“Definitely those two,” I said, wondering who Katy would replace me with if I left. She probably had people applying to be her new friend and occasional song-writing partner. “My hair’s already curly . . . What are you doing to it?”
She cocked her head to one side: “Giving you a LOOK.” She turned my shoulders so I could see the mirror and, well, I looked like someone who had her life under control. Because my hair looked awesome: she’d straightened the top and swooped the whole jumble to one side and then created a bunch of curls bursting over my left shoulder.
“Oh my gosh,” I said.
“You look amazing,” she said and then handed me a bag. “Here.” Her jumpsuit looked SUPER COOL when I put it on. “Put on your red high-tops, of course,” Katy instructed.
Katy was wearing a blue jumpsuit with rainbow patches on each shoulder. Standing next to each other, we looked like co-stars on a TV show. Except, inside, I still wasn’t looking forward to the night ahead.
But, writing this now, maybe I should have looked forward to it. Because the mixer was GREAT.
The Joyce Winston Rec Center gym had been decorated with streamers and a balloon archway when you walked in, and disco lights shone everywhere. Normally, walking into a place so fancy would have made me wonder what to do, but with Katy next to me, I was only mildly uncomfortable.
Mostly, I was sort of excited, even though I’d planned not to be. Kids from all the middle schools in the area were there, and everyone was clustered in small groups. Everyone was looking at the dance floor but no one was on it, DANCING. It felt like people WANTED to, though, and the whole gym pulsed with anticipation. (The fact that EVERYONE seemed mildly uncomfortable made me feel slightly more comfortable.)
Diego and Johnny were coming together, but I didn’t see them yet, and with the flashing lights, I couldn’t quite make out people as they entered from the other side of the room. “I can’t believe no one’s dancing,” Katy said.
“Someone will, maybe Diego,” I told her. “Or you could.”
Katy shook her head. “It’s one thing to perform in front of hundreds of people and a totally different thing to walk out in the middle of a mixer and dance alone.” If Katy wasn’t brave enough to start the dancing, who was?
I looked toward the door for Johnny and Diego. “I think I see them.”
I went out into the middle of the empty gym and shielded my eyes with my cast arm. I saw Diego and Johnny standing in the doorway, peering around for me and Katy. I waved my other arm in the air. I didn’t realize that with my bent cast arm over my eyes and my other arm extended in a wave, I appeared to be doing an outdated dance move.
“She’s dabbing!” someone screamed.
“Do people still dab?” someone else said.
“I guess so!”
“Whatever it takes to get the party started!”
“Looks like we have our first dancer on the floor,” the DJ said in a deep voice that filled the room. Then, everything got brighter. There was a spotlight on me.
I was frozen there in my dabbing pose until the DJ said, “Who else has courage enough to get out there?” So I gave my legs a slight bend. I definitely wasn’t cut out to be a solo dancer, but why kill the mood? People started to come onto the dance floor and it was all because of me. And my broken-armed, accidental dance moves.
Johnny and Diego made their way to me as the floor filled up.
Johnny was wearing a red tie that matched my vest. “Katy told me what to wear,” he said shyly. Playbook, I haven’t mentioned it, but Johnny lost the election to Cassie Jacobs. I guess good hair like hers really mattered to voters. The really great thing about Johnny was he bounced back from his loss quickly, and Cassie was smart enough to ask him to be her policy adviser.
“Me, too,” I said. “She did a good job.”
Katy ran up. “GG! Look at all the people you got on the floor!” She gestured to the crowds of kids now dancing around us. “Amazing!”
She grinned at Johnny. “Told you the tie worked,” she said, and then smiled at Diego. “You look nice.”
She was right. My best friend had on a SUIT and, as he showed us all, BIRD SOCKS.
Then my three bestest friends and I formed a loose circle as more of our friends sauntered up to join us. Everyone was dressed up. Even Mario, who I’d never seen wear anything but a baseball uniform or a warm-up suit, had on a shiny jacket and a shirt with buttons.
