Throwing Like a Girl (15 page)

Tomorrow is our first Saturday game, and it’s against St. John’s in Houston. We have to leave campus at seven in the morning and won’t get home until late. I’m so excited. I wish more than anything that Rocky could ride that bus with us.

As I get in the car after practice today, Rocky says, “Big day tomorrow. Road trip.”

I don’t mention that I’m not starting since I’d sound like a broken record. “I wish you were coming,” I say, then wish I could take it back.

She smiles, though. “So, what’ve you got for yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“Snackwise. What’ve you got? For the trip?”

“I don’t know. Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Even Theresa sounds surprised. “Nothing?” echoes from the back.

Rocky says, “Hello, 7-Eleven.” She screeches into the right-hand lane and makes a quick turn. We drive about a mile out of our way and pull into the packed parking lot of the nearest 7-Eleven.

“Okay, how much money do you have?”

I yank my wallet out of my backpack. “Three dollars.”

Rocky glances at Theresa. “Pool it,” she says. “She’ll pay us back.”

“I will,” I say. As we push our way into the store, I wonder what I’m supposed to buy. Those energy bar things? Gross.

Thomas looks at me solemnly. “Skittles are my vote. You can pop them in, they last a long time, and they aren’t messy.”

“I like Skittles,” I say. “One super-size bag of Skittles coming right up.”

Rocky hands me sunflower seeds “for protein,” and Theresa rolls her eyes and says, “Chocolate,” as if it’s obvious. I decide on Junior Mints.

“And what do
you
think I should buy?” I ask Mikey.

He considers it. “Milk.”

“But how’s she gonna keep it cold?” Rocky asks.

“A thermos?” he suggests.

“That’s a good idea,” I tell him. “But I can get milk at home. What should I buy now?”

“How about colored paper? Or Band-Aids?”

“Mikey,” Rocky says gently. “We’re goin’ for snacks here.”

I back down the aisle. “Twizzlers?” I say. “Chips? Oreos? Fig Newtons?”

He frowns and says, “You better watch out,” his eyes wide.

“What’s it gonna be, Mikey?” I say, still backing up—and then,
BAM
—I knock right into a stand-alone rack of beef jerky. It teeters back and forth for a second, finally deciding to crash to the ground, along with all the snacks in my arms. As I go down, I try to catch myself on a shelf of Twinkies and Ho Hos, but it gives way with my weight. So I fall, too. In slow motion, I see Mikey’s face and Rocky’s, their mouths round in shock. Oh, this is typical. Somehow in the ruckus, a person from the long line at
the register turns and catches me with lightning reflexes. It’s like a movie, except much more embarrassing.

In a movie, however, Nate would’ve been the one to catch me. Or Anthony. But in
my
life, it’s a big trucker with tattoos on his arms and a long braid down his back. Nate, who I’ve just now noticed, watches this whole thing from farther back in line. Along with the holy trinity.

Forget embarrassing. Horrifying? Appalling? No word can describe it. There’s beef jerky everywhere. The sunflower seeds have exploded onto the floor. The Skittles seem intact, but the Junior Mints are totally squashed. When I look up, the nice trucker is smiling at me, lifting me to my feet.

“Thank you,” I say to him, as Nate steps out of line.

“Ella? Are you all right?” He starts picking things up, filling his arms with beef jerky and Hostess products.

Then Mikey and Thomas and Rocky appear at my side.

Nate looks at me like I’ve lost it, which maybe I have. “Ella? Can you hear me?”

“What?” I say, kind of making a joke.

Rocky and her brothers start laughing.

Nate shakes his head and laughs, too.

Gwen and Joy remain in line with Sally, who’s smirking. But I have to say, in the middle of this ridiculously awkward and public incident, for the first time, I don’t care about Sally. Because Nate’s talking to me, and Rocky’s my friend, and I’m getting better at softball, and I miss my friends from home, but they’ll love this story. And I’ll embellish it to the best of my abilities.

“I have to go,” Nate says after a nanosecond of meaningful glances. “Do you need a ride home?”

