Game Changer (8 page)

But today had been too strange. KT needed something like a time-out in softball—a step away from the pitching circle just long enough to get her thoughts together. To refocus and decide what to do.

“Mr. Huck, I think . . . I think I need to go to the bathroom,” KT said.

Mr. Huck looked relieved.

“Under the circumstances, that’s probably a great idea,” he said. He pointed back toward the
girls’ room KT had already passed on her way down the hall. “Go on. Hide out for the entire pep rally, if you want. I won’t tell anyone.”

He knows I don’t really need to go to the bathroom,
KT thought.
But . . . why does he think I need to hide?

KT stumbled backward, almost tripping in her eagerness to get away. She scurried into the bathroom. She splashed water on her face and stood there, leaning on the sink. In the mirror, her face was still flushed, angry spots of color showing high on each cheek. Her dark eyes were wide and dazed.

“I do deserve this pep rally,” she whispered to her own image. “Go take what you deserve! Go for it!”

But she couldn’t quite bring herself to stomp out of the bathroom and on into the gym.

The noise of the other kids pounding down the hall ceased. Dimly, KT could hear the boom of the PA system from the pep rally—no actual words, just the pounding bass and then the roar of the crowd.

When it’s time to introduce the softball team, everyone will notice I’m not there,
KT told herself.
Any minute now someone will be yelling into the bathroom, “Come on, KT! We can’t do this without you!”

KT waited, enjoying this image, enjoying the thought of seeing Mr. Huck’s and Mr. Horace’s faces when they saw how wrong they’d been about everything.

Nobody came for KT.

This is my last pep rally of middle school,
she thought.
And I’m missing it.

KT heard pounding feet in the
hallway again, the revved-up sound of kids fleeing school.

Correction,
she thought.
I missed it.

She drew in a ragged breath.

I need . . . I need . . . softball,
she thought.

Fortunately, practice would be right after school. Right
now.

KT had forgotten her glove, her bat, and her cleats when she’d forgotten her phone, iPod, and backpack.

I’ll borrow somebody else’s phone and call Mom to bring my stuff,
KT thought.
Just . . . maybe not Lex’s.

KT went out the door at the side of the school, the one that everyone called the athletic entrance. Usually all the softball girls congregated here, then they walked out to the field behind the school together. Because KT hadn’t made a stop in the locker room to get changed, she was the first one out. She leaned her head back against the brick wall and took huge gulps of the fresh, cool air. It tasted like a new season, new possibilities.

I will be the first pitcher in Brecksville North softball history to throw a no-hitter every game,
KT thought.
I will.

That was what she needed to focus on right now. Not the oddity of not knowing what had happened at the end of the Rysdale Invitational last night. Not all the strange moments of the school day. Not even the bizarre things Mr. Huck and Mr. Horace had said.

But I will tell Coach Marina how Mr. Horace wouldn’t let me go in the right door for the pep rally,
KT thought.

She pictured how furious the whole team would be on her behalf. Scarlet, who was a bit of a drama queen, would probably hug her and say,
We were so worried about you when you didn’t show up!
Nevia, who was always outraged when things weren’t fair, would say,
Mr. Horace owes you a letter of apology. No—he owes you a whole new pep rally! One just for you!

Maybe there would be a pep rally just for KT—or, anyhow, a recognition ceremony in front of the whole school—if KT did manage to have a season full of no-hitters and the school retired her jersey in her honor. Probably they’d do that at eighth-grade graduation. Everybody’s parents would be there for that too. She pictured the
SUTTON 32
jersey hanging in the school trophy case alongside Will Stern’s, Haley Blake’s, and Roger Gonzalez’s, there for everyone to see, every time anyone entered the building, for years to come.

Then she remembered the jerseys had been missing that morning. Replaced by desks, of all things.

Out here in the fresh air, moments away from softball practice, it was easy to dismiss that.

It was probably just some prank,
KT thought.
Probably it’s some huge scandal and someone got in awful trouble. I just didn’t hear about it because I was so distracted all day long, worrying about the Rysdale Invitational.

KT drew more fresh air into her lungs, and another idea occurred to her.

Or maybe it was connected to the pep rally and Fitness
Day,
she thought.
Maybe it was like a test, to see how many students notice the jerseys were missing. To make sure everyone appreciates the school’s history.

She could easily imagine Mr. Arnold bringing that up at the pep rally. He would have rolled out the phrase “this school’s rich athletic heritage” or something like that. He would have made sure every kid at the pep rally remembered the names Will Stern, Haley Blake, and Roger Gonzalez.

And next year my name will be on that list too,
KT told herself.

Or it would be if the rest of the team ever showed up.

Since she didn’t have her phone, KT couldn’t check the time. But it seemed like at least ten or fifteen minutes had passed since the end of school. Coach Marina was a stickler about people showing up promptly. Where was everyone?

