Throwing Like a Girl (18 page)

I’m like, Dad, settle down.

Later, in bed, I try not to think about Nate. Or starting in tomorrow’s game. Or Rocky’s talk with her brother tonight. Or Sally’s anger. Instead, I think about sailing out of Belmont Harbor onto Lake Michigan—my hand on the tiller, the wind at my back, the sail open wide.

I see Rocky in the hallway after Spanish class. A teacher has cornered her by the activities board. I’ve seen this teacher corralling little ones from the library to the lower school—she must be talking about Mikey. How rude that someone would interrupt Rocky’s day, the only time she doesn’t have to act like the mother. It couldn’t wait until after school?

I walk up and stand to the side of them, waiting for the teacher to finish. She’s ranting about a fight between Mikey and a girl in class. Rocky glances at me and grimaces.

The teacher steps back. “Well, Racquel, I’ll let you return to class. Do I need to call your father or do you want to take care of this at home?”

“I’ll take care of it. Thanks for letting me know,” she says quietly.

The teacher gives me the once-over and walks off.

I stare at Rocky wide-eyed. “Racquel?”

“Thank God Anthony couldn’t pronounce it when he was a baby.”

We start walking. “That teacher is such a loser,” I say.

Rocky shrugs. “It’s easier to talk to me than my father. Plus, they get immediate results. Whatever. It’s better if he’s not involved.”

“Why? He’s your father.”

“He doesn’t know how to deal with the disciplinary things. I mean, he used to. Maybe he’s not around enough, you know?”

But I don’t think I know. We stop in front of one of the science labs.

Rocky says, “This is me.”

“How’d it go last night? Did you talk to Anthony?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you all about it at lunch.”

In line at the cafeteria, Rocky and I shuffle down to the register with our trays. Frannie and Mo are already at a table by the back windows. I’m desperate not to add more tension to my friendship with them. “We can tell them,” I say to Rocky.

She looks at me.

“You can trust them.”

“It’s personal,” Rocky says. “I don’t want everyone to know.”

“Everyone around here knows everything anyway.”

She groans. “Okay.”

We get to the table and put down our trays. Frannie and Mo beam at Rocky because she really is a rock star.

“We’ve got some news,” I say to them. Without looking at Rocky, I keep on, “Rocky is making arrangements with her family to try to play softball again.”

After a pause, Frannie says, “May I be the first to welcome you back to the team?”

Rocky shakes her head and laughs. “Oh, please. We’re a long way from that.”

“So what happened when you told Anthony?” I ask.

“He was totally supportive. He acted like he didn’t know this
was a big thing for me. He’s like, “You only played in eighth grade, how could I know it was so important?’ And I told him, “Anthony, I played in eighth
and
ninth grade. I was good. The school paper wrote articles about how I was gonna be the future powerhouse.’ Of course, he doesn’t remember all that because he was being written about, too. Even in the off-season.” She rolls her eyes.

“Anyway, he said he’d do whatever he could—rearrange his schedule, pick up the kids, whatever.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s great.”

“He also said I should tell Dad immediately.”

“Did you?”

She spoons yogurt into her mouth. “I called Aunt Rita instead.”

“Mother’s sister or father’s?” Mo asks.

“Mother’s,” Rocky says. She nods at Mo like she appreciates being asked that detail. “She and my father don’t exactly see eye-to-eye on things, and when she used to take care of us, they hardly spoke to each other. It was bad.”

“So, what did she say when you told her?” Frannie asks around a mouthful of sandwich.

“She remembered everything. All about my games and how well I did. That it was the first thing that made me happy after my mother died. But she has her own family. She had to start being
their
mom again.”

“Does she want to help out?” I ask, getting to the point.

“She does. She’s really excited for me. But, she also said I have to talk to my father.” Rocky stares into her empty yogurt carton.

“How about we talk to Coach? Get everything in place, and
then you can present it to your father knowing that you’re just waiting for his green light,” I say.

Rocky nods her head. “Okay. That sounds like a plan.”

After lunch, I pass Nate on the quad with his penny-burning buddies. I try not to look at him, but I see from the corner of my eye that he’s coming my way.

“Hey,” he says, all out of breath and so alive that it nearly knocks me over. He’s holding an envelope in his hand.

A letter for me? Did he write down whatever he wants to tell me?

“I went home for lunch today to pick this up. You know what it is?”

I shake my head.

“It’s a letter from the director of admissions at Southern Methodist University.”

“Oh.” And then I get what he’s saying. “
Oh
.”

He nods. “Yeah, I got accepted! I’m going to SMU in the fall.” He’s literally shining he’s so happy.

“That’s really awesome, Nate. Congratulations.”

A soccer ball floats his way. He takes one step and effortlessly heads the ball back to the middle of the quad. Of course, he can do anything. “Gotta go. I just wanted to tell you,” he says.