Devon was wearing one of her Renaissance faire outfits: tall boots, a cape and tunic, and a hat with a giant feather coming out the top. “My mom wanted me to wear a dress, but this is more me,” she told us. As usual, you couldn’t argue with Devon.
We danced for a long time to the upbeat music the DJ was playing until it was time for Katy to go on. Everyone in the place turned to the stage to watch as she did “Flip Your Lid,” and—because it was her song with a million views on YouTube—the whole crowd knew the dance moves. I was trying to keep up but my cast kept bumping Diego so I stopped for a minute.
Then, I saw Madeleine over at the edge of the dance floor. I still felt bad for running out on her the other day, so I excused myself to talk to her.
“Hey, why don’t you get on the floor?” I said.
She had her arms folded over her chest and looked stressed. “Nah, I’m not much of a dancer,” she said.
“Neither am I,” I said. “Neither is Mario. Or Devon.”
I pointed out our teammates. Mario was shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. Devon looked noble in her fancy Renaissance gear but the most she would do was bob her head every so often.
Madeleine . . . blushed. Did she like Mario? Or Devon?
“Come on, it wouldn’t hurt you to take a break and go with the flow,” I told her. “You work really hard.”
Madeleine sighed. “I know, and I should be at home finishing my English essay.”
I gently took her by the wrist and pulled her to the dance floor. “Hey!” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t leave.”
When Devon and Mario inched over to give her room in their non-dancing semicircle, Madeleine seemed surprised. “I don’t know what I’m doing out here,” she said.
“No one does,” Devon said, and instead of her usual glinty-eyed serious face, she grinned and hopped over a few spaces to make more room for Madeleine to see Katy onstage.
It was the first time in weeks that I really felt like I was part of things. Maybe it was the dancing, or that I was in the action instead of watching it. Or really, maybe it was because I finally had my answer to the move question. I HATED the answer, but knowing for sure meant I could finally rest.
So I bobbed along with my friends, trying not to think about Seattle, and after “Seize the Day,” Katy wrapped up her act. There was a slight pause and the room buzzed with conversation until the DJ said, “Grab a partner so we can slow things down.” The opening of “Top of My World” from the movie Pizzabird started to play, and my relief turned to a bubbly fizzing in my stomach. I almost jumped when Johnny tapped my shoulder.
“Do you . . . wanna dance?” he asked, even though we’d been dancing.
“Okay,” I said, and wished there was some kind of warm-up for this. Why hadn’t I thought to prepare for a SLOW DANCE?
It took us a few seconds of watching other slow dancers pair off to figure out where his hands went (my waist) and where mine went (his shoulders). And then you just had to sway, it looked like. This would have been easier if my legs hadn’t been so wobbly.
“I hope you guys know, you don’t have to feel sorry for me,” I said as we finally settled into a swaying rhythm. How could you tell if you were a good slow dancer? Where was a coach when you needed one? I tried to angle my cast arm over his shoulder so it wouldn’t be digging into his neck. “I know you and Katy and Diego have been doing all this extra stuff because I’ll probably be gone soon.” I blurted it out, because it had been on my mind all this time, and he did say he liked that I
dived into things.
Johnny shook his head. VEHEMENTLY. (That was another new vocabulary word. Meaning “in an intense manner.”)
“It’s not like that AT ALL!” He said it so loud that a few other dancers stopped to look at us.
“But, when I go, you’ll all still be here and it will be like I never was here at all,” I said, even though admitting it out loud made me feel as nervous as walking onto the mound without my mitt. “You’ll forget about me.”
I didn’t totally believe that, but I believed it a little.
At least I did when it came to Johnny. I knew Diego wouldn’t forget me. After all this time, he was sort of stuck with me, like he’d said. And Katy and I would probably still text and get together when she went on tours. But I wasn’t as sure about Johnny. He had a big brain, so it was unlikely he’d forget me entirely. But it’s not like I had any previous boyfriend experience to base that on.
