“She said that a suspension from school is serious stuff and often means suspension from the team as well.”
“You mean she’s throwing me off the team!” I can’t breathe. She can’t do this. I worked so hard.
“I didn’t say that, Izzy. Let me finish.”
He waits until I calm down, which takes some time while I tap and grunt and touch.
“We talked for quite a while. I told her about how you get teased a lot and that you usually don’t let it get to you.”
That’s not true. It always gets to me. But I try not to react because that will only make things worse, especially with Billy. It’s just that this time I couldn’t hold it in.
“She understands some of what you have to deal with,” Dad continues. “But she wants to talk to you before she decides what to do.”
Wiping away the tears of frustration, I poke, poke, poke Dad in the shoulder. “Thanks for talking to her.”
Dad sighs and gives me a hug. “How about I get changed, and we go swing the bat. The two of us can practice every day. Maybe Abbie and Hannah can come over sometimes, too. The four of us can practice plays. It’ll be great.”
“Why bother? I may not even be on the team.”
“Coach didn’t say she was kicking you off the team, Izzy. She said she wanted to talk to you before she made any decisions. You can show her how much you’ve improved while on suspension. That will help your cause.”
“What about Mom. Do you think she’ll be okay with me inviting Abbie and Hannah over to practice? Remember, I’m grounded for the next two weeks.”
Dad hesitates, like he forgot about the grounding in his excitement over softball. “You’re not leaving the house, right? You’re just practicing softball. I’m sure Mom will understand.”
Dad kisses my cheek and heads up the stairs, whistling the whole way. I hope he’s right about Mom. After having me around all day, I think she might be happy to have me distracted by something besides me pestering her to play basketball.
I open the fridge to grab a bottle of water. Before I would grab a snack, too. But not now. Not since stopping my meds. My parents thought it would be safer to wait until we see the doctor before taking anything. I’ve managed to keep in the rage. Being home is a lot less stressful than being at school.
What a mess I’ve made of things. I hate, hate, hate that I have to start taking medicine again. But I hate worse that I lost control. That I hurt someone, even though it was stupid Billy. What if I’d gotten so angry that I hurt Hannah? Or Abbie! Maybe there’s a way—
“I see Dad’s home.”
I jump at the sound of Mom’s voice. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You were lost in thought. Want to share?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
I have an idea but I’m not ready to share it yet. I’m going to have to do some research, but I have a lot of free time on my hands. Maybe there is another way to get help. Maybe without having to take meds.
Chapter 25
Mom is fine with Abbie and Hannah coming over for practice. She’s really getting into softball, especially after coming to the scrimmage and seeing how important it is to me. But tonight it’s just Dad and me. I quit early, telling Dad I have some stuff I want to do. I don’t tell him that stuff is research on other ways to deal with tics and obsessions. I want to find out as much as I can before I say anything to my parents.
I type “natural ways to treat Tourette Syndrome” in the search engine. A ton of sites and suggestions come up. Things like behavioral and counseling therapies, EEG biofeedback, homeopathy, bodywork, energy medicine, herbal medicine, Chinese medicine. I have no idea what any of this stuff means.
When I look them up, I’m more confused than ever. Then I find a book that says it’s a guide for natural treatments. If I can get my parents to buy it, maybe they’ll find some other way to treat my TS, and I won’t have to take the meds.
I copy down the name, head downstairs to where my parents are watching TV. When I walk into the room, Dad hits the pause button.
“Hey, Izzy. What’s up?” he asks.
“I have something I want to show you.”
Mom pats the seat beside her. “Come sit.”
I tap, tap, tap the seat and sit on the edge so I can see both of them.
“I’ve been doing some research on Tourette’s.” I almost laugh when I see both of their faces, eyebrows up, eyes wide. “Why do you both look so surprised?”
Mom answers. “It’s a good surprise, sweetheart. It’s just that you never showed much interest before in learning about TS.”
“Yeah, well, I was too busy dealing with it. Besides I was young and that was before—you know. Anyway, I was looking for something else that we could do. Something that didn’t have me taking medicine.” Again that surprised look. “There was a whole bunch of stuff that I didn’t understand. Then I found this book”—I hand the paper with the name of the book to Mom—“and I thought that maybe you could buy it, and we could see if there’s anything in there that might help me.”
I sit on my hands to keep from tapping Mom, but I can’t stop my feet from bouncing while I wait for their answer.
“Wow,” Dad says. “Good for you, Izzy. I like that you’re being proactive.” He turns to my mom. “What do you think, Jen?”
Mom nods her head. “It’s certainly worth looking into. I’ll order it and have them ship it right away. Maybe it will come before your doctor’s appointment on Thursday.”
“Do we have to go? Couldn’t we try something different first?”
“Yes,” Mom says, “we have to go. Dad and I are more than willing to look into an alternative to drugs for you, Izzy. But I also want to talk to your doctor about it. And, considering what happened at school, I don’t think we should wait while we explore other methods of help.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out. At least they’re willing to look into it. I guess it’s a start.
“Okay.” Now I let myself tap, tap, tap Mom’s shoulder. “Thanks.”
