got terribly hurt?

  Would a girl get banned from the game if she’d thrown a softball that maimed or even killed her little brother? If that happened, even if she was allowed, would she ever want to play again?

  KT tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and plunged forward. She was going too fast to catch herself, but she fell crooked and started sliding. The rough cement underneath her scraped all along her right arm and leg.

  “Blood,” KT whispered, looking down at her arm. “Real blood.”

  She wanted to think about that, wanted to concentrate on pressing her T-shirt against the wounds, holding her arm up until the bleeding stopped. But a whole scenario had unfolded in her mind right before she tripped, and KT found that she couldn’t push it out again.

  Max was certain that he’d been hit in the head with a softball at the Rysdale Invitational championship game. He knew that that was what sent him into this alternate world. And I know that, right before I blacked out, I threw a ball. It was supposed to go to first base, but it was a wild throw. What if my throw went into the stands? What if it hit Max?

  KT remembered what Evangeline had said about Max getting hit: Not such a terrible thing to have to accept. As long as the ball wasn’t moving too fast.

  KT threw hard.

  Evangeline didn’t act like Max had really been in any great danger, KT reminded herself, trying to calm herself down. She said Max had
the least to overcome of any of us.

  But Evangeline didn’t know much about softball. She was probably fooled by the name: Softballs weren’t actually all that soft. There had been cases of people hit by softballs getting seriously injured or even killed.

  Mostly pitchers, KT told herself, even as her heart beat faster. Pitchers standing at close range, right in front of a ball flying out from a bat after a really hard hit . . .

  A batted ball could go so much faster than one thrown accidentally into the stands.

  It’d be such a freaky accident, to have Max get seriously hurt from my throw, KT told herself.

  But freaky things happened. Hadn’t this last week proved that to KT?

  This past week wasn’t real, she told herself, and it was strange how that had become a comforting thought.

  Wasn’t it freaky to begin with that KT had been so incredibly good at softball? Didn’t that prove that really unlikely things could happen?

  Even though she was still bleeding, KT scrambled up and started running again. But she couldn’t seem to get up enough speed to outrun anything anymore.

  In that dream I had—Dad wasn’t saying anything about Max being hurt, KT told herself. He was saying, “If KT can’t play softball ever again . . .”

  What if Dad hadn’t been talking about a physical problem? What if he meant, psychologically, that she’d never be able to play again?

  It’s just a game, KT told herself. I’d give it up in a heartbeat if it meant nothing bad really happened to Max.

  KT was surprised to find that thought in her brain—it was something else that had just crept up on her.

  But it’s true, isn’t it? she thought in wonderment. Wouldn’t I give up softball if I had to, to save Max’s life?

  KT wouldn’t have even thought to ponder such a dilemma before. Softball had always just automatically mattered more than anything else.

  Oh, please. Don’t let that be the choice, KT thought.

  She realized she was trying to bargain with God, or whoever was in control of the real world—or both worlds. But what good was that? Even if she’d played some role in conjuring up this alternate universe, she couldn’t control it. And, she knew now, neither could Evangeline.