Singled Out (5 page)

“No, I wasn’t thinking of it.” I was so confused. “Should I be thinking of that?”

“Absolutely not. I want to be sure this whole incident doesn’t change your mind about staying here.”

I shook my head. “No, no, I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiled. “Wonderful. Goodnight then, Taylor.”

I spent the next few days trying not to think about Gabby. I had a strange feeling about her leaving. The whole thing was so sudden and strange, and deep down I thought Dr. Rich either didn’t tell me, or didn’t know, the whole story. I was beginning to wonder if things at Hazelton were not what they seemed to be. Maybe that Abernathy case was a bigger deal than I first suspected.

I sat in my blue room one night after dinner and decided to see what I could find on the internet about the lawsuit. I googled the name “Abernathy,” but the screen read, “Site Blocked.” I had noticed this before about the internet at Hazelton. They had a lot of blocked sites, including YouTube and Facebook. I guess they didn’t want kids wasting their time using the internet for anything fun. I tried a few more times
but got nowhere. I gave up and instead sent an e-mail to Justin and my brother Dan, and then went to bed. At least my e-mail worked.

For the first week, I had been too nervous to pick my head up and really look closely at anything. But after the incident with Gabby, I figured I should be on my toes. Maybe people were expecting me to do something, too, because of what Gabby did.

I began to watch the boys in the hall. The hall was always a sea of blue and khaki. Some of the boys were tall and thin, some short, some rushing down the hall afraid to be tardy, some hanging at their lockers like they would someday be crowned princes.

Sometimes, the perfectness of it all made me want to laugh, as if I was tarnishing the perfect-schoolboy setting merely with my presence. I again began to question why the school invited Gabby or me or any of us there in the first place. Were people really that charitable? Everyone here at Hazelton, it seemed, was always trying to impress someone else. I didn’t feel that “open our doors to girls in need of a better life” aura. And as the days dragged on, I was getting more and more homesick for a place where I knew I was welcome.

I tried to overcome my homesickness by diving head-first into my workout program. On my first day with the assistant coach, Coach Davenport, I was given a pretty rigorous workout compared to the few exercises I used to do back home. My weight program was pretty extensive, too.

At first, I wasn’t sure I could keep it up. I was doing chest, shoulders, and triceps twice a week, and back, biceps, and legs on the other two days. For each body part, the coach had me doing three sets of three different exercises. They wouldn’t
make my muscles big and bulgy like a guy’s, but he promised they’d be strong and toned, which was what I needed to increase the speed and control of my pitches.

He seemed like he knew what he was talking about, but after one workout, I was so sore that the next day I was begging Mrs. Richards for some Advil. When I passed Coach Davenport in the hall the day after my first workout, I asked if it was normal not to be able to lift my arms. He just laughed and said, “If you think it hurts today, just wait until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow the pain will be gone?” I asked, hopeful.

“No, tomorrow it will be worse.”

“Thanks,” I said.

The next day, I was back in the weight room for more torture and, unfortunately, the other members of the team were also there, doing their workouts. Although I had had the place to myself the first day, I assumed that, from now on, I would have company. Not that it mattered—none of them would talk to me anyway.

There were twelve guys maybe more. I tried not to stare, and acted as if I didn’t notice them. I slipped my hands into my pockets when I saw them and turned on my iPod. Music made people less intimidating. Now I understood why women joined those all-ladies gyms.

I carried the workout chart the coach had given me. I sat on a black workout bench in front of the wall of mirrors, staring down at the chart, trying to remember what a lat pulldown machine looked like. The coach was not in the gym, so I was going to have to ask someone or skip the exercise. I glanced behind me to see if anyone looked friendly today.
Ugh.
Sam Barrett was standing over a guy, spotting him.
Jerk.
It was such a waste having a guy that good-looking be such a stuck-up snob.

He looked at me for a second and then, as usual, looked around me, as if I didn’t exist. I noticed a guy from my Chemistry class who was kind of thin and nerdy, getting a drink from the water fountain to my left. I walked over with the chart. “Hi,” I said. “Cameron, right?” It seemed to my advantage to catch people off-guard when I needed an answer.

He looked up from the fountain. “Uh, yeah?”

“Do you know which one is the lat pull-down machine?”

He looked around at the other guys, as if to get their approval to speak to me.

I got in his face and whispered, “Listen, dork, I know you think you’re not supposed to talk to me, but do me a favor and just point in the general direction of the freakin’ machine.”

He lifted a finger and pointed to the machine right behind me.

I turned and glanced at it.
Oh, yeah. Now I remember. Thanks, doofus.

Because the good folks at Hazleton hadn’t seen fit to spend some coin on a locker room for girls, I had to change in one of the few women’s bathrooms at the school. There weren’t very many women at Hazelton: me, Kwan, the secretary in the office, and the old Home Economics lady. Oh, well. At least the bathrooms were clean, though they did lack showers, which would have been nice.

I threw my Evansville High sweatshirt on and walked across campus toward Dr. Rich’s place. I was so beat, though, that I walked at a snail’s pace. The sun shined, but it was cool out. Soon the chill of fall would set in.

A tunnel ran under one of the dorms, and I went that way for a change of scenery. When I was about halfway through the tunnel, I heard voices coming from the other side. I don’t
know why, but something about their tone made me stop in my tracks and listen.