Before I leave the room, I turn to my parents. “I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad.”
Dad smiles. He even beats Mom to the “I love you, too” response.
Chapter 26
I thought going back to school after being suspended would be totally embarrassing, but nobody makes fun of me. In fact, some of the kids act like getting suspended is cool.
Except for Billy. He must have saved up spitballs while I was home, because he keeps hitting me with them all through math class. I ignore him. I am not about to start something and get suspended again.
The school day finally ends, and it’s time to face Coach.
I’m so nervous my stomach hurts. My tics are so bad it takes me forever at my locker, and my touch-the-ground tic, which I do three or four times on my way to the field, slows me down even more. I’m totally late getting to practice. Warm-up is over and everyone is in position, tossing balls around.
Coach is standing alone on the sideline, watching. I walk up behind her, clench my fists, try not to poke her shoulder with my finger. But I can’t stop myself.
Poke. Poke. Poke.
She jumps and turns around. When she sees it’s me, she lifts her eyebrows. “Nice of you to show up,” she says.
“Sorry, Coach. I know you wanted to talk to me but—” I don’t want to tell her I was so nervous my tics made me late. I don’t want to use them as an excuse all the time.
She nods toward the dugout. “We’ll have our conversation in there.”
I try to say okay but it comes out in a grunt.
“Abbie,” Coach calls out. “Hit some practice balls to the team. I’ll be back in five.”
I follow Coach to the dugout. She sits on the bench and waits for me to take a seat beside her.
“So.” She stops and looks at me. Her eyes are all squinty. I can’t tell if she’s mad or confused. I punch, punch, punch my glove and follow that tic with a grunt. “Your da
d told me what happened between you and this other student,” Coach finally says. “His name is Billy, right?”
If I try to talk I’ll grunt, so I nod instead.
“I checked with some of the teachers. They say he’s a bully. I imagine this wasn’t the first time he picked on you.”
I shrug.
“I’ll take that as a yes. I was also told you’ve never gotten physical before. Why did it bother you so much this time?”
“Didn’t my dad tell you?”
“I want to hear it from you.”
I swallow. I hate talking about it, but I have to tell her the truth. If I don’t, she’ll find out and never trust me again. That thought makes my stomach hurt even more.
“I stopped taking my medicine. Mom said I shouldn’t have stopped all of a sudden like that. It made me moody, and I got mad a lot.”
“Why did you stop taking it?”
I bend over, touch the ground. Sit up, tap Coach on her shoulder. Then I start punching my fist into my glove. Coach watches me, waiting me out.
I swallow, take a breath. This is even harder than I thought it would be. “Actually, I pretended to take the pills, then threw them in the garbage.”
She lifts her eyebrows, tilts her head.
“I was hoping I’d be okay without them,” I say. “I don’t like the way they make me feel.” Grunt. Touch the ground. “While I was on suspension Mom took me to the doctor, and she adjusted the dose on one and took me off the other. Plus, she’s going to test me for allergies. She says that might be one of the reasons for my tics and stuff. And we talked about trying other ways to help that don’t include drugs.”
“Okay,” Coach says. “Sounds like you and your parents are trying hard to make your life a little easier.”
I start talking fast, filling in the silence. I don’t want her to think that she can’t trust me after all that’s happened. “I learned my lesson. Honest. I promise I’ll do everything the doctor and my parents say. Please don’t kick me off the team.”
“Is that what you think is going on here, Izzy?”
“I don’t know. Dad said that’s what happens sometimes with kids who get suspended.”
She pauses for a minute, which feels more like an hour. “You know, when your dad talked to me, he was adamant about how you hardly ever get mad, even though over the years you’ve gotten teased and bullied a lot of the time. If that happened to me, I might lose my temper once in a while, even if I did take medicine for it. Not that I’m saying what you did was right. Just that I understand where you were coming from.”
Am I hearing her right? Tears sting my eyes. She gets what I’m going through. I squeeze my arms and legs tight to my body so I won’t tic. I even hold my breath so I won’t grunt. I want to hear every word she says.
“I’m not throwing you off the team, Izzy, but I’m going to bench you for four games. Your actions have to have some consequences, but I’m also aware that there were extenuating circumstances.”
“So I’m still on the team, but I can’t play right away.” I feel good and bad at the same time.
“That about sums it up,” Coach says. “Now go to your right field position. And keep your focus.”
“But I thought you said I couldn’t play for four games.”
“I said you couldn’t play in games. I didn’t say you couldn’t practice.”
I’m feeling better with each word Coach says. I draw in a deep breath and let it out real slow, until I feel like I can stand without ticking. “Thank you, Coach.” I start to leave, then turn. “I promise I will never get mad at anybody again.”
“That’s a tough promise for anyone to keep, Izzy. Just make sure your head’s in the game and give a 100 percent and you’ll do fine. Now get out there. You’ve missed enough practices.”
It’s better than I’d hoped for. I want to prove to Coach, and to myself, that I can do this, just like the other normal girls on the team. Plus, I have time to practice and improve before I go on the field to play a real game again. Maybe by then I’ll be over that double play. Maybe by then I’ll even be able to assist on a double play against another team.