That’s it? That’s all he has to say? Does he want to be my friend or not? I mean, I never understood why he seemed so interested in me. I’m a sophomore. I don’t know anyone. I don’t talk in class. I don’t have hip clothes. Was it just for the Marriage Project? There’s no other explanation, I decide. So I wave as he goes back onto the quad. As I approach the doors of the upper school, I think I see him watching me, and it makes me kind of sad.

In the library at the end of the school day, with all my books spread out in front of me, I’m trying to mentally prepare myself for starting in my first game. It’s scary. The construction workers will be there. My parents will be there. Even if I’d told Nate, he wouldn’t have believed me, so I don’t have to worry about him being there. But still, a lot of people will be watching. Some of my teachers might come. And Mack Elliot.

I pack up my books and whip down to the bathroom. Just as I’m about to pee, some girls come in and I get stage fright. The girls are in mid-conversation, and I immediately recognize Sally Fontineau’s voice.

“Why would anyone apply to a college in the same town that he lives?
Who does that?
”

She must be talking about Nate, although I didn’t know SMU was in Dallas.

“But you said your dad went there,” Joy says.

“So? Does he want to please my father? That’s even worse. He says he wants to get into advertising. Why? I don’t know. I don’t think he even knows what advertising is. And also, is there really a degree in advertising?”

Gwen and Joy laugh. I can hear them changing into their uniforms, pulling on their socks and cleats. They don’t even get into a stall. They don’t care if anyone sees them. I hold my breath, start to sweat, pray they don’t hear me.

“And get this: After college he apparently wants to live and work in Dallas.
Dallas
. Doesn’t he want to go somewhere different? Doesn’t he want to see the world? Like at least Tulsa or Houston?”

“But Sally, he’ll be around. Won’t that be nice for you?” Joy says.

No answer. I don’t try to look through the crack of the stall door. I don’t want to see her reaction. But I think I can guess.

Even if he lives on campus she’ll know he’s there, close by, and she can get him if she needs him. And she does. Whatever’s going on at home and in the rest of her world, it’s too much for Sally to handle alone. I’ve figured out that much, at least.

I know the feeling. Not that I have any rights to Nate, but I’ve discovered that people can fall into your life, even if it’s for a short time, and you might not be sure what they mean or why they appeared, but there they are. You can depend on them. Like Rocky. And Frannie and Mo. And Coach. I know I can count on them.

And it makes me understand why Sally can’t say anything back to Joy. It’s scary to need people.

Then, as fast as they came in, they grab their things and run off, leaving me undiscovered and late for warm-up.

We lose our game in the last inning. The good news is that I play the whole time and don’t make one error. I get three hits, but unfortunately none of them count. So, Sue Bee informs me that I didn’t actually
get
three hits. (I want her to explain, but decide to stick to my less humiliating online resources.) One was a popup, caught by the shortstop, and the other ones were grounders, and I got thrown out at first by the second baseman and again by the shortstop. I gave Short the evil eye but I don’t think she noticed.

The clincher to losing the game was my mother. She arrived wearing that stupid polka-dot scarf she wore to the first game we lost. I told her never to wear it again, but she always forgets things like this.

After the game my parents come over. I say, “Mom, that’s the bad-luck scarf.”

She looks confused and then, “Oh, Ella. Sorry.”

My dad goes off to talk to Coach like they’re old friends. There’s a line of people wanting to talk to her and shake her hand—parents and teachers—so my father gets into a conversation with Mack Elliot.

I stare at him, trying to tell him telepathically that he needs to
stop talking to everyone in the whole world. Just as I’m focusing on my father, my mother asks, “Why isn’t Rocky playing? She’s helping you so much, and she’s really good.” My mother watches me carefully. “Is there a reason she isn’t on the team?”

“You mean besides the fact she doesn’t have a mother?” I say this gruffly because I explained it the first time Rocky and I threw at our house.

“Eleanor Kessler, you will not speak to me that way. I’m asking a question, not insulting you. You don’t have to be defensive with every response.”

I can see her point. But I don’t say so.

She says, “I know she has responsibilities at home. You told me all that and about carpooling her brothers and sister. I’m asking, is there any way she could play softball, too?”

My mother has this uncanny ability to understand situations. I hadn’t planned to tell her about our scheme until Rocky had spoken to her family.

My father has his back to us. He and Mack Elliot point at the Peyton Plastics building, which has made considerable progress.

I turn back to my mother. “It’s funny you ask about that.”

“Why?”

“Because I think she should be playing, too. She used to, and she was a superstar.”

My mother smiles as if she completely understands. “So, what’s the plan?”

I can’t believe I’m telling her this. I feel like I’ve hardly told her anything else about my life since we moved here. “Well,” I say. “She’s already talked to her older brother and her aunt, and they’re going to help out.”

“What about her father? What does he say?”

I raise my eyebrows.

“She hasn’t told him? She
has
to tell him.”