Game Changer (12 page)

But—had she said it before in this alternate world? Just like Max had said “it’s only a game” to KT in the real world?

“Just stay away from your brother,” Mom said. She glanced back toward Dad and Max, still waiting by the trophy case, and her voice turned lighter and kinder. “Max, when we get to the car, you can sit in the front with Dad, to go over your strategies for your next game. And do you want to go to Applebee’s
for dinner?”

No!
KT thought.
Applebee’s is where Mom and Dad always take me to cheer up after a loss!

But she kept her mouth shut.

Softball,
she told herself.
Just think about how to organize your softball team.

She did notice that Max wasn’t jumping at the chance to go to Applebee’s.

“I just want to go home,” he moaned.

“All right, buddy,” Dad said in an even voice. “Maybe we’ll order pizza.”

They walked out to the car. Mom and Dad still had to run interference with people calling out to Max. They were almost like his bodyguards.

KT trailed three or four paces behind.

I’ll re-friend my entire club softball team on Facebook,
she thought.
I’ll send them invitations to join me in this new softball league. And I’ll send invitations to everyone who was on the seventh-grade school softball team last year—no, everyone I remember even trying out. I remember a lot of last year’s eighth graders, too—I can send them messages as well.

She got in the car behind Dad and slid as far over from Mom as she could.

I know who I’ll invite from this year’s seventh graders too,
KT thought.
And maybe there are some sixth graders who would be good . . . .

In the front seat Dad was saying, “and Max, you were the first one who figured out to solve for
x
in that train problem. I was watching everyone’s screen. You just didn’t buzz in with the answer fast enough.”

“I never want to do that again,” Max moaned.

“There’s the spirit!” Dad said. “Take a vow: ‘I’ll never get beat on the buzzer when I have the right answer first.’
Even if it’s your own teammate buzzing in faster, you don’t want that!”

“No,” Max said, “that’s not what I meant. I meant I never want to be in another math competition in my life.”

“Maxwell Charles! Don’t say things like that!” Mom cried.

Dad had been starting to pull out into the street, but now he slammed on the brake. KT’s head hit the seat in front of her. Dad lined up the car with the curb once more and put it back in park. He turned to face Max.

“I am not raising a quitter,” Dad said sternly.

“Why not?” Max muttered. “Why shouldn’t I quit something I hate?”

“Max, you have a great talent,” Mom chimed in from the backseat. “An incredible talent. Very few people at your school are capable of doing what you do.”

“I felt like I was going to puke the whole time I was up there,” Max said. “Mr. Horace told me a hundred times, ‘Max, we’re counting on you. Max, we’re counting on you.’ I don’t want people counting on me! I don’t want people watching me! Especially not when I’m doing math!”

“Max, you had one bad game,” Dad said, soothingly. “That’s no reason to give up a promising career.”

“Career?” Max said. “Career? I’m twelve years old! I don’t have a career!”

“If he’s that miserable, you should let him quit,” KT said.

“That’s it! You are grounded for two weeks!” Mom said, whipping around and pointing an accusing finger at KT.

“Just for trying to help my brother?” KT wailed.

She’d never been grounded before in her life. What if that meant she couldn’t start her softball team for
another two weeks? She hadn’t gone an entire two weeks without playing softball since she was eight.

Of course, she really hadn’t been trying to help her brother. She’d mostly just wanted Mom and Dad to stop talking and drive home, so she could start sending out messages about starting a softball league.

Dad turned off the car. He turned sideways in his seat so he could face the entire rest of the family at once.

“Everyone needs to calm down,” he said. He took a deep breath. “KT, I would like to take you at your word and try to believe that you were, indeed, trying to help your brother. We’ll talk about the grounding later. And Max, I understand that you had a bad game. I remember what it’s like to feel like you’ve let your team down, let your coach down, let your family down. But
quitting is not the answer.
”

KT wanted so badly to say,
Why not? Who cares?
But she didn’t want to be grounded for three weeks.

“Max,” Mom said in a tremulous voice. “You have so much potential. Why would you throw away such a golden opportunity?”

She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

Dad cleared his throat, sounding a little emotional himself.

“When I failed to get that mathletics scholarship at UCLA,” he said, “I knew exactly what that meant. All my dreams—crushed. All my possibilities—evaporated like so much morning dew.”

This was a very, very strange version of Dad. In the real world he only talked about sports. Even when he talked about other things, sports crept in. His coworkers were “in a first-down situation” or some project was “a slam dunk” or some other company had
done “an end run” around his.

“Losing that scholarship,” Dad continued in a somber voice, “I knew I was in for a lifetime of hard physical labor.”

“Hard physical labor?” KT cried. “Dad, you’re an accountant!”

Dad gave her a rueful smile.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetie, but you know that’s only a hobby,” Dad said sadly.

“Ha-ha,” KT started to say, because sometimes back in the real world Dad would joke that being an accountant was just a hobby—his real job was driving KT to softball practices and games.

But maybe—maybe in this world he’s serious?
KT thought in amazement.
If school and sports flipped around, does that mean adults’ jobs changed too? Accounting is what people do for fun and . . . what exactly does he do in his job in this world?

“You spend your workday exercising,” Max said in a flat, expressionless voice.

“You know we do,” Mom said bitterly. “You know your father and I are on treadmills all day long.”

KT had heard Mom refer to her job in an insurance office as a treadmill before, but what if she actually meant that literally? What if jogging was Mom’s whole job now?

