Singled Out (4 page)

Hmm. I wonder why this Abernathy person sued the school.
I considered how I felt about possibly having been brought here just to make the school look better. For the moment, I decided I didn’t really care. After all, they had let me in with my bad grades, so I supposed I kind of owed them one. They were making me look better than I actually was.

I glanced at the clock. It was almost 3 p.m. I had to get out and do something, if only to clear my head.

Because it was a sunny September afternoon, I figured I could walk downtown and find a place to buy an iced coffee to help end my persistent craving. The Richards family didn’t keep any caffeinated drinks in the house. Maybe I’d carry back a few cans of cola contraband as well. I shoved some money into the back pocket of my jeans and grabbed a hoody. I walked down the long drive to the front gates, turned left, and followed the sidewalk downtown.

The town of Hazelton was only about a half-mile walk from school. The town was, in a word, quaint. There were bookshops, coffee shops, and antique stores. There were lots of locals strolling up and down the main street eating ice cream, window shopping, and pushing fancy strollers. The sidewalks were all red brick, and the shops all had different-colored shutters on the second floor windows that served as apartments for some of the local college kids. Hazelton College was just north of town. Mrs. Richards had told me it was a very popular school for drama and art.

As I walked among groups of people, a sudden fear of seeing someone from school came over me. Not that I knew anyone really, but it would be weird to see any of the boys I had passed in the hall all week out here in my street clothes. Suddenly, I wished I had on my school uniform instead of a tank top. The school uniform had become a bit of a security blanket for me, and here, without it, I felt kind of exposed.

But before I could finish obsessing about my choice of outfit, my fear became a reality. The Barrett boys were coming out of one of the shops a few stores ahead of me.
Crap. If I turn around, it will be too obvious.
I made a quick decision to just say “hi” to the Ben guy if he made eye contact, since he had introduced himself to me on day one—although he’d chosen
not to speak to me since. If Sam the snob had an issue with me, that was his problem.

Ben and Sam spotted me at the same time.

“Hi,” I said, and then kept on walking at the same pace. As I expected, I was ignored. I didn’t let it bother me, though. What did I care? I was on an iced coffee mission. Screw them.

Soon enough, I saw my refuge—Café News. The sign read, “Coffee, Tea, and Treats.” My spirits were quickly lifted. I went in and fell in love with the place.

It was almost as cozy as my room. There was a coffee bar along one wall, and tons of comfortable chairs and couches scattered about. Some students played chess at the tables. Others sat alone, lost in their laptops. I ordered a large iced coffee with a lot of milk and sugar. I wanted to sit, but I didn’t have a book or computer to hide behind, so I took the coffee to go.

I walked up and down the town’s streets, peering in the windows and enjoying my iced coffee. It was so much better than the coffee from the convenience store back home. I went into a drug store and bought a few more notebooks for class, because as the first week in classes had shown me, I was going to go through a lot of paper taking notes.

As I was paying, I heard whispering behind me. I turned, trying not to make it obvious, and saw a few boys I recognized from Hazelton. They made some obscene gestures with their tongues, and I made a quick exit out the door.

Jerks!

A
fter surviving my first lonely weekend, I was kind of looking forward to school on Monday, because I was supposed to meet with the athletic director about offseason training. Hazelton had a great gym. I knew that. But they also had, I was told, special instructors to work with during the winter to get me prepared for baseball season. Practice didn’t start until late February. I was excited about having a trainer to keep me in shape in the winter months. At my old high school, I hadn’t done much in the fall and winter other than run and use some of the machines at the school gym, which were more dangerous than effective because they were so old.

After another quiet school day of being ignored and acquiring piles of notes and homework, I walked down to the gym offices for my meeting. Gabby had not only met with everyone, but had already started practicing with the team. To hear her on the subject, it sounded like basketball practice was going really well. I hoped that if she had an easy transition with her team, I would with mine.

I reached the office door and tapped lightly on the glass.

“Come in!” I heard a man yell.

