Game Changer (7 page)

KT reached across the table toward Lex’s sweatshirt pocket, where she always kept her phone.

Lex jerked away and put her hand over her pocket, protecting the phone from KT.

“No, thanks,” she said in a stiff, artificial voice. “I don’t feel like watching anything right now.”

The way Lex was staring at KT, it was like KT had grabbed Lex’s sandwich and tried to take a big bite out of it.

No, scratch that. KT and Molly and Lex ate one another’s food all the time. This was more like a total
stranger
had come up to Lex and taken a bite out of her sandwich.

Or—someone she didn’t like.

“No, really. You’ll love this video,” KT persisted. But a strange tone had entered her voice.

KT sounded like she was begging.

And she’d pulled back her hand, like she didn’t really expect Lex to hand over the phone.

“KT,” Molly said, and her voice was just as stiff and fake as Lex’s had been. “We’re kind of busy right now.
We’re talking about math.”

Somehow, the way she said “math” was like putting up a fence—a fence that shut out KT.

KT remembered that, in addition to playing on the school softball team, Molly and Lex were in some after-school math club, and took extra tests four or five times a year. KT figured their parents probably made them do that—who would take extra math tests if they didn’t have to?

“Oh,
math,
” KT said scornfully. “Well, we all know what’s really important, don’t we?”

This was supposed to be a cue for Molly and Lex to put their heads together and sing out, “Softball!” And then one of them would ask about the Rysdale Invitational, and they’d talk about their own club teams and the school softball season and . . .

Molly just looked at KT.

“Uh, right,” Molly said. Now she glanced over at Lex, and there was definitely an eye roll involved.

“
You
know,” KT said, and now she sounded truly desperate, as bad as a batter reaching back for a fastball that had already crossed the plate.

But Molly and Lex weren’t even listening. They were staring past KT now, toward the crowd of kids still coming out of the lunch line.

“Evangeline!” they cried, in unison. Their faces glowed with practically identical mixes of delight and awe.

That’s how they usually greet me,
KT thought, feeling an unusual stab of jealousy.

She turned around and it was just weird old Evangeline Rangel behind her. Everybody said Evangeline was the smartest kid in school. She’d skipped a grade back in elementary
school—maybe even two. Even now, though she was technically still a seventh grader, she took most of her classes with the eighth grade or even over at the high school. Rumors occasionally flew about Evangeline: She’d written a thousand-page novel that was going to be published . . . . She’d gotten invited to go to some special school where everyone was a genius . . . . Mr. Shiwawa had admitted in front of the whole class that Evangeline knew more about science than he did, so she didn’t have to do any homework at all, just work on some special project that would probably go straight to the CIA when it was finished, it’d be that important . . . .

But most of the talk about Evangeline was about how strange she was. Supposedly she still played with dolls. She’d told somebody her dearest dream was to write Greek with one hand and Latin with the other, like President Garfield had been able to do back in the 1800s. (Who else even knew there’d been a President Garfield?) She’d stare off into space in class, and then when the teacher called on her, she’d say something like, “I was trying to tell if I could feel the gap between air molecules . . .” Because of skipping all those grades, she was smaller than the other kids, and her mother still dressed her in little-girl dresses. She wore her hair like a little girl too, with pigtails dangling from high up on either side of her head, instead of one normal ponytail in the back.

KT tried to think if she had ever seen Evangeline in the cafeteria before—maybe back in the corner, alone, hunched over a book.

“Here, Evangeline,” Molly said eagerly, moving her brown
paper sack to make room. “Sit down.”

“KT, do you
mind
?” Lex said.

KT jerked back, slow to understand.
Did they mean—? Could it be—?

She slid over, cramming herself into a space that really wasn’t big enough.

“Thanks,” Lex muttered as Evangeline sat down, but it sounded more like she meant,
What took you so long?

“Let me guess—you’re talking about math, right?” Evangeline said, grinning, as she turned her back on KT. The pigtail on the right side of Evangeline’s head slapped KT in the face.

And KT, totally blocked off from her friends, finally got it.

Molly and Lex hadn’t been saving a seat for her.

They’d been saving it for Evangeline.

It’s April Fools’ Day,
KT thought, even though she knew it wasn’t. It was only early February.

It’s Backward Day, as well as Dress Like a Nerd Day and Fitness Day,
KT thought.
This is some wacky role-playing thing the guidance department set up, where you’re supposed to be nice to people you’re usually mean to, and vice versa, and Molly and Lex are actually going along with it. They’ll laugh about it with me after school.

By sixth period this was the best explanation KT could come up with.

Sixth period had been transformed from Spanish class into weight-training class.

KT pumped iron listlessly, trying not to think about how crazy it was that the school had brought in thirty weight machines just for one day of use.

Seventh period was supposed to be phys ed class, and KT wondered what
that
would turn out to be. But as she walked through the hall, trying to find someone to follow to class, she heard an announcement over the PA system: “All students report to the end-of-school pep rally at this time. Repeat, report to the pep rally.”

All right!
KT thought.

The school pep rallies were always kind of cheesy, but KT loved them anyway. Brecksville North had three over the course of the year: one for the fall sports, one for the winter sports, and one for the spring sports. This had to be the one kicking off the start of the school’s spring sports season.

Softball, baseball, lacrosse, track . . . ,
KT thought, listing all the sports. In order of importance, of course.

KT still remembered how she’d felt last year, standing on the floor of the gym with her softball teammates while the whole school cheered around them. It had felt like everybody loved her, like they wanted her to win as much as she did.

The principal had talked about how she and the other athletes were the “best of the best.”

