Singled Out (9 page)

“Okay, I will.” But to be honest, I didn’t know the first thing about buckling down and studying. I thought I had been studying these past two months, but I guess I wasn’t very good at it. I was good at throwing curve balls. Couldn’t they grade me on that instead?

I sulked around in my room for the next few hours. I was failing. All the boys at school had started their plan to get me thrown out. I was too tired to go for a run. I had bags underneath my eyes—at seventeen! Life sucked.

Unwilling to wait for the next bad thing to happen, I grabbed my Trig book, threw it into my book bag, and headed
over to the library. Me at the library on a Saturday? How wild was that? Well, these were desperate times.

I found a place in the library’s back corner. It was a big wooden desk with shelves above it, all of which created my own private cubicle. I would learn this stuff somehow, I thought, opening my notebook and the book.

Suddenly, it was hard to focus. Too much going on in my head. I wondered how many people knew about last night. I was sure Sam had told everyone. Hopefully, one of those people was not the headmaster.

Then someone dropped some books down on the other side of the desk I was using. After a few minutes, a small, folded-up piece of paper came over the top of the shelves. I was dumbfounded. I sat back in my chair, afraid to touch it. Who was passing notes to me? No one talked to me. I wasn’t sure if I should pretend it wasn’t there or if I should read it. But I was dying to know what it said.

I opened the note: “I need to talk to you. I need to explain what happened last night.”

I pulled my Yankees hat down a little. I slowly stood up and looked over the top of the shelves. I saw the top of Sam Barrett’s head. He was pretending to read.
Ugh, Barrett. I am not going to talk to that piece of crap. Ever.

I grabbed my book and bag and quickly made for the exit in the back of the library. But before the door closed completely, there was Barrett, right on my heels.

“Dresden, wait,” he said, only slightly louder than a whisper.

I kept moving up the hill toward the tunnel that went under the dorms. He followed. He ran ahead and stood in front of me, blocking my way out of the tunnel.

“Please, give me a minute to explain. I’m trying to help.”

I laughed. “Help. Right. Why the hell would I believe you?”

“I know you have no reason to, but I’m telling the truth.”

I sneered at him. “I know the truth, Sam. I know what you did to Gabby. And I know what you’re trying to do to me. Now get out of my way.” I would hit him if I had to. I had no qualms about clocking him to get by. I moved to the right and he moved with me.

“Just give me a chance, okay? Will it kill you to listen to me for one minute?” he asked, resuming his position in front of me.

“It’s hard for me to give a minute to someone who had a hand in drugging me last night,” I said, throwing a shoulder into him and moving him out of the way.

He grabbed me by the arm and spun me around. “I didn’t drug you, Taylor.”

“Then who did?!” I shouted, shaking my arm free.

“That’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

“Listen, what’s important is their plan didn’t work.”

“Whose plan?” I crossed my arms and finally stopped moving. Now I was curious.

He hesitated. “The Statesmen’s,” he said after a sigh.

“Who the hell are the Statesmen?”

“They’re the guys who kind of run things around here— Tuttle, Briggs, Grossman, Phillips, a lot of guys.”

“I was in the tunnel when you were celebrating your success in framing Gabby,” I said. “I assumed you were part of that group.”

“You heard that?” he asked, looking embarrassed.

“Yes,
Captain
, I did.”

He cringed. “I’m truly sorry about your friend, but that
wasn’t my decision. I swear to you.”

“But you are part of the group, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So what’s your role, then? Why do they call you ‘Captain’?”

He ran his fingers through his hair to push it out of his eyes. “’cause I’m the leader.”

I couldn’t have been more confused. “You know that what you just said makes no sense, don’t you? If you’re with them, why are you trying to help me?”

“’cause I don’t want them to get rid of you. I’m done messing with people’s lives. I can’t do that anymore.”

“Do what?”

“I’ve been with these guys for three years,” he said. “We control everything. We decide who’s popular and who isn’t, even who can walk with whom in the halls. And I’m just tired of it all. I’m not going to do it anymore.”

He seemed legitimately upset. I stepped back and looked at him.
This must be an act—an act to get me to trust him.
“You must belong to the Theater Club, Barrett. That was quite a performance,” I said before storming off.

