A Long Pitch Home (20 page)

Hira tugs on Olivia's sleeve. “Let's go!”

Ten minutes later we're trudging down the street toward the park. Jalaal and Olivia take turns pulling Hira on one sled, and Jordan and I tote her two sleds behind us.

Jalaal nods at Jordan. “Judging by that snowball fight, it looks like you're keeping up that pitching arm.”

Jordan shrugs. “My uncle practices with me sometimes. He's pretty busy with work, though.”

“Hey.” Jalaal glances at me like I've given him an idea. “Jordan, you should come to the indoor batting cages with us sometime,” he says. “I've been meaning to take Bilal.”

Jordan grins. “That would be great!”

It would be great; I could learn a lot from her. But why did Jalaal have to suggest a place so public? What if other guys from our team come by?

“Bilal?” Jalaal is obviously waiting for me to speak.

“What? Batting cages? Oh—I mean, great. Or we could maybe practice in our backyard, or yours.”

Where no one can see me practicing with a girl—the girl who also happens to be the MVP of a team that doesn't like her.

Jordan's smile dims a shade.

“Look!” Hira points toward the park and the hill dotted with kids in colorful winter jackets. When we get to the top, we peer down the steep side, where all the big kids are. There must be fifty people here—sledding down the center of the hill, picking themselves up at the bottom, or pulling their sleds back up for another run.

Jalaal tells Hira she'll have to stick with the gentler hill on the other side, and I expect her to protest. But judging by her wide eyes and clenched jaw as she grips the saucer sled, I think the smaller hill is perfect for her.

Jalaal and Olivia offer to stay with Hira so Jordan and I can tackle the big slope.

Jordan stuffs the tops of her gloves into the cuffs of her sleeves and pulls her hat down over her ears. “Wanna race?”

Of course I do.

We each settle into a sled, bits of snow falling from our boots onto the slick orange plastic. I brace my feet against the curved lip of the sled and grab the yellow rope, wrapping it once around my gloves.

“On your mark.” Jordan's eyes narrow. “Get set.” She looks down the hill. If these sleds had engines, they'd be revving up loud and long.

“Go!” I say, laughing at her surprise as I steal a head start. After all, this is my first time ever on a sled.

She passes me one second later. Her gloved hands paw the snowy ground faster and faster. I do the same, but as I catch up to her, she reaches for the edge of my sled. I yank on my rope to steer the sled from her path, but I lean too far. My sled tips over, spraying snow down the hill and into my face. Jordan's sled speeds ahead, but when she raises her arms in victory, she loses her balance and tumbles into the snow.

“Ha!” I say, throwing a snowball that splats against her knee. She returns a snowball of her own, and soon we're laughing and dodging and it almost feels like the fun I used to have with Mudassar. Only with snow.

My arm is pulled back, ready to let another snowball fly, when I hear my name.

It's Henry and Akash.

“Hey, Bilal,” Akash says. He gives Jordan a nod, and her smile disappears.

“Hi, guys,” I say, catching my breath.

“So,” Henry says. “You want to sled with us?” He folds his arms across his chest.

He doesn't look at Jordan.

“Sure,” I say, meaning we can all sled together.

Jordan picks up her sled. “I got to go.” She brushes the snow off her jacket.

I want to tell her to stay, but I can see the guys don't want her to. They don't say it, but Jordan must know, too.

She turns to leave.

“Wait!” I hold out her sled.

She shakes her head. “Just drop it off at my house when you're done.”

“Thank you,” I call after her, hoping she'll change her mind and stay.

She doesn't.

“Come on, man,” Henry says. “You'll have way more fun with us.”

We sled for another hour, and the funny thing is I don't have more fun with them; in fact, I don't have much fun at all. As they slide down the hill, they shout things I don't know: words like “
Banzai!
” and phrases that don't make sense, like, “You're going down, sucker!”

Aren't we all going down the hill?

Although I would never admit this to anyone, I wish the guys had never showed up. Sledding was a lot more fun with Jordan.

 Twenty

I
t's official: I don't need ESL class anymore. When I left Mr. Jacobs's room yesterday for the last time, he high-fived me on my way out the door. “Bilal! This is it, my man!”

But to tell the truth, I am going to miss ESL. In Mr. Jacobs's class, I felt smart. In Mrs. Wu's class, I still don't understand everything. But Mr. Jacobs says I understand enough. I hope he is right.

Today is a holiday called Valentine's Day, so Mrs. Wu says my first full day in her class won't be a typical one. I was happy to learn we have another holiday, until I found out we don't have a day off from school for this one. Also, it's all about hearts and love, red and pink, and some white paper lace called
doilies
.

In other words, it is a holiday made for Hira.

I had to buy valentines for everyone in my class, sign them, fold them over, and close them up with a sticker. We also had to decorate a box at home to hold the valentines. Mrs. Wu said we could decorate it any way we wanted, so mine is covered with drawings of baseballs and cricket balls.

For my first official language arts lesson, Mrs. Wu brings out a jar of candy hearts. Some kids applaud; others ask if they can eat some. She holds up a hand. “Today we'll be talking about imperative statements.”

Impera-what statements? Maybe I left ESL too soon.

“Who wants to choose a heart from the jar?”

Mrs. Wu calls on José. “Choose a heart, but no peeking!”

José dips his hand into the jar and pulls out a pink heart.

“What does it say?” Mrs. Wu leans in closer to inspect the candy in José's palm.

“Be mine.” José does not look happy about this message.

“One of the most famous imperative statements ever,” Mrs. Wu claims. “Imperative statements are requests or commands.” She takes out five plastic containers, one labeled Imperative Statements and the others with blank labels.

She thanks José, then asks for another volunteer. Teah raises her hand.