“You have it all wrong,” he said. “We’re doing all these memory things because we don’t want YOU to forget about US. Especially me.”
My heart started pounding so hard, I almost couldn’t hear what Bob and Judy were saying in my brain.
Judy: For a math whiz, Johnny sure isn’t putting together that he equals a BIG DEAL to Gabby.
Bob: If only he knew how much brain space he gets!
Judy: Wait, Bob, Johnny looks like he’s about to say something important.
“You’re Gabby Garcia,” Johnny said. His smile was extra bright under the rainbow lights. “If anyone can go to a whole new town and score points with everyone in it, it’s you. Statistically speaking. Because you’re amazing.”
He looked at me kind of shyly and before I knew what to say, I leaned toward him and kissed him.
For 0.4 seconds.
Right on the lips.
Or, kind of to the right of his lips.
“Um . . . I don’t know why I did that.” All my little Gabbys were in shock. My face was also in shock.
“I . . . that . . . I’m . . . Please say you’re happy you did it?” Johnny said.
I’m pretty sure tiny little hearts were bursting out of our heads, like in a cartoon. “I am,” I said. “But we should do it again; that was practice. Or, maybe, like we just made the kissing team and I was just figuring out the equipment.”
“Yup, you’re right, we should definitely do that again,” Johnny said, and after what felt like hours of staring at each other that was actually only one verse of the song, we kissed again. For a whole second this time!
THE LOYAL TEAMMATE
Goal: Honor my commitments
Action: SHOW. UP.
Post-Day Analysis:
September 30
I got my cast off yesterday. My whole family went with me to see Dr. Phillips, who sawed off the cast. She used a small mechanical set of shears that vibrated and whirred like a tiny monster with teeth.
Maybe she did this kind of thing all the time, but to me it was very scary. Also, really smelly. “Oh my gosh, is there an old sock in there?” Peter said, and I stuck my tongue out at him. It was the first normal-ish interaction we’d had since the day Dad had discovered the newspaper plan. I hoped it meant that things between us might stop being so . . . silent.
Dr. Phillips said that since my break was so minimal and the arm had healed so well, I could technically be on the field for the last game of the tournament. “Are you sure, Doc?” Dad said. “I’d love to see her play but . . .”
“She shouldn’t bat, or pitch, or be anywhere where she might have to catch a high-velocity ball or really any ball, but if it’s important to her, she can symbolically join the game. Somewhere low-action.”
“Right field?” I asked.
Dr. Phillips nodded. “As long as you don’t do much at all.”
That didn’t sound exactly like playing to me, but the idea of being on a field made my fingers tingle. Or maybe that was the aftereffect of getting a cast off. Probably that.
Louie and Dad gave me funny looks as we walked to the car. Maybe because I was semi-skipping. “Hmm, someone looks happy,” Louie said.
I wondered if they could tell I’d had my first kiss. The thought made me red all over. “I’m glad the cast is off,” I said, which was half true. The whole truth was, for a second, I’d forgotten about the Seattle move. The only thing that could stop it at this point was if the application to the Atlanta Herald meant the Seattle Gazette changed its mind about Dad. If that happened, I was going to blame myself for screwing things up for him, so there was NO WAY TO WIN.
“We are, too,” Dad said, and squeezed the top of my ponytail. Even though I hadn’t gotten punished for the newspaper scheme, things with Dad and me had been sort of like things with Peter and me: kind of quiet. “You’ve had a rough few weeks, kiddo.” When he said that, I felt a little bit better. It seemed like proof he wasn’t mad at me, and also like he finally understood that the Seattle thing was a big deal.
I knew that no matter what happened, Dad and Louie and now Peter, too, would be there for me. And it was with that in mind that I showed up at the game. Piper Bell, with only one loss, would be going up against Luther, who also had one loss, to see who would take first place.
I went to wish the team luck in the dugout. I had my bag of gear, and Devon spotted it immediately. “Gabby has her stuff,” she said. “She can play?”