“We are so proud to have them representing our school,” he’d said. “They will be carrying Brecksville North pride and honor onto the playing field with them.”

It wasn’t just team spirit or school spirit that KT had felt pulsing through the gym that day. It was more like patriotism—like KT and her fellow athletes were warriors, being sent out to win some righteous war.

Of course, KT couldn’t say something like that out loud, not even to Molly and Lex. But she’d seen the pride glowing on their faces too. They had to have felt the same way.

Now she saw Molly’s blond head and Lex’s dark one bobbing in the crowd ahead
of her.

“Molly, Lex—wait up!” she called, because surely whatever silly role-play they’d been doing at lunch would be over by now. Surely they’d want to walk into the gym with her.

But Molly and Lex didn’t seem to hear. The crowd cut them off. KT tried to shove her way forward. Strangely, nobody was letting her past.

“
Excuse
me,” KT said, barreling forward anyhow.

She rammed into what seemed to be a wall. No, it was a person—Mr. Horace, the meanest math teacher in the whole school. KT felt very lucky that she’d always managed to avoid getting him. But physically he wasn’t very imposing: He was a frail, white-haired old man. The joke going around school was that some kids had supposedly seen him moussing his hair to look like Albert Einstein’s.

KT was just glad she hadn’t actually knocked him down.

“Oh, sorry, Mr. Horace,” she apologized. “I was trying to catch up with my team.”

She started to step around him, but Mr. Horace lashed out his hand and grabbed her arm. He had a surprisingly strong grip for such an old man.

“You!” he cried. “You are KT Sutton, correct?”

“Uh, yes,” KT said. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Horace’s eyes narrowed into slits.

“
You
don’t have a team,” he snarled.

KT felt her own eyes go wide with surprise. Why was Mr. Horace giving her a hard time? She wouldn’t have even said he knew who she was. Was this his idea of a joke? Sometimes teachers did have strange senses of humor.

“Yes, I do,” KT corrected him. “I’m on the softball team. I’m the pitcher. Believe me, they need me
this year!”

She grinned, in case Mr. Horace was joking and she needed to joke back.

She tried to pull her arm back and get away from Mr. Horace. But he tightened his grip and pulled her to the side.

“Let me tell you something, young lady,” he said, leaning close and practically spitting in her face. “I do not appreciate your disrespect. It’s unconscionable. I don’t know what you were planning, but this year’s teams are the most dedicated, hardest-working students I’ve ever seen, and I will
not
have them denied the honor they deserve.”

“Mr. Horace, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” KT protested. “I’m not planning anything!”

She glanced around, hoping Molly and Lex were still nearby and would come to her defense. Wasn’t that what teammates were for? They were in math club—maybe Mr. Horace actually liked them.

It didn’t matter. They’d already disappeared through the next doorway.

The kids around her in the hall were doing that classic middle-school thing of staring while pretending to be walking nonchalantly by.

“Don’t know what I’m talking about!” Mr. Horace huffed. “Then I’ll spell it out. You, young lady, are not on any team. And yet you’re trying to walk through that door”—he pointed toward the entryway ahead of them—“which is
only
for team members. You do
not
belong here. I would venture to say that you do not even belong at this school, with the attitude you’ve displayed! I—”

“Mr. Horace, I’ll make sure she goes in the right door,” a voice interrupted from behind
KT.

KT turned and saw Mr. Huck. He grabbed her other arm and tugged her in the opposite direction.

For a moment it seemed like Mr. Horace was going to keep arguing—and keep pulling on KT’s arm, like he and Mr. Huck were playing some bizarre game of tug-of-war.

But then he abruptly let go, sending KT reeling sideways. KT knocked into Mr. Huck, and Mr. Huck clutched her arm tighter. Now it felt like he was trying to hold her up.

“Be sure that you do,” Mr. Horace growled at Mr. Huck. “I won’t have her ruining this pep rally!”

Then Mr. Horace turned on his heel and sped through the next doorway.

A split second later a swelling chorus of “Yay! Hurray! Go team!” rolled out from the direction of the doorway, almost as if the pep rally crowd was cheering Mr. Horace.

But of course that was ridiculous. Everybody hated him.

“You do
not
mess with Mr. Horace on a game day,” Mr. Huck snapped at KT.

“Game day?” KT repeated, still baffled. She jerked her arm away from Mr. Huck. “He’s just a math teacher!”

Mr. Huck seemed to be studying her face closely. He shook his head.

“I understand how you feel,” he said. “But think this through. You are not helping your cause. You’re making it harder and harder for me to defend you.”

“Defend me? From what? And—what cause?” KT asked. She stood up perfectly straight, and the motion reminded her of the moment before every pitch when she drew herself to her full height. This steadied her, let her
focus on what she really needed to say. “I’m the best pitcher in the eighth grade. I
deserve
this pep rally!”

Mr. Huck stopped shaking his head and winced.

“I agree with you,” he said. “I totally agree with you. But this is not the way to get what you want. You’re dancing dangerously close to insubordination. Look. Go sit in the stands with the other students. Put your hands over your ears if you have to. But don’t do anything that’s going to have Mr. Horace begging for your suspension or expulsion. Don’t do anything that’ll go on your permanent record. Colleges don’t usually look at middle-school behavior, but for the kind of scholarships you’re going to be up for . . .”

Permanent record?
KT thought.
Suspension? Expulsion? Insubordination?

Mr. Huck could not be talking about anything connected to a pep rally. He could not be talking about anything that had any link to KT.

On a normal day KT would have laughed it off. She would have pulled away from Mr. Huck and walked right through the doorway behind Mr. Horace and Molly and Lex.