I run out of the dugout and onto the field. As I pass Abbie and Hannah, they each give me a high five. Joy fills up my belly and when, along the way, I get the touch-the-ground tic, I turn it into a cartwheel.
I may not be back on the team yet, but I’m on my way.
Chapter 27
I saw a video on Facebook a while ago of a horse that opened the gate of his stall with his teeth and took off at a run, happy to be free. That’s how I feel today. Out of my stall. Free.
It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m going to my first overnight after two very long weeks of being grounded. I’m staying at Abbie’s house tonight, but first her parents are taking us out to dinner. Hannah will be there, too. The thing is the more time I spend with Hannah the more I like her. I’m glad she’s sleeping over, too.
“Izzy,” Mom calls up to me from the bottom of the stairs. “The Andersons will be here any minute. Are you ready?”
“I’ll be right down,” I say. I check my backpack. Top and shorts to sleep in. Swim suit and towel for the beach tomorrow. My toothbrush, hairbrush, make-up. What am I missing? I glance around my room. I’ve packed everything I’d set out.
“Izzy!” Mom calls again.
“I’m coming!” Whatever it is I’m forgetting, Abbie can loan to me.
Mom is waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. She’s holding a plastic bag in her hand, wiggling it back and forth for me to notice. “Your pill for tomorrow morning. Until the doctor says—”
“I know.” That’s what I was forgetting. “I was on my way to the kitchen to get it.” Which was almost true. I would have if I’d remembered.
“Uh huh. You won’t forget to take it tomorrow, right? I don’t have to call and remind you, do I?”
“No, Mom. I promise I’ll take the pill. I’ll ask Abbie to remind me. She never forgets anything.”
Mom hands me the baggie, pushes my hair behind my ears. “I found a homeopathic doctor. He’s in Tampa. I made an appointment for you. It’s in three weeks.”
I stuff the baggie in my backpack. “Homeo what?”
“I read that book you found, and the author suggested homeopathy as an alternative to drugs. It’s a natural approach, like you asked for. I thought we’d give it a try.”
I give Mom a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks.” I lean in and give her a hug. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too. In the meantime—”
“I know. I’ll take the meds.” I rush out the door before she pins a reminder note on me. Okay. I’m exaggerating. But only a little.
Later, I look around the big room where Abbie’s parents have taken us for dinner. “This is so cool.” I say. “I’ve never been to a Japanese Steakhouse before. Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson.”
We’re sitting around a large, half-moon shaped table with a big, shiny griddle in the middle of it. Another table just like it is across from us. Standing between them is our chef, cooking our meal. Right there in front of us.
I took the seat at the end of the table so if I get the urge—like I have right now—to tap somebody’s shoulder, it will be Abbie that I poke and not Mr. or Mrs. Anderson.
A few minutes, later three people walk in: two adults and a little girl in a wheelchair with three silver balloons attached to it. One has “Happy Birthday” written on it. Another has the number 9, and the third says, “Let’s Party!” The hostess sits them at the table directly across from us.
The dad attaches a special booster seat to the restaurant chair and checks to make sure it doesn’t wiggle. Then the mom lifts the birthday girl onto it and straps her in. The little girl sees me watching. She smiles and tries to wave, but her hands and arms don’t move very well. I smile and wave back to her.
Abbie grabs my arm. “Oh. My. God.”
“What?” I follow the direction of her eyes.
C
oming in late and getting into the seat at the end of the table, right there across from us, is Jamie Barnes.
Chapter 28
Jamie is sitting next to his dad, checking out the menu. I’m about to call to him to say hi when he looks up and sees me staring at him. His face turns a deep red. Before I can even wave, he looks down at the menu again. If he’d just nodded, I might have been able to let it go. But now, I can’t stop watching him.
When he sees that I’m still staring, he gets up and walks over to his mom. Whispers in her ear. She puts her hand on his forehead. Frowns.
“What’s wrong?” Jamie’s dad asks.
His mom answers, but her voice is too low for me to hear what she says.
Mr. Barnes folds his arms across his chest. “Why didn’t you say something before we left?” Jamie shrugs, and Mr. Barnes sighs loudly enough for all of us to hear. “Do I have to drive you home?”
Jamie shakes his head. “Give me the keys. I’ll go lie down in the car.”
His mom gets up and gives him a hug. She says something else I don’t hear. She must be worried, because Jamie says, “I’ll be okay. Don’t rush. Let Katie enjoy herself.”
He glances at us, looks away and rushes toward the exit. I try not to turn around and watch him as he leaves. I know how it feels to have people stare. It happens all the time when I tic. But I can’t stop myself. When he reaches the exit, he glances back. I know because I’m still staring.
Abbie’s voice pulls my attention back to the table. “What do you think got into him?”
I look back, but Jamie is gone.
“Looks like he got sick or something,” I say.
The chef starts serving the food, right off the grill. We stop talking about Jamie. I watch his sister while I eat. Her mother feeds her from jars filled with stuff that looks like baby food. She smiles a lot, especially when her mother leans over and whispers in her ear. Her dad keeps checking the chair to make sure it’s attached right. He fusses over her a lot, too.
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