“Devon can’t pitch at all today, because she’s been shooting SECRET arrows and her tendons are sore,” Mario said. “Say you’ll pitch!”
“You told Coach your secret?”
Devon shrugged. “I have to be me.” Then she turned to me. “So, are you pitching?” she asked, and I caught Nolan watching us.
“Pitching? Didn’t she just get her cast off?” Coach Hollylighter looked a little frazzled. I’d never seen her that way. “It would help. Nolan could use a backup. But you can’t . . . What did the doctor say?”
“That I can play, if I go easy, or really, if I play symbolically . . .”
“What does that mean?” Devon said. “It’s not like you broke your pitching arm.”
That was true. And also true was that I felt great. Like I COULD play. Could pitch even. Old Gabby might have reassured her team that she could still throw just fine and taken the mound.
But sidelined Gabby . . .
. . . had a rubbery-feeling arm and didn’t have any idea what playing SYMBOLICALLY even meant. Dr. Phillips wasn’t a sports person, clearly.
“I don’t know,” I said to Coach Hollylighter. “It seems like it’s better for everyone if I stay on the sidelines today.”
Coach Hollylighter squinted at me. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I can hang here for moral support.” I looked around the dugout, hoping someone might need an extra mental boost and I could be dugout therapist again. I’d really liked helping my teammates. Today, though, everyone was getting their gear on. The team was well-adjusted. And I guess I was, too, more or less.
Nolan was oiling his glove. “You think you’re okay to go out there?” I asked him.
He slipped his hand into the mitt and squeezed it in and out three times. A trick I’d taught him. “I can do it.”
I stepped out of the dugout when I saw Johnny standing at the fence with his clipboard. “Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” he said.
We smiled goofily at each other. Would I ever find someone I could be as happy to be awkward with as I was with Johnny?
“You got your cast off,” he said.
“I did!” I said.
Then we did the smiling thing again.
I was trying to figure out a way to describe getting my cast off that didn’t involve mentioning the bad smell when the game began. Nolan started out strong. When he threw his first pitch, it zoomed past the batter before she even had time to see it.
“Chao looks like he’s ready to take home a trophy,” I heard someone on the bleachers say.
“He’s gotten better since you talked to him
,” Johnny said. He held up his clipboard of numbers. “Even statistically speaking.”
And he had. Nolan kept the Lions to just a few runs for most of the game. His parents even had made a sign for him that they held up. For people who weren’t into baseball, they sure looked like they were enjoying themselves.
Mario came through with a sacrifice fly in the fifth that drove in a run, and Madeleine homered in the sixth.
“I’m going with the flow,” she said to me with a very un-Madeleine wink.
But Nolan’s arm started to wear down in the seventh. I would have loved to go in but my left arm started tingling, reminding me that this wasn’t my game to play.
Devon finally came in to relieve Nolan in the eighth, but she didn’t have her stuff. The Lions scored three runs on her, and Piper Bell lost, 6–3. But Piper Bell still got a third-place medal, and the kids clubs got a lot of money for playground equipment.
Devon came back shaking her head. “I need to learn to shoot arrows with the opposite arm,” she said. “I really blew that.”
“If anyone can figure out how to be an archery expert and a star pitcher, it’s you,” I told her. “It stinks I won’t be here to see it.”
“I keep thinking you have to be,” Devon said. She didn’t blink when she added, “I can’t really imagine playing without you.”
“Me neither,” Nolan said, stepping into our circle. He was holding out his medal to me. “I thought you should have this. For the help you gave me.”
I love prizes. Especially shiny ones, like medals and trophies. But I told Nolan no thank you. “You should keep that. It’s your first prize as a Penguin,” I said. “And since you’re going to be one of the starting pitchers this spring, it’ll be good to have a lucky charm.”
Nolan looked surprised. “Starting? Nah, if you’re back, there’s no way I’ll start.”
Gabby Garcia's Ultimate Playbook #3 Page 14