“We don’t have room,” Sally whines.

He doesn’t even give her the time of day.

“Rocky’s driving me, but thanks anyway.”

“We need to talk, okay?” he says quietly.

“Okay.”

“Maybe tomorrow?”

“I’ve got a game in Houston.” I love saying that. I sound so cool.

“Sunday, then. I’ll call you Sunday.”

Sally buys whatever stupid things she’s buying and walks out of the store without looking at me. Gwen and Joy give me a nervous smile. Nate nods.

Suddenly it’s just us again. The manager is really nice about everything and says we don’t have to stay and clean up.

So, I spend nearly ten dollars on snacks. (I offer to buy the popped sunflower seeds and the squashed Junior Mints along with fresh packages.)

We’re all laughing and talking when we get in the car, until Theresa silences everybody: “How do you know Nate Fontineau?”

Before I answer, Rocky says to her sister, “No, how do
you
know him? And why do you care?”

“Everyone knows him,” Theresa says offhandedly. “He’s hot boy on campus.”

“No, he’s not,” Rocky says. “He’s too nice to be
hot boy
. He’s got way more to him than the average flavor of the month.”

“How would you know?” Theresa asks, taking the words right out of my mouth.

Rocky doesn’t answer.

“Well?” Theresa leans over into the front seat. But she’s not asking her sister, she’s asking me. “What’s with you and Nate Fontineau?”

Rocky looks over. “Does it have something to do with you and Sally?”

“No. And nothing’s up with me and Nate. He’s just my partner in Behavioral Science.” I feel like I’m always saying this to people.

“For the Marriage Project?” Thomas asks.

“Does everyone in the whole school know about that?”

“Oh, yeah,” Theresa says, sitting back. “Lots of couples start that way.”

Luckily we get off the Nate subject and laugh most of the way home as the boys reenact my food expedition: the backward fall and the trucker’s graceful catch.

As I’m about to get out of the car at my house, Rocky says, “Anthony knows Nate from football. They’re friends. And Nate was one of the only people who said something to me when my mom died.”

“I didn’t know that,” Theresa says.

Rocky looks at me as if she really knows what she’s talking about. “He’s a nice guy.”

This makes me like him that much more.

The bus we’re supposed to take to Houston broke down somewhere this morning, so now we’re going to be driving in two school vans, which causes our dear coach to panic. She’s talking on her cell phone to the athletic director, getting instructions and directions. Then there’s word that Coach Dixon might be coming to drive one of the vans and lend support. All of us agree this has the makings of a most excellent road trip.

Most of the team is here already, lounging outside the gym, waiting to be told what to do. Of course, the holy trinity hasn’t arrived yet. God forbid they don’t have a chance to make their entrance. Maybe we’ll have to leave without them.…

Frannie, Mo, and I sit up against the bat bags as I show them my snack stash. They’re impressed, and I begin to tell them about the 7-Eleven catastrophe, giving the trucker only one arm. Just when I’m about to get to the good part, where Nate tells me how desperately he wants to talk, Sally saunters up. She stops right in front of us and glares down at me.

I can tell everyone has stopped talking to watch.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” she says, noticing the audience, loving it. “And I don’t know why you continue to perform these little stunts in front of my brother. But you need to
get ahold of yourself and quit stalking him or whatever it is you’re doing. He’s had enough. And, as his confidante, so have I.”

Her voice, her posture, her wet hair hanging down on either side of her face—everything about her oozes cruelty. I can’t imagine what I’ve done in my life to deserve all this anger. I can’t figure out Gwen and Joy, either. They just stand there without really looking at me.

Then Coach comes to my rescue, yet again, coffee cup in hand, hair slightly askew. “Okay, girls, glad y’all could make it. Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll let you know what’s going on. We’re running a little late, so I need everyone’s cooperation here.”

I hardly listen to what Coach says. It’s drowned out by the ringing in my ears, the pounding in my chest. I can feel everyone trying not to look at me.