KT looked around for someone to ask about the time. The area around the athletic entrance was usually packed this time of day, not just with softball players, but with kids from all the other sports too. It was funny how they all had their own section of wall that they leaned against: The softball girls always stood between the baseball team and the lacrosse guys.

But today KT was the only one standing at the athletic entrance.

Maybe . . . maybe I was really late, not really early?
she thought.
Maybe everyone else is already out on the field?

She didn’t see how that could be possible, but she launched herself away from the wall and raced around behind the school, toward the softball diamond.

As soon as she turned the corner of the building, KT realized she was following a perfect angle: She was running toward the same view she’d seen dozens of times during practices
and games as she raced to get to first base. There was the tacky mauve house with all the concrete geese out front, the one that KT always hoped would distract visiting teams. There was the row of white and cream-colored and tan houses beside it, the ones so bland and boringly decorated that KT hoped the sight of them would put visiting teams to sleep.

KT turned her head and dropped her gaze, to line up her view with home base.

It wasn’t there.

In fact—now that KT looked more closely—none of the bases were there.

Neither was the pitching circle.

Neither was the backstop.

Neither were the benches.

Neither were the bleachers.

KT stopped running.

She glanced around frantically, hoping she’d just become disoriented again and the softball field—with the full softball team on it—would be just a little bit to the right or a little bit to the left, just slightly out of her line of vision.

But it wasn’t.

The baseball field was supposed to be a little bit to the right, and it wasn’t there either. The track/football stadium was supposed to be a little bit to the left, and it had vanished too.

So had the lacrosse fields.

So had the soccer fields.

So had the tennis courts.

The vast sports complex that lay behind Brecksville Middle School North had been turned into nothing but
a wide open field of grass.

“No,” KT whispered.

This was the first odd thing that had happened all day that she could find no explanation for, even a lame one.

But she still tried. All she had to do was focus on what really mattered.

Maybe . . . maybe . . . the softball field is temporarily gone, for whatever reason, but of course there’s still softball practice,
she told herself
. There’s still a softball team. Maybe they’re just practicing in the gym today.

They did that sometimes, especially early in the season. Usually that was only when it was rainy or bitterly cold, and today was both sunny and just slightly, pleasingly cool. But KT turned eagerly and started heading back toward the gym.

It wasn’t there either.

The huge dome at the back of the building that arced over the gym had been flattened, as if ironed out by a giant. And there were
windows
all along the section of wall that should have been an unbroken stretch of brick.

Windows like that would never last in a gym.

KT stared, trying to get her eyes to see the school building right. Softball was a fairly portable sport—bases, baselines, and even benches and backstops and bleachers could be moved without too much trouble. The same was true of baseball, lacrosse, and soccer. (Her mind skipped over the more elaborate setups of tennis and the track/football stadium.) But the gym—the gym was the heart of the school. The whole building would have to be redone to eliminate the gym from Brecksville Middle School North.

It was,
KT told herself.
That’s why the rooflines looked off when I got close to the front of the school this morning. That’s why I got lost looking for the library. That’s why so many of my classes were in the wrong places.

But how could that have happened over a single weekend? How could that explain why every class had been turned into a fitness fest? Or why Molly and Lex had saved a seat for Evangeline instead of KT at lunch? Or why everyone, the entire day long, had said such strange things and acted so mean to KT?

Or why KT still couldn’t remember what had happened at the end of the Rysdale championship game?

KT whirled around and took off running. For the first few steps she wasn’t sure what she was running toward, but her feet seemed to know.

Home,
she realized.
I’m going home.

The rest of her plan kicked in even as she ran. The image she held in her mind—the image pulling her home
—was the trophy shrine in the family room. All she had to do was see it, with all the trophies back in their proper places, dust-free, and the Rysdale trophy right in the center. As soon as she saw the Rysdale trophy—and picked it up and held it and read off the words
CHAMPION
or
FIRST RUNNER-UP
—then she was sure everything else would make sense.

Even the missing gym.

Even the missing softball diamond.

Even Mr. Huck’s and Mr. Horace’s crazy babblings.

Even Molly and Lex giving KT’s saved seat to Evangeline at lunch.

KT ran faster.

By the time she turned onto her own street, she was racing flat-out, like someone fleeing desperately toward home plate ahead of the catcher.

She hit the front door—
oops, don’t have my key—
and dashed around to the garage door instead. She stabbed her fingers against the garage door control pad (secret code 2024, the year she hoped to play in the Olympics, or at least the softball World Cup). The door lurched open, but she was too impatient to wait. She bent down and commando-crawled under it as soon as there was the slightest gap.

Both her parents’ cars were gone, so she sprinted easily across the garage floor, covering the entire distance in four steps. She slammed through the next door into the house, dashed through the kitchen, and raced into the family room. The afternoon sunshine was streaming down onto the shrine, creating a dazzling gleam of golden glory.