I
spent the rest of the weekend trying to forget my conversation with Sam Barrett. I’d decided he was a liar, and that was that. On Monday, I put my focus on schoolwork. I read
The Count of Monte Cristo
while I ate lunch. I carefully took notes in Chemistry.

I was waiting to hear hall gossip about my “intoxicated state” Friday night, but it seemed to be business as usual with the boys—ignore me, ignore me, ignore me. For once, the silence made me happy. It was certainly nicer than the alternative. Maybe Sam had put a stop to some drama in the making, but I wasn’t going to take any chances by talking to him.

For the next few weeks, I went for extra after-school Trig help with Mr. Moesch on those days when I didn’t have gym work to do. I kept to myself, studied in my alcove, and was in bed before ten each night. Report cards were going to be issued after we got back from Thanksgiving vacation, which couldn’t come soon enough for me.

My dad came up on the Wednesday before Turkey Day. I fell into his arms and smiled when I saw him come through the front door of the Richardses’. I slept in the car the whole way home and didn’t get up until ten the next day, waking up only because Dan came in and jumped on my head.

“T, you’re home!” he said, jabbing his elbow into my side.

“Give me a break, Dan. I’m trying to sleep.”

He threw a pillow at my head. “Come on, get up.”

I rolled over and put the pillow over my head.

“Uh-oh, what’s this?” he said, grabbing my arm. “Have you been juicing?”

“What?”

He held up my arm. I was wearing my Evansville High tank top. “Your arms are jacked. Woo!” he said. “Dad, I think Taylor is using those performance enhancing drugs over at Hazelton!” he yelled down the stairs.

“I’m not,” I said, laughing. “I just don’t have much to do up there except study and work out.” I threw the pillow back at him.

“Come on, Hercules. We’re going to Grandma’s in an hour and Dad said you have to make your famous pumpkin pie.”

“Dan, you know we just buy that from Wegman’s, don’t you?”

“Mmm. Nothing like home cooking.”

“You’re an idiot,” I said. “Now get out so I can get dressed.”

Grandma Jen’s was packed with relatives. My dad had two brothers and two sisters, and I had ten cousins. They were as young as four and as old as twenty. The day was always loud and crazy, and it was just what I needed after the long first few months at Hazelton.

Over pumpkin pie, I made Hazelton sound great, and parts of it were. I told everyone how beautiful the campus and the town were and about how smart all of the teachers were, all of which was true. I raved about working with the pitching coach.

I didn’t mention what had happened to Gabby, or the evil boys looking to force me out before baseball season. I didn’t want to let my dad know, either. I could see the pride in his
face as everyone asked me about school. I wasn’t going to ruin it for him.

Later that night, I was back in my old room, online, checking e-mail. Justin and I had been e-mailing once every few weeks or so, but I hadn’t written in a while. I spilled my guts to him about the situation at Hazelton. I had to tell somebody, and with him safely across the Atlantic Ocean, I figured it couldn’t get back to my dad. I hit send and wondered what his advice would be. I pictured him flying back home to rescue me and challenging the Barrett boys to a duel to defend my honor. But I knew that wasn’t Justin’s style. He was more of a ride-it-out kind of guy, but it was nice to fantasize for a minute.

My instant message chimed, bringing me back to reality. It wasn’t one of my buddies. A window popped up, asking me to accept or block the message. I didn’t recognize the screen name, SJB04068. Maybe Justin had changed his name after settling in Europe. I hit accept.

SJB04068: Hi Taylor, it’s Sam.

Shoot. Big mistake. And now he has my screen name!
I might as well just make it easy for him and drop out of Hazelton.

TDPITCHER: What do u want?

SJB04068: Happy Thanksgiving to you too.

I didn’t respond. I just leaned back in my chair and stared at the screen. Maybe he would stop sending messages if I didn’t answer.

SJB04068: I was hoping we could try to talk again.

TDPITCHER: Why won’t u just leave me alone?

SJB04068: I have for the past three weeks. I thought maybe you’d have cooled off by now.

I tried to be meaner.

