Throwing Like a Girl (29 page)

Game over. We win!

Everyone is on their feet—my teammates on the field and on the bench, the parents, the construction workers. Rocky runs to help me up from the dirt. “You did it!” she screams. “You did it!”

I hand her the ball and she kisses it.

“
We
did it!” I scream back.

Those of us with family in the stands gravitate to them for hugs and congratulations. The others drift shyly, but gratefully, to the construction guys and their families. Mack Elliot handles introductions, and Rocky and I break away from our families to meet these other loyal fans. There’s Hank and Charlie. Tom “Too-Tall” Marino. Jose H. and Jose R., Doug, Dave, Dan.
Another guy John-John. And Cesar. And Raymond, one of the only ones who didn’t bring a wife and kids. They’re just regular, friendly, helpful-looking guys.

Coach comes over. She says, “I know what a journey this has been for you.” She shakes their hands. “Thank you for coming. It means the world to us.” Finally she goes to Mack, takes his face in both her hands, and kisses him on the mouth. Everyone cheers.

Later, with the sky darkening, there’s the presentation of the trophy—the smaller trophy, by the way (since the big one went to the Division I winners, Fort Worth Country Day). We stand at attention: grubby and sweaty and decorated with candy wrappers, silly sunglasses, colorful visors, strings of beads, and jangle bracelets. Coach stands beside us trying to act respectable, but I keep thinking of Mack’s expression after the kiss, his surprise and delight. And it makes me think of Nate and how I wish he were here to see this.

The headmaster and athletic director from Holland Hall congratulate both teams and say a few words, but I’m hardly listening. Mr. Hardy,
our
athletic director, shows up late and joins the celebration. They hand the trophy over to Coach and she gives it to Kat and Marcie, the captains. They raise it above their heads and we pile in a big group hug, chanting, “
Chicks with mitts! Chicks with mitts!
” It’s loud and damp and pretty fragrant here in the midst of the throng, but I love it because it smells like grass and mud and wet leather gloves. It smells like softball to me, and I can’t believe I’m so lucky to know something like this. And something like winning.

It’s only been a day since we got to Tulsa, but the bus ride home feels a million times different than when we left. Like we share some big, beautiful secret. A lot of it comes from spending so much time with the same people: meals, warm-ups, games, curfews. And, of course, sharing a room with three of my new best friends. We hang over our seats and talk to everyone, even the tennis players and the sprinters and the long jumpers.

When we arrive back in Dallas, it’s dark and parents are waiting and talking in the parking lot. I appreciate that my father is here, having made the trip back from Tulsa, and dropped off my mother, before coming back to school.

I say good-bye to everyone dramatically, as if we’re parting for good.

My father says, “You must be beat.”

And I realize that I am.

We have a quiet ride home, and as we pull in, my dad says, “I’d carry you to bed, but my back may not make it.”

I smile. “I think I can get there on my own.”

And that’s the last I really remember.

On Sunday I sleep late and then walk around in a haze all day. I’ve got homework to catch up on and a phone call to Nate I
should make, but can’t yet. It feels like the one last missing piece to my happy puzzle.

I’m studying in my room when the doorbell rings. It’s late afternoon, and I try to remember what day it is and who might be coming over.

“Ella, it’s Nate,” my father calls up the stairs.

My stomach flip-flops and I glance at my reflection.

As I come down the stairs, I see Nate’s wearing shorts. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in shorts, and as I get closer I see his legs are hairy, like a man’s, and that makes me even more nervous. I try to look away.

My father says, “Your mother and I are out back if you two need anything.” And then he disappears, and it’s just me and Nate in the dimness of the front hall.

“I hope this is okay, me coming over like this. Your dad didn’t say anything, so.…”

“He doesn’t know about prom.”

“He doesn’t?”

I shake my head. “Do you want to sit down?” I ask, showing him into the family room.

He sits in my father’s chair, and I sit at one end of the couch. A hundred miles away. Like we’re strangers.

Nate starts by saying, “I know I really blew it at prom. It was such a bad night. I’m not that kind of a guy. I want another chance to prove it.”

“You want to take me to prom next year?”

“Well, that, too.” He smiles. “I was actually thinking about something sooner.”

I don’t commit one way or the other. “I saw the play, Thursday.”

“You came?”

I nod.

“Did you like it? Did you hear me totally flub my lines and everyone trying not to laugh?”

“No, you were great. I loved it.”

He rubs his palms together. “And I heard y’all won Division Two. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I say. What else did Sally tell him?

“Ella, I can’t tell if you’ve forgiven me for being an idiot, but I’m really sorry. I’m also sorry for blaming everything on my complicated family. I know it’s not an excuse for everything I do.”

“My family’s complicated, too,” I insist.

He laughs, then gets serious again. “And I talked to my sister about you. She might not be mature enough to admit it, but I think she feels bad about the way she’s been acting toward you. Anyway, I hope you’ll let me make it up to you.”

“Okay,” I say, standing. I’m not all that sure about Sally, but I’m not going to blame Nate for her behavior, either. He’s too adorable to not give another chance.

He hesitates, then stands. “I guess that’s my cue to go.”

At the door I say, “Thank you for coming over,” very formally.

But there’s just one more thing.

On tiptoes I lean into him and put my no-longer-fat lips to his. I close my eyes, and feel his surprise and then his hands cupping my face gently. We stand there for nearly a minute, kissing. His lips are warm, and he tastes like candy. Light stubble rubs my cheeks, and I can barely breathe from the five million feelings I have bombarding me. If he weren’t holding onto me, I might drift away like
a balloon.

When I pull away, his eyes are still half closed. Then he opens them slowly and says, “Ella Kessler, I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you.”

“Really?”

He smiles. Our faces are close. “Yes. And, if I don’t go now, your father will catch us, and he’ll never let me come back.”

I wave as he jogs out to his car. He nearly trips, and I giggle. After he drives away I walk out to the yard, where my parents are surveying the garden, talking about what to do with a space by the garage, where they’ve removed some hedges.

They don’t see me and I decide to stand here for a minute watching them. It’s a perfect, sunny day, and as much as I love softball, I feel happy to have the season behind me. And next year’s ahead of me. But before then, I have summer to look forward to and three friends to share it with.

Turns out, being fifteen’s been pretty spectacular.