Thrown a Curve (10 page)

“I’ll be up in a sec!” he said, still looking at me. “Well, uh . . .”

“I’m going to go,” I said. “It’s getting late, and I have to go—I mean, get up early.” I stumbled over my words, which I’d never done with Justin before. I made my way toward the stairs, feeling like my face was on fire.

“Wait, T. I wanna say something.” He hurried up the stairs behind me. But I was out the door before he could say anything. As I walked home in a daze, I wondered what he was going to say. I wondered if I wanted to hear it. It would probably sound something like, “We’re friends. We shouldn’t jeopardize our friendship.”

When I reached my driveway, I thought about what Sacamore had said about opening up. I wondered if what had just happened with Justin counted. I figured it did. Sacamore had said to think about how I felt afterward. Okay, my stomach felt funny, and my hands were shaky. Now, I was done with that assignment.

I opened the door to the kitchen and heard the phone ringing. I grabbed it. “Hello?”

My brother, Brian, was on the other end. “Hey, T. What’s going on?”

I jumped up and sat on the counter. “Hey, Bri. Nothing really.”

“Is Dad around?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I just got here,” I answered.

“Well, could you find out?” he said.

“Hang on,” I said, placing the phone on the counter and hopping down. I walked to the bottom of the stairs and yelled, “Dad!” No answer.

I jogged back to the phone. “I guess he took Danny somewhere. Pizza probably.”

“All right, just tell him I called, okay?”

“No problem,” I said.

“Hey, before you go, what’s this I hear about you playing baseball?”

Brian, interested in my life?
What a shocker! “Who told you that? Dad?”

“No, Danny. He said you’re pitching for the varsity. Is it true?”

“It’s a long story, but it’s true.”

There was a long pause before he said uncomfortably, “Well, good for you. Just be careful.”

I laughed and said, “What, are you getting protective in your old age?”

“Ha, ha, dork. Seriously, there are some real jerks on high school teams.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Is Tucker Bratton’s little brother on the team? What’s his name . . . uh, Rick?”

I felt sick just hearing his name. “Yeah, he is,” I said disgustedly. “Why?”

“Eh, Tucker and I got into it a few times. We were always battling over who would start at first base. Plus, his dad played
against our dad in college, so I guess there’s a little rivalry there. He’s not giving you a hard time, is he?”

Besides dating the girl who hates me, turning everyone on the team against me, and throwing gum into my hair—no, none at all. I considered telling Brian the truth. But I didn’t want him to think I was a baby. I was just happy he was talking to me.

“Nah. He’s not my favorite person, but he’s okay.”

“Okay, T. I gotta run. Let me know if you need any advice. ’cause, you know, I was like the best ball player that school has ever seen.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Later, loser.”

“Bye, dork.”

O
n Friday, when I walked into his office for my weekly therapy session with Sacamore, he was sitting at his desk, staring out the window. What a strange guy!

“Hello?” I said.

He turned to look at me and smiled. “Hi, Taylor. I forgot it was Friday.”

“Oh, I can leave if you’re busy.”

“Nice try. Have a seat.” As I sat down, he said, “Tell me what’s new. How did the homework assignment go?”

I thought back to what had happened in Justin’s basement. I wasn’t going to say anything about Justin. Besides, Sacamore had said I didn’t have to. I stood there for a moment, flushed, and said, “I thought I didn’t have to tell you about it.”

He rocked back on his chair. “You don’t,” he answered, “but you just did.”

Time to change the subject, I figured, so I scrambled for something else to talk about. “I pitched my first game this week,” I said, wondering if that was a good enough diversion from talking about Justin.

“Yes, I know. Do you feel good about that?”

Here we go again with the “how I feel” crap. “It was okay. I didn’t lose or win. The score was tied when I stopped pitching,
but then the relief pitcher let in some runs, and we lost.” I sighed. “No one wants me on the team, though. All the guys hate me. They pretty much ignore me.” I was trying to act as if it didn’t bother me.

“Does that bother you—that no one’s rooting for you?”

“I’m used to it,” I answered quickly.

“What do you mean?”

I thought about how nobody at home or at school cared about me or knew I existed, except for Justin and Danny. I started thinking about what had happened at Justin’s house the other night. That had given me a bigger thrill than making the varsity baseball team. I was playing on a team where no one cheered for me, a team that tried to pretend I wasn’t even there.

“Taylor, what do you mean you’re used to it?”

“Mr. Sacamore,” I said. “Look at me. I’m just a plain old student. I get average grades. I have bad hair, bad clothes. No one notices me. I made the varsity baseball team, and still no one looks at me in the hall. In fact, most people look away when they see me coming. I’m some sort of a misfit freak.”

Sacamore just sat there, waiting for me to keep going. I felt like I was going to cry, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I slumped back in the chair and kicked at my book bag. We sat in silence until the bell rang. Man, this guy pissed me off.

“See you next week,” he said as I stormed out the door.