TDPITCHER: Let me make this clear. I don’t TRUST u and I don’t want to talk to u.

SJB04068: Okay. But before I go, did you see your grades yet? They’re posted on the school web page.

TDPITCHER: No. I didn’t want to ruin my Thxgiving, but thanks for reminding me.

SJB04068: Listen, if you need help in Trig, I’m pretty good at it.

TDPITCHER: How’d u know about my Trig grade?

SJB04068: I told you before, I know everything that goes on at school.

TDPITCHER: Goodbye Sam.

SJB04068: Wait. Come on. Let me make up for what happened at the Halloween dance. I could help you with your math.

TDPITCHER: So u admit to drugging me now?

SJB04068: I told you before it wasn’t me.

TDPITCHER: Whatever, Captain.

SJB04068: Let me tutor you and I’ll tell you everything. The whole truth, I promise.

TDPITCHER: So until now u’ve been lying?

SJB04068: If you consider not telling the whole story lying, then yes.

TDPITCHER: Bye Sam.

I hit “sign off” and slammed the door on him. I quickly logged onto the school website to see how bad my Trig grade was. Probably anything less than an A was a bad grade to Sam Barrett, master of the universe.

And there it was, a C-minus. The minus meant my average was too low to play ball if the season started today. I had one marking period to bring it up or there was really no point staying at Hazelton. I was sure come Monday I would have to meet with the headmaster to discuss my grades. I’d probably be on probation or something. C’s at Hazelton are probably like F’s at my old school.

My other grades weren’t as bad as I had expected: B’s in English and History, a C+ in chemistry. I guess I needed some help in that subject, too. I got an A in Spanish, which wasn’t difficult since I grew up in Evansville, where almost half the kids in my school were from Puerto Rico. I’d been hearing Spanish since kindergarten.

I stared at the screen. To be honest, if this were a report card from my old high school, I would have been very proud of myself. I usually didn’t get anything above a C. Of course, this was also the first time I had ever really tried to study, and I felt proud of the two B’s I got. I actually did read that novel for English, and I enjoyed reading it. That was probably because the guy framed by the people he most trusted breaks out of prison and gets revenge on all of them.

A pop-up came on the screen telling me I had a new e-mail. I opened it. It was a reply from Justin. He wrote just a few sentences, but it was enough to make me feel better.

T,

These guys sound weak. You’re stronger than all their crap. You’ll be fine. You always are. I’m here if you need me.

Keep in touch,

J

Maybe I could turn this thing around on the boys at school. Maybe I could get them before they got me.
Hmm, doubtful.

I was curious about what Sam meant by not telling me the whole truth. What had happened that night? It was a horrible thing not to know what I was doing for all those hours, only to wake up confused in the enemy’s dorm room.

I could meet with Sam just to find out what happened. I would have to be careful, though. I should set the time and place, and not give him much notice, so he wouldn’t have time to inform the stupid Statesmen.

On the ride back up to Hazelton that Sunday night, I had a long talk with my dad. I hadn’t planned on it, but he brought it up.

“So, what are we going to do about that C-minus in math?” he said.

“I was afraid you were going to ask me about that.”

“Truth is, honey, you’ve got one more marking period to make it work. If you want to apply to college, you need to start doing so in January, after your next report card comes out. And if you don’t bring your grades up, you won’t be able to play—”

“I know. I’m sorry if I let you down, Dad,” I said. “It’s just hard up there.”

He rambled on about how hard it was to live away from home and be independent, but I knew those things weren’t
my problem. In my head, I began to blame the whole thing on Sam and the Statesmen, but it wasn’t their fault. They hadn’t really done anything to keep me from studying, unless you counted that one night.

“I’m not going to lie to you and say I’m going to try to do better next marking period,” I said.

He was shocked. “You’re not?”

“No, I’m not going to say I’m going to try to do better anymore.”

“What are you going to say, then, young lady?”

“I’m just going to do better. Period.” Right then, I decided I was going to fix everything: my grades, my attitude, and the Statesmen’s plot to get me thrown out of school. Somehow, just as Justin said, I would make everything okay.

He leaned over and patted me on the back. “Now, that sounds like the best idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, and I forgot to mention one last thing.”