“But—,” KT started to say. Then she realized she couldn’t ask what she really wanted to. “But . . . isn’t that fun?” she finished lamely.

“
You
would think so,” Mom said. The bitterness in her voice was almost overwhelming.

“We hope you love your job when you get out into the work world,” Dad said, back to his soothing tones. “We hope both our children will be very happy in their chosen careers. And that means developing your talents to their full potential. Which begins right now. Max, you can’t take it easy at this
point in your life and expect to just catch up later on.”

“What if I don’t want to catch up?” Max asked. “What if I just want to . . . hang out? Be myself?”

“Oh, Max, mathletics
is
you,” Mom said. “You are a mathletics champion. It’s like your coach told us way back in second grade: ‘Max’s mind is made for math.’ Do you know how proud we were when we heard that?”

KT couldn’t help herself. She snorted.

Mom snapped her attention back to KT.

“Young lady!” she began.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” KT apologized, spreading her hands out flat, a gesture of innocence. “I was just . . . breathing.” She wanted to add,
I’m allowed to do that much in this family, aren’t I?
But she thought better of it. “Maybe . . . maybe you want to have this conversation with Max in private? Maybe, so I don’t get into any more trouble, I should just walk home on my own?”

Mom gave a quick glance out the window. KT realized she was looking to see who would notice if they let KT out. Evidently nobody important was around, because Mom narrowed her eyes at KT and said, “Go ahead.”

KT opened the car door. She was surprised to see that her legs were shaking as she stood up. She made her way to the sidewalk.

Don’t they care about me at all?
she wondered.

She heard the electronic sound behind her that meant someone was rolling down a car window. She turned back, and Dad had his head halfway out.

“Turns out we are going to Applebee’s,” he said. “You want us to bring something back for you, or do you just want
to grab something at home?”

Okay, they care enough to offer me food,
KT thought.
Cold food, after they’re done eating. Big whoop.

“No, thanks,” KT said, with what she hoped was great dignity. “I’ll make myself a sandwich.”

She wanted to whirl back around and stalk away, but she watched Dad’s face just a moment longer, willing him to say,
Oh, you don’t have to do that! Here—hop in the car! We’ll go through the drive-through at Wendy’s for you first thing, drop you off at home, and
then
we’ll take Max out!

Instead Dad said coldly, “Suit yourself.”

KT looked away from Dad. She didn’t mean it to, but her gaze fell on Max, just for an instant. He was staring straight back at KT, his face more pinched and pale and desperate than ever. It had been years since KT had been the least bit interested in what Max might be thinking, but in that moment she felt like she could read his mind. He was thinking:
No, please! Don’t go!

KT spun on her heel and started walking briskly away.

Right, Max,
KT thought.
You just want me around so Mom and Dad will yell at me instead of lecturing you. Forget it!

She straightened her shoulders, broadened her stride. No way was she going to let Mom and Dad and Max see how upset she was.

Keep your head down and pitch,
she told herself.
Walk. Plan your softball league. Use it to get back to the real world. Back to the real world where . . .

She almost didn’t let herself finish the thought. But KT Sutton, pitcher, was no coward. There was no room in softball for cowards.

Back to the real world where your parents actually love you.

KT was busy that evening. After assembling and eating a dry, tasteless peanut-butter sandwich, she put all of Max’s stupid trophies back in the shrine—her first step toward getting back into Mom and Dad’s good graces so that maybe they’d cut back her grounding sentence. She took a shower, then sent Facebook messages to every single person within a fifty-mile radius she could remember playing softball with or against in the past six years: “Want to have the most fun in your life? Want to use the skills you learn in school for something that’s actually worthwhile? Join my softball league! If you’re interested, let me know!”

She sat back in her chair and watched the screen. She hit the refresh symbol.

Nothing.

Silly, it’s hasn’t even been a full minute,
she chided herself.
Give them some time to let the idea sink in. It’s not like they know about the real world.

Wait—what if some of them did know about the real world? For all KT could tell, maybe her whole club softball team had been zapped into this bizarre land at once, all of them suddenly living alternate lives. Or maybe some of her friends from school knew about the real world, just not the friends she’d talked to today. How could KT find out if they knew? How would they know that KT knew too?

KT stared at her computer screen for a moment. Then she began to type out a second message to her whole club team: “I’m thinking of calling my softball league the Rysdale Invitational, Part Two. What do you think of that? Does it remind you of anything?”

That should do it.

She came up with similar coded messages for girls from school, girls from previous teams, girls she’d met at softball camps or played against. “Maybe we’ll all eat a dozen hot dogs afterward!” she wrote to Letty Rodriguez, a tiny girl who’d astonished the rest of KT’s fourth-grade team by polishing off that many hot dogs at the end-of-season cookout.

“Maybe we can all use glitter-covered gloves!” she wrote to Hanna Ding, who’d had an unfortunate accident involving her catcher’s mitt and her little sister’s craft project right before a big game in sixth grade.

“We’ll only hire bald umpires,” she wrote to Keshia Washington, a girl she’d hung out with at softball camps three years in a row. They’d shared a running joke about how none of the umpires in the school leagues had any hair.

KT lifted her hands from the keyboard. So many memories. So many inside jokes, so many disasters, so many triumphs. Were they all still true if nobody but
KT remembered? She rubbed her eyes, and put her fingers back on the keys. She typed: “Please tell me you remember too. Please.”

She didn’t send that message. She left it on the screen, the cursor still blinking. She clicked back to her Facebook news feed and hit the refresh button.