When I entered, there were three men sitting around the office. Two were on metal folding chairs, and the one I recognized from the summer, Mr. Sabatini, the athletic
director, was sitting on the desk. They were all looking up at the TV that hung in the far corner. I looked up at it, too, and was surprised to see it was me on the screen.

“Miss Dresden, I presume?” said one of the guys.

“Yes,” I replied.
What? Were you expecting some other girl?

“I’m Mr. Houghton, the head baseball coach. This is my assistant, Mr. Davenport.”

I shook everyone’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Thanks so much for this opportunity.”

“You are more than welcome, Miss Dresden,” said Houghton. “We were just taking a look at some of your game tapes, courtesy of Mr. Sabatini. Very impressive.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Have a seat, Miss Dresden.”

I sat in the only remaining folding chair. “You guys can call me Taylor, or just Dresden. The whole ‘Miss’ thing is weirding me out.”

Coach Houghton laughed. “We’ll try Dresden, but the administration has a thing against first names around here.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Davenport said.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Since it’s the off-season for baseball, we’re going to set up a training program for you,” said Houghton. “Coach Davenport runs the fitness program for the players and prospective players. It’s after school every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, starting this week. He will give you a list of weight—” He paused and turned to Sabatini. “Hold it. Are we doing a weight program for her?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Sabatini asked.

Oh my gosh
, I thought.
He’s going to say it.

“’Cause she’s a girl.”

Ugh.

Sabatini and Davenport looked uncomfortable. Davenport spoke first. “Girls can do weight programs, Coach. They just don’t lift what the boys usually lift.”

What a bunch of idiots
.
I could out-lift some of the boys at my old school
. But I kept it polite. “I’ve lifted before.”

“Oh good,” said Houghton. “So Mr. Davenport will explain that part to you, and he’ll also take you down on the team bus to the indoor practice facility at the baseball academy once a week to work on your technique with Tom Madison, our pitching coach. The students call it the bubble—it’s great for winter training.”

“You have a coach just for pitching?” I said.

He nodded. “Tom was in the minors with the Phillies for a few years. Never made it to the big leagues, but he really knows his stuff.”

“That sounds great.” I paused. “Do you guys get many college scouts here?”

“We get so many that, by the first game of the season, you’ll be sick of them.”

“Really? I was just asking ’cause my dad is always wondering about stuff like that.” I didn’t want to sound like I was using them.

“All right, Dresden, stop by if you have any more questions.”

I got up and again shook everyone’s hand. “I will. Thank you.” I walked out of the office floating. An actual pitching coach who was a former minor leaguer—this was great. Nothing could ruin my day.

I pushed open the double doors to exit the gym and turned right at the corner of the hallway. There was Sam Barrett.
Spoke too soon
, I thought.

He was going to the gym for his meeting with the coaches. But I got what he was thinking. He was captain of the team, and he didn’t want a girl playing on it. I felt the need to mess with him, since I knew he found me so revolting. I decided to be overly friendly and make him uncomfortable—a trick I’d learned years ago, and one that seemed to work real well.

“Oh, hey, are you headed in to see Coach Houghton?” I asked with a huge grin.

He was taken aback, stunned I had spoken to him when he had made it clear he was sickened by my presence in his school. “Uh, yeah,” he said, quickening his pace.

“Okay, have fun!” I yelled after him in my fake happy voice.
Jerk.

He
was
a jerk, but the whole silent treatment thing was starting to get to me. Maybe that was everyone’s plan. Maybe they thought if they made me feel completely isolated, I would leave.

I guess I was lucky I was used to having only a few friends. If I had to, I could probably survive the year with just Gabby and Dr. and Mrs. Richards.

I hurried across campus back to the Richardses, swearing I would lock myself in my room with the novel I was supposed to read for English and keep reading until Gabby returned from practice.
I will study. I will study. I will study.

I sat in the alcove of my room and cracked open the book—
The Count of Monte Cristo.
If I couldn’t read in this study cubby hole, my situation was hopeless. I thought about all the smart guys who must have studied here over the last hundred years. I wondered if any of them was cute. Then I started missing Justin. It was a beautiful sunny day outside of my perfect little cubby window.
Maybe I should run instead . . . Stop it, Taylor.
Just read.

