Singled Out (17 page)

I stuck around and watched the rest of the pitchers. Pitcher number eight got roped. I guess the batters weren’t tired after all.

Once everyone had finished, Barrett caught up to me as I
walked off the field.

“I
will
strike you out one day, Barrett,” I said.

“Too bad we’re playing on the same team.”

“There’s always batting practice,” I said. I kept a good distance from him. I didn’t know who could be watching.

“You’re on, Dresden,” he said, closing the gap between us.

“So, should we talk about what happened earlier in the equipment room?”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” he said, nudging my arm.

I was surprised he was confident enough to touch me in public. “Well, what does it all mean?” I asked.

“Hmm, what does it mean?” he said. He pretended to mull it over. “It means whatever you want it to mean, I guess. I don’t want to put any pressure on you. I just know if I do that again with anyone anytime soon, I hope that someone is you.”

“What about all the Statesmen?”

He shrugged. “Who?”

I wasn’t sure if this meant Sam Barrett and I were a thing, or going out, or what, but I had to focus on baseball right now and prepare for the scouts. I decided to relax about Sam and let whatever was going to happen just happen.

T
hat Friday, the list of people who made the varsity team was posted outside the gym. I heard it was put up after lunch, but I didn’t want to look while surrounded by a big crowd of guys. I figured I would wait until later. I did really well in tryouts, but I still felt nervous that the Statesmen might have messed it all up somehow.
What if they’re powerful enough to fix it so I don’t make the team? I’d have spent all this time here suffering alone for nothing. No scout will ever see me. I’ll never get into a decent college.

I felt nauseated, but I kept my distance from the gym. I wanted to see that list when no one was watching.

I had asked Sam to keep our relationship quiet in school, because I didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself. But he still sent me a text once or twice a day that kept me smiling. Shortly after the list was up, a text came in.

“See the list?”

“Nope.”

“Go look.”

“Later.”

“Want me to tell u?”

“NO!”

“Ok, text me.”

During study period, I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked
to use the bathroom and hustled toward the gym. I stared up at the long list of varsity names on the door: “Atkins, Barrett, Brown, Dunnell, Dresden . . .”

“Yes!” I said, slapping my hands together.
Yes, yes, yes.
The last few months of solitude, torture, and studying had all been worth it.

I ducked into the nearest ladies’ bathroom, took out my cell, and dialed my dad at work. “Dad, I did it. I made the team!” I exclaimed, excited.

“Of course you did,” he replied happily.

Daily practice began the following week, and it was a killer. I was so tired afterward that sometimes I fell asleep in my room before 9 p.m. My muscles had never hurt so bad and been so happy at the same time. Things were finally going my way.

Then came our first practice game.

The junior varsity and the varsity were to scrimmage against one another. Although it was obvious that the varsity team would win, it was a good way to allow the teams to play together, and for the players to get to know each other as a team. We were set to play the full seven innings. I wasn’t scheduled to start, but the coaches said they were going to field everybody.

I really wanted to start. I’d been a reliever all summer, but I wasn’t fond of that role. Starters were, in my opinion, the
real
pitchers. Closers and relievers just had a lot of heat. I liked the feeling I used to get sticking it out for the whole game. It took stamina to go the distance, to wear the other team down, one batter at a time. I wanted to be a starter. When the time was right, I was going to mention that to Madison.

Most of the varsity team—my team—was made up of juniors and seniors. I’d seen most of the guys in class and, to my knowledge, the only Statesmen on the varsity team were Sam, who had recently resigned from the group, Grossman, Roberts, and my “friend,” William Tuttle. At least I knew I wouldn’t have to be on the field at the same time as him. Of course, I might have to relieve him, or vice versa, and that would be, well, interesting.

I figured I’d made it this far, and I knew, although he was one of the four Statesmen who beat up Sam, that alone, Tuttle was intimidated by Sam. He had obviously spent the last four years looking up to him, and I sensed he still knew that Sam was somehow superior. Sam had moved on with his life, grown too mature for the whole evil clique, and Tuttle was jealous. He was looking to prove himself. As I watched him enter the gym, I thought that maybe I was in trouble.

Before the game, we all met inside the gym with the coaches. They were treating the scrimmage like a real game, going over game plans, giving us the lineup that would probably remain for the season. Barrett was the leadoff man. Tuttle was starting pitcher.

“All right, get in uniform and meet us outside on the field. It’s cold out there, so dress warmly, especially you pitchers,” Coach Houghton said.

There was still no locker room for me to use, so I went out into the hall and down past the equipment room to the ladies’ room. I changed into my Hazelton practice uniform. (Yes, this school actually had practice uniforms for scrimmages. Must be nice to be filthy rich.) The shirt was blue, and across the front was the word “Hazelton.” On the side of the sleeves was a big “V” for Varsity.

I was all set and ready to go. I unlocked the bathroom door and tried to pull it open. It wouldn’t budge. I tried to lock and unlock it again, but it still wouldn’t open. I yanked and threw my shoulder into it, trying to release it, but then the handle fell off and onto the floor. It had cracked in half and the handle on the outside of the door was still on, so I couldn’t even see into the hallway.
Drat!

I was locked in here, and no one was close enough to hear me. I banged for a while. “Hello!” I yelled. “Anybody? Hello?” Just silence.

And then it hit me.
The Statesmen. They must have messed with the door handle and locked me in
. I panicked and looked around the room. There was no window—no other way out.

I heard a clicking noise on the outside of the door.

“Hello? Somebody there?”

The door opened just a bit. I reached for the door, wedging my hand into the crack.