I headed toward the cafeteria. Why did that guy have to make me talk about what a loser I was? How was this helping me? He should’ve told me how to
not
be a loser. I felt sick to my
stomach, so I decided to go out to the courtyard to get some air. When I reached the door, I saw Stacy and her group of followers, and they were blocking the exit.

“Scuse me,” I said, trying to slip by without being noticed. I did
not
feel like dealing with her right now. I was in no mood at all for it.

“There’s no excuse for you,” she said, laughing with her friends and not moving from the door. “So, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you on making the varsity baseball team.”

I waited, crossing my arms. This ought to be good.

She turned to her friends, giggling. “When you have no mother, I guess you turn into a boy.”

I felt my face growing hot. Did she just say my
mother
? I felt a burning pain inside my chest, and I wanted to scream or run or hit something. What did
she
know about my mother? I heard the girls laughing around me. I glared at Stacy. Why
did
my mother leave? Stacy’s head was turned toward her friends.

“Stacy, I’m really getting tired of your crap,” I said, letting my book bag slide to the floor.

She turned back toward me. “Well, I’m getting tired of you always being around wherever I go. I can’t even go to Rick’s games without seeing you. Is being on the baseball team your twisted way of finding a boyfriend?”

I started to raise my voice. “If you knew what was good for you, you’d just stop talking,” I said as menacingly as I could.

She moved closer to me and jabbed her finger into my shoulder, poking it over and over as she said, “If you knew what
was good for you, you’d stay out of my face.”

“Get your hands off me,” I growled, pushing her arm away from my shoulder.

“Or what? You’re going to hit—”

Before she could finish, I swung a hard right toward her made-up face. My fist hit her perfect cheekbone with a loud smack. She screamed and fell to the floor, sniffling and grabbing her face.

“Excuse me,” I said calmly, my hands trembling. I grabbed my book bag and darted out the door.

I found refuge on the bleachers at the Little League park. No one else was there, so I sat and stared at the empty field. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting there, when I turned to see Justin climbing the bleachers. He sat down beside me and took off his hat.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Tough day at the office, huh?” he said seriously.

“I guess you heard.”

“Oh,
everybody
heard. What in the world happened, T?”

I sighed deeply. “I just couldn’t take it any more. Why does that bitch torture me?” I began to get choked up.

Justin moved closer to me and bumped me with his shoulder. “Don’t let her bug you. She’s just jealous.”

“Yeah, right.”

“She is. You have the guts to do things she wouldn’t do because it doesn’t fit into her girlie social world. It’s easier to make fun of someone for being different than to be different yourself.”

I didn’t say anything. He kind of sounded like Sacamore. I knew Justin was trying to make me feel better, and it was sort of working.

“Can I ask you a question, Justin?” I glanced over at him.

“What?”

“Why do you hang out with me?”

“Taylor, what kind of question is that?”

I stared out into the empty field. “Seriously. I mean, I’m a freakin’ disaster. I’m not fun to be around. I’m miserable all the time. And all I do is complain. Why would anyone want to be friends with me?”

“You have your happy moments,” he said.

“I can’t remember the last one. Can you? I think you must enjoy torture or something, spending all this time with me.”

I slid back onto the bleachers so my butt was on the footrest. I felt defeated.

Justin slid back to match my posture. “I’ll tell you why I hang out with you, T, but I don’t want you to think it’s pity, ’cause it’s not.”

“What?” I said. What did he mean by
pity
?

“Well, I don’t think you were old enough to remember this,” he said, “but I guess I was about seven, and you were about
five at the time.”

I sat and listened, confused.

Justin continued his story. “We were at one of those block party picnics with all the neighborhood families. It was probably pretty soon after your mom left. Your dad was throwing a baseball with your brother, Brian, and you were watching, waiting for your turn. After a long time waiting, you ran over and picked up the ball they were using. You had the biggest smile on your face, and you were about to throw the ball when your dad stormed over and grabbed it from your hand. He said, ‘Taylor, Daddy and Brian are playing.’ You were so hurt, you went and sat behind a tree and cried. I remember thinking how messed up that was, even though I was only seven. I felt really bad for you. I walked over and asked if you wanted me to push you on the swings. I put you on a swing and pushed you until you laughed so hard you got the hiccups.”

“I don’t remember that,” I said.

“I do,” he said softly.

“So, the reason you’re my friend is you feel bad for me ’cause my dad’s a jerk?”

“No, that’s not why. I knew you’d misunderstand,” he said, shaking his head. He took a deep breath. “Listen, the reason I hang out with you is because that day, when I made you laugh, I felt really happy. And I guess I like that feeling. Making you happy makes me feel like I’m on top of the world. I know it’s weird, but it’s true. I want you to be happy.” He reached for my hand. “Can’t you be happy, T?”

I sat back up onto the seat and thought about what Justin had just said. He slid back up next to me. “You’re crazy,” I said. “And why do we keep ending up holding hands?”

“’cause it makes you smile,” he answered. And then it happened—practically in slow motion. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek, and then slowly moved his mouth to kiss mine. And I kissed him back.

It wasn’t like striking out a batter, but it was pretty darn close.