“Pick a heart,” Mrs. Wu says, “any heart.”

Teah chooses one that says “Angel.” Mrs. Wu holds it up, even though the letters are too small to read. “Imperative statement, or something else?”

I know “Angel” is not a command or request, but I don't know what to call it in English.

“It's a noun,” someone calls out.

“Correct, Lucas.” Mrs. Wu puts the heart into a different bucket and prints “Nouns” on the label.

Teah sits down, and Mrs. Wu gives each table group a paper cup filled with candy hearts. “You'll be grouping your hearts into parts of speech. Later on, we'll figure out how we'll need to label these other containers.”

Our group works together and finds imperative statements like “Hug Me” and “Text Me,” but we also find more embarrassing ones, like “Kiss Me.” We find nouns with adjectives, like “Sweet Pea” and “Love Bug,” and plain adjectives, like “Cute.” And then we find some we don't know how to label, including “Hey Babe.”

In the end, we each get to keep five hearts to munch on while we do our independent practice: coming up with five imperative statements of our own. Everyone starts on their lists as Jordan leans over and whispers, “We could come up with baseball ones—like ‘Play ball!'”

I nod. “Or one I always hear: ‘You're out!'”

Jordan laughs, then says, “I think that's declarative, though, not imperative.”

Before I can ask her what that means, Mrs. Wu approaches our desks. “Jordan and Bilal, please respect those around you. Group work is over; this is independent work.”

My face feels as red as Jordan's looks.

I number my paper from one to five. What can I write for my first answer? While I'm thinking, a candy heart hits Jordan's desk and bounces onto mine. We both look around to see who threw it, but everyone is bent over their papers, scribbling away. Not even Mrs. Wu noticed.

I shrug, and pick up the heart.

It reads “Love Birds.”

I don't get it. I think it would go in the adjective/noun bucket, but I don't get the message. Jordan must see my confusion, because she holds out her hand. I give her the candy, she reads it, frowns, then rolls her eyes and shakes her head like it's no big deal.

I somehow come up with five imperative statements, and then it's time for the party. Mrs. Wu sets a cupcake platter, bowls of chips, and bottles of juice on the back table.

“Time to set out your valentine boxes, everyone!” Mrs. Wu even has one of her own, covered in shiny red paper. “Once your box is out on your desk, it's time to distribute your valentines!”

I dig out the valentines from my backpack and start putting them into people's boxes. The store didn't have any valentines about cricket, so I got some baseball ones instead.

Once we finish, we get our food and open our boxes. Mine has a jumble of small white envelopes, some with candy or pencils taped to them. Others are folded over and closed with stickers.

Jordan holds up my card, a picture of a baseball that reads “Have a ball, Valentine!”

“Thanks,” she says, grinning.

I dig through the box and find the one from Jordan—a picture of a baseball mitt that reads “You're a catch, Valentine!” I don't really get it, but I smile at the way she signed her name in bubble letters; that must have taken a long time. At the bottom, she's written “Practice today—my house?”

I nod. “I definitely need help with my curveball.”

Jordan gives me a thumbs-up.

On the bus ride home, I slide into the seat with Akash, across the aisle from Henry. “So, did you guys get anything good at your party?” Akash asks, pulling a valentine from his bag. “I love these.” He rips off the miniature chocolate bar taped to the valentine, tosses the card back into the bag along with the wrapper, and pops the chocolate into his mouth.

Henry takes out his bag, and I open the lid to my box. Akash peers inside, rummages around, and pulls out a lollipop. “These are good,” he says through a mouthful of chocolate. “I like the bubble gum in the center.”

I'm about to say he can have it when the bus goes over a bump, and some of my valentines spill into the aisle.

Henry reaches down and picks them up.

“Thanks.” I hold out my hand for the valentines, but Henry pauses, reading one of the cards—the one from Jordan.

He raises an eyebrow. “You guys practice together?”

I wish he would keep his voice down. I glance back at Jordan who sits two seats behind us, reading a book.

I snatch the valentines from Henry's hand and stuff them back into my box.

Akash leans over to look at Henry. “Who practices together?”

Henry nods in Jordan's direction. “Jordan and Bilal.” He looks like I've just punched him.

Akash shakes his head. “You practice with her? Why?”

I should say because she's a good pitcher, and because I have fun with Jordan.

But Akash says, “She took Henry's spot on the team, man.”

Jordan looks up from her book. She glares at Henry.

I guess he could say that I took his spot, too. I know how much Henry wants to be a Cardinal, but it's not Jordan's fault that he will still be a Phoenix in the spring. Maybe next fall he will have a better tryout.

“So is it true?” Akash asks. “Do you guys practice together?”

I turn toward Akash so Jordan can't see me. In a low voice, I say, “Nah, she just wrote that.” I shrug, hoping Henry will believe me.

My lie seems to satisfy Akash.

Akash leans out into the aisle. “Maybe we should all practice, though—the season starts up again next month.”

Henry stays silent.

I don't look back at Jordan. When I get off the bus, Akash watches me through the windows. Without waiting for Jordan, I head up the sidewalk. When the bus finally pulls away and I know the guys can't see me anymore, I turn. But Jordan isn't walking behind me. I recognize Coach Matt's pickup truck pulling away from the curb with Jordan in the front seat.

I stop by Jordan's house later. As soon as she answers the door and folds her arms, I know she knows.

I pray to Allah she didn't hear my ugly words on the bus. Maybe she only heard what Henry and Akash said.

I force myself to look at her, even though she might hate me. I can picture her handwriting on the valentine card, and I hope the invitation still stands.

“Um, do you still want to practice?”

Jordan tilts her head. “Nah,” she says. “I just wrote that.”