I read a few pages, and all I got from the story was something about a large port city with a lot of people and ships.
Should I be getting more than that?
The teacher said this book was about revenge, but where was it? I read the first few chapters and I still didn’t see it. It was clear that one guy was jealous of another guy named Dantés.

I became frustrated and bored, and all of a sudden anxious to hear from Gabby. It was close to six and I was getting hungry. Mrs. Richards was pretty good about having everything ready by six.

Suddenly, I heard Gabby running up the stairs. I hustled to my door.

“Hey, Gabby.” I caught her as she was going by my door. “How was practice?”

She looked really upset as she stormed by me and into her room, slamming the door so hard it popped back open.

“Not good?” I asked quietly and nervously.
What’s wrong with her?
She was usually so upbeat. I followed her and tapped on her door. “You okay?” I said, standing outside her door with my hand flat against it. The door was slightly ajar, and I could see her throwing clothes into a suitcase. “Wait! What are you doing?” I pushed the door open. “You’re leaving?”

A teary-eyed Gabby was dialing her cell with one hand and packing with the other. “Well, I sure as hell ain’t staying here!”

“Who are you calling?”

Whoever it was answered. “Baby, you need to come pick me up, now. I am so done with this place.” She paused and listened. “I’m fine. I’ll tell you when you get here.” Another pause. “Yeah, uh-huh. I’ll meet you downtown.” She was still throwing things into the suitcase. “Bye. Love you, too.”

I was dumbfounded.
What in the world is going on?
“Gabby, what happened?”

She slammed the suitcase shut. “I’ll send my mom for the rest of this stuff,” she said quickly, walking toward me.

But I blocked her with an arm extended across the doorway. “You can’t just leave without telling me why,” I said, trying to be as calm as possible. I was genuinely concerned, and scared to be left here all alone.

She got really close to my face. “Whatever they say I did, it’s a lie, Taylor. Just remember, it’s a damn lie,” she said through gritted teeth. And then she pushed my arm down and flew by me.

“Gabby, wait!” I yelled, running after her, only to have the front door slammed in my face.

“Girls?” Mrs. Richards called from the kitchen. She came out wiping her hands on a dish towel. “What’s all the commotion?”

I stood there looking at the front door. “Gabby left,” I said.

“Left for what?”

“Left school. Quit.”

“What do you mean? She left campus?” Mrs. Richards asked, very confused. She opened the front door, but Gabby was already out of sight.

T
he rest of that early evening rushed past like a kind of a blur. Dr. Rich was on the phone most of the time making calls to the headmaster, the athletic director, the coaches, and Gabby’s family, to try to figure out what had happened. Although I was dying to know, I just hung out in my room with the door cracked, hoping to overhear something that would make it clear why Gabby had stormed out. Around eight o’clock, Dr. Rich called me down to his den.

“Have a seat, Taylor,” he said, escorting me into his office. He was the only adult on campus who didn’t follow the last-name-only rule. I sat in the big leather wingback chair in front of his desk. He was sitting on the edge of his desk, instead of in his chair, with his arms folded across his chest. He let out a deep sigh. “Unfortunately, it seems that Gabby made some poor choices during her short time here at Hazelton.”

Great! He’s going to phrase this whole thing in adult talk and not come out with it.
“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Well, Gabby was caught stealing from the coaches’ office.”

“Stealing?” I said. I hadn’t known Gabby that long, only a week, but that didn’t sound like her. At least, I didn’t think it did. “What was she stealing?”

Dr. Rich paced around and sat down behind his desk. “Money. There was a locked cash box in the coaches’ desk,
and somehow she managed to get the key. Mr. Sabatini caught her opening the box after practice.”

Why would she risk losing her scholarship?
“Are you sure it was her?”

“It’s her word against that of Mr. Sabatini and the assistant basketball coach. I’m sorry that you lost a housemate. It looked like you and Gabby were becoming friends. I just want to make sure
you’re
not thinking about leaving.”