Coach Dixon shows up then, looking like she just rolled out of bed. We smile—me more than anyone else, because I’m trying hard not to act stung by Sally’s wicked stinger.

Coach divides us into two groups, half to go with her and half to go with Dixon. Frannie, Mo, and I are together in Dixie’s van. (Frannie has latched onto Coach’s nickname for Dixon, per usual.) Sally and the hooligans are not with us. Thank God.

Before everyone separates and climbs into the vans, Coach pulls me aside.

“Ella, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

Her face is so close to mine that I see the freckles across her nose, the deep greens and blues of her eyes. Then I look away.

“Nothing, Coach. Everything’s fine.”

She hesitates. “Listen to me. I’m watching her and I’m watching
you. I won’t let this go on much longer.”

“It’s okay, really.”

“No, it isn’t. But stay focused on softball and have a good ride up with your friends. You may not be starting, but I’m putting you in at first today, so I need you to be ready. Here,” she says, pointing to my head, “And here,” she repeats, pointing to my heart.

And that’s all it takes. My fog lifts.

“I’m ready, Coach.”

“I know you are.” She pulls my cap down over my eyes and turns back to her van.

Frannie and Mo sit in the back. The other seats are mostly taken by ninth graders.

“How’d we get stuck with all you young ones?” Frannie asks playfully. I squeeze in next to them.

Mo says, “I brought treats, too. I was gonna save them for the ride home, but maybe we won’t be hungry then, and I’m starved now. Here.” She pulls out intricately wrapped, sliced cantaloupe and strawberries.

Frannie reaches right over and tears it open. “Thanks, Mo-Mo.” She pops the fruit in her mouth. “Sally’s such a bitch. I wish I could come up with something to shut her up.”

“I can handle it,” I say, though I’m not really sure I believe it.

The ride takes about five hours. I don’t tell them what Coach said about getting into today’s game. I just try to bask in the sound of their voices, their laughter, and the music on the radio, which Dixie keeps changing in the middle of every good song.

By the time we roll into the parking lot beside the field, St. John’s team is warmed up and ready to play. Their bleachers are full of fans, and a sign on the outfield fence reads: S
T
. J
OHN
’
S
S
OFTBALL
R
OCKS AND
R
OLLS
.

We tumble out of the vans, and Coach gathers us into a huddle. “Okay, Dixie, Sue Bee, and I will get the equipment to the field. I want the rest of you to jog out together. Kat and Marcie, you run the stretches for a few minutes, then grab a partner and throw. We’ll start infield after that. Make it look clean and sharp because they’re gonna be watching—the team, the coaches, the fans.” She looks around at all our faces. “Show them what you’re made of.”

No one says a word as we spread out in the grass. I peek over at first base, where I might be playing later, and I can’t believe how innocent it looks, just a canvas bump on an otherwise smooth infield. While Kat leads us in stretches, no one groans or chitchats the way we usually do. Something feels different.

“All right, grab a ball and a partner, everyone,” Kat says, and we obey as if she’s the coach.

My arm feels magnificent. Strong. Loose. I’m throwing with LeaAnne, who keeps looking at me after I throw her the ball. “Ella, nice throwing,” she says finally. And now I know for sure that today is different.

I’m not part of infield, but I watch intently as Coach hits to the starters, and the girls pick off the balls effortlessly then throw around the horn. Dixie’s hitting fly balls from the first base line to the outfielders, and I see she’s a pretty good softball player, too. She’s praising the girls as they run in, retrieve the ball on the first hop, and get it back to her in one long throw. They look good. The whole team looks good.

I throw with Frannie and Mo on the sidelines, and I want so badly to say something to them about possibly playing, but they might feel bad that they’re not getting in the game. And there’s always the chance Coach won’t put me in.

As the game gets under way, Julie makes two errors in the first inning, and I have a feeling today’s the day my uniform gets dirty.

At the bottom of the third, St. John’s is ahead 3–0. Our team is getting ready to go back on the field when LeaAnne and I get the call from Coach.