“Yeah, I’m thinking we go bigger with the next one,” said the first voice.

“Gotta admit, girl number one was almost too easy. I still can’t believe she let herself get set up like that,” said the second voice.

Did he say “she”? Do they mean Gabby? They must. They must mean Gabby. “Girl number one?” Are me and Kwan next? I knew Gabby didn’t steal. I knew it.

But how did she get blamed? What did they do to her? It was so hard to resist jumping out of the tunnel and screaming at them, but now was not the time. I flattened myself against the wall as best I could and listened.

“I think Mike would be proud we’re doing this for him,” a third party said. “So, Sam, who do we get next?”

Sam Barrett. Of course he’s behind all this. He’s behind everything.

“Guys, listen to me. Be patient. You can’t rush things. If we really want to get back at the school for expelling McCarthy, we have to do it smoothly. You can’t be too obvious or the headmaster will know you’re up to something,” Sam said coolly.

Man, what I wouldn’t give to hit that guy. But who the heck is Mike McCarthy?

“Right. You’re right, Captain. Tuttle and I will come up with a plan.”

“All right, gentlemen, I have some studying to attend to. Good luck.”

These guys were anything but gentlemen. They were a bunch of jackasses dressed in fancy shirts. I stayed in the tunnel for a while, still leaning against the wall. I needed to make sure no one knew I was listening. Once I was sure the
coast was clear, I still couldn’t get my feet to move. I slid down and sat on the concrete bottom.
Why is this happening? Why can’t anything be easy for me?

I tried to figure out what I should do, but all I kept coming up with was calling my dad and getting the hell out of Hazelton as soon as possible. Panicked, I took out my cell phone and called him.

“Hey, honey,” he said.

“Hi, Dad,” I said sadly.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“What makes you think something is wrong?”

“’cause you sound like you just gave up a home run in the bottom of the ninth.”

“I’m just beginning to think this isn’t the place for me,” I said.

“Is this about Gabby?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Dr. Richards called and gave me an update,” Dad said. “He said he was just keeping me in the loop.”

“I guess that’s part of it.” I didn’t want to tell my dad that she was framed, or that I might be the next target. I hated to worry him.

“Listen, sweetie, don’t let one little bump in the road throw you off. I know you’re not a quitter. You’re a closer.”

I sighed. “Dad, enough with the baseball metaphors, okay?”

“Sorry, force of habit,” he said. He paused. “But it’s true. You’re not the quitting type.”

No matter how much I wanted him to pick me up right now, it was important to make my dad proud. “Okay, Dad. Thanks for listening,” I said. “I’m gonna run.”

“Studying to do, right?”

“Yep,” I lied.

“Love you, sweetie.”

“You, too. Bye, Dad.”

I remained slumped in the tunnel. I stared at my phone, which I still gripped in my hand. I could call him back right now and tell him to come get me. I could just pack up and leave and go back to my old high school—you know, the one whose baseball team I’d quit. I was heading for a job at the local Wawa, slicing deli meat, where everyone would know what a big failure I was.

I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t give up without a fight. My dad was right. I was not a quitter.

And just like that, I was up on my feet.

The first thing I was going to do was tell Dr. Rich about what I’d heard. Maybe he could put a stop to it and get Gabby back. I knew I’d been wrong, thinking the Abernathy lawsuit had something to do with my silent treatment. I had to find out who Mike McCarthy was, and why I was paying for what he did. Maybe Dr. Rich would tell me, since none of the students talked to me.

I entered the Richardses’ kitchen and found Mrs. Richards cooking spaghetti. “Hey, Taylor. How was your day?” she asked sweetly.

“Uh, okay, I guess,” I said, trying to hide how upset I was. I needed to talk to Dr. Rich, and fast. “Is Dr. Rich around?”

“He should be home shortly.” She buttered a piece of bread and handed it to me. “Hungry?”

I took it, even though I was too nauseated to eat.

“I’m really sorry Gabby is gone. I know it must be hard for you, being the only girl stuck here with us,” she said, dumping a box of spaghetti into the boiling pot on the stove.

“Oh, that’s fine. I like it here. You guys have been great to me,” I said, deciding to hit her up for more information before Dr. Rich came home. “But could I ask you something?”

“Sure.” She stirred a small pot of tomato sauce.

“I heard some guys in the gym talking about a guy named Mike McCarthy. Who is he?”

She didn’t seem surprised by my question. She answered calmly. “Mike McCarthy was thrown out of school last year. I think the official reason was leaving campus after curfew,” she said. She put the spoon down lightly on the counter. “Hazelton is pretty strict about rules whose violation jeopardizes a kid’s safety.”

So maybe these guys are just pissed their friend got pinched.

“He was a pretty popular guy. Lots of kids miss him,” she said.

“Oh,” I said, letting it all sink in. Maybe his expulsion was enough to piss off a bunch of spoiled, rich brats. Though something felt missing from Mrs. Richards’s explanation, maybe Dr. Rich could fill me in later, so I didn’t press.

While I waited for Dr. Rich’s arrival, I figured I’d at least find out what had really happened to Gabby, and let her know that I knew she was telling the truth.

Gabby had given me her cell number that first day. I was uncomfortable calling her. It wasn’t just because of what I had overheard, but because I had never called her before. I wasn’t sure if we were good enough friends, since we had only known each other a week and I would probably never see her again. Nonetheless, I hit
send
.