Then the door pulled shut from the other side, slamming my hand between the door and the wall. “Ow!” I screamed, unable to release my hand, feeling my fingers being crushed by the door. “Let go, let go!” I yelled.

I heard a loud thud, and suddenly my hand was free again. I opened the door to see Sam knocking William Tuttle to the floor.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Sam yelled at him. “You could’ve broken her hand!” He grabbed the front of Tuttle’s shirt. “Enough is enough!” Sam brought his hand back, ready to punch him again.

“Stop!” a voice yelled from down the hall. “Break it up, gentlemen!” Coach Madison and Dr. Colton ran toward us and separated the two boys.

Sam turned to Dr. Colton. “I apologize, sir, but if you knew what he was trying to—”

“We know what he was trying to do,” Coach Madison said. “We saw the whole thing.” I stood dumbfounded in the doorway. “Dresden, are you all right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Have a nurse take a look at that, just in case,” said Dr. Colton. “Mr. Barrett, please walk her down to the nurse’s office while I deal with Mr. Tuttle.”

“Sir, this is all a big misunderstanding,” said Tuttle.

“Quiet, Mr. Tuttle. If you know what’s good for you, you will close your mouth this instant! We do not tolerate violence at Hazelton. We do not need students like you at this institution.”

Sam was pulling me down the hall, away from the action. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” My hand was certainly bruised, and it did hurt, but I didn’t think anything was broken.

I’d probably be okay to pitch, the nurse told me. I just needed to take it easy.

As for Tuttle playing in the game, well, that never happened. Madison had a junior named West start and Tuttle was sent back to his dormitory room.

I
was unsure if I could focus enough to take the mound that day, but I rejoined the team in the dugout. It was obvious the coaches and players knew what had happened. Word traveled fast at Hazelton. Although most of the players sat quietly, a few of the guys tipped their hats to me and nodded when I walked by. They were obviously not fans of Tuttle.

One of the catchers, Dunnell, walked up to me and tossed a ball into my glove. “Good luck today, Dresden,” he said. Their gestures and kind words actually seemed sincere, but maybe I was just hallucinating because of the day’s drama.

Coach Madison pulled me aside and whispered, “Don’t let it rattle you, Dresden. You have to separate all the stupid crap that’s going to happen to you in your life and keep yourself focused on what you want. You hear me?”

I nodded. “I got it, Coach. You’re right. I’ll be fine.”
I think.

And as it turned out, I was. I went in after the fourth inning and finished the game. It was just a scrimmage, but it definitely helped that Madison made me get right back on the horse. He didn’t give me time to get scared—scared that someone else might try to crush the dream I’d worked so hard for.

As Sam walked me off the field, one of the guys hanging by the bleachers yelled, “You got game, Dresden! Woo!” We both cracked a smile at that one.

After the game, I was told I had to go and speak to the headmaster. As I walked back to the main building, I felt myself start to shake a bit. It could have been the fear that someone had actually tried to physically hurt me. Or maybe it was just the cold.

Dr. Colton didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “Miss Dresden, let me first apologize for Mr. Tuttle’s attack,” he said. “I assure you, you will not see his face here at Hazelton again.”

“It’s good to hear I have one less enemy.”

“Is there some reason he would have attacked you in this way?”

’
Cause he’s a jackass.
“He just didn’t want me on his team, I suppose.”

“Well, I put a call in to your father to let him know about the incident, but he was not available,” said Dr. Colton. “When he calls back, I will explain how truly sorry we are here at Hazelton for your mistreatment.”

“You called my dad?” I asked nervously.

“Yes.”

“Why did you have to do that?”

“I have an obligation to keep him informed of the situation.”

“Could you do me a favor and let me tell him what happened?” I asked.

“Don’t worry, Miss Dresden. You’re not in trouble.”

“I know that. I just think my dad will handle it better if it comes from me— that’s all.”
I want him to think I’m fine. I want him to think I belong here. I want him to be proud of me.

“I feel as if there’s something you’re not telling me, Miss Dresden,” said Dr. Colton.

I fidgeted in my seat. My head began to pound and my pulse quickened as I prepared to spill my guts. Enough was
enough. I nervously cracked my knuckles, took a deep breath, and let it out. “Sir, do you know there’s a clique at this school that William Tuttle was part of?” I said.

“A clique?” he asked.

I nodded. “They’re a group of upperclassmen who seem to want things their way, and one of the things they wanted was to get rid of me.”

I was surprised when he said, “Unfortunately, in the weeks since the whole incident with Miss Kwan, I’ve been hearing things that mirror what you’re telling me. And after what happened today with you and Mr. Tuttle, I am going to make a serious effort at putting a stop to any malfeasance.”

Malfeasance?
I had to ask. “You mean you’re going to get the bad guys?” I asked.

“Yes, Miss Dresden,” he said, laughing slightly. “Precisely. And if you feel more comfortable explaining things to your father first, that’s fine. Just have him call me tomorrow to confirm that the two of you spoke.”

I had to say something about Gabby. “Dr. Colton?”

“Yes, Miss Dresden?”

“I think the whole thing with Gabby Foster may have had something to do with Tuttle, too, sir.”

“I will give Miss Foster a call this evening. Maybe I owe her an apology.”

“Thank you, sir. I really appreciate that.” I rose to leave. “And seriously, thank you for letting me come to Hazelton. Really, I have learned so much about everything—not just baseball, but a million other things.”

And I meant it. Although I’d been brought here as a publicity stunt, I didn’t care. Without this place, I never would have learned Trig, or finished an entire novel, or been coached
by a professional ballplayer, or learned how to survive on my own, or met Sam. No matter what the circumstances were for bringing me here, I was glad I’d come. I was grateful, too.