Dad’s sign said GIRLS RULE!
Hope smiled. She refused to let that strikeout bother her. She’d be batting again very soon. She’d have another chance, and she was going to take it.
• • •
The day after Hope’s first game, she asked her coach at practice if he could help her with her hitting. Coach Stanley soon figured out the problem.
“You’re dropping your hands when you bat,” he said, taking her bat to show her. The bat looked like a toothpick in Coach Stanley’s big hands. “Do you know what ‘dropping your hands’ means?”
Hope shook her head.
“Instead of holding the bat up here by your chest, you’re lowering them right before you swing, like this.” He dipped his hands and then swung the bat. “You don’t get as much power on a hit. And it also usually results in a late swing.”
The coach gave back the bat and watched her swing. They continued practicing. As the sun set, Hope began to feel like she was getting the hang of it.
She couldn’t wait to try out her new swing the next time they played a game.
• • •
The stack of schoolbooks on Hope’s desk taunted her, making her think of the boys on the Indians team who teased her. This time, however, Hope didn’t feel brave. She felt like giving up.
“Hope, have you finished your homework?” Mom called from downstairs.
“Not yet!”
“Don’t forget to catch up on your reading assignment. Your teacher said there’s a quiz tomorrow, remember?”
Hope started to panic like she always did before having to read.
School had always been hard for Hope, but this year had been the absolute worst. All her grades were down, especially in English and social studies. Reading wasn’t just hard. It felt nearly impossible.
Mom and Dad thought she wasn’t interested in reading, that sports were more important to her than books. But lately, they’d been asking her lots of questions about school. Hope brushed them off and tried not to make a big deal out of it. But deep down, she knew something was wrong.
Hope walked over and picked up her reading book. She read a line and then had to read it again to figure out what it meant.
At this rate it would take her forever to get her homework done!
Hope shut the book and lay back on her bed. She closed her eyes and began to pray.
“God, please help me with my homework,” Hope said. “Help me with reading.”
• • •
The crack as Hope hit the baseball sounded perfect.
She watched the ball soar over the pitcher during an afternoon practice, and then she took off running toward first base. Jagger, the second baseman, jumped up and made a perfect catch. Hope slowed down and stared in disbelief as Jagger shifted his body and threw the ball back to the first baseman. Nobody was even on the base—he was just practicing. But Hope couldn’t believe how well that sixth-grader could throw.
She thought Jagger was cool. He had hair long enough to be made into short dreadlocks, and he wore wristbands and bright yellow cleats. But Hope thought the coolest thing about him was that he often told her she was doing a good job. None of the other boys on the team ever did that.
After practice, Jagger walked off the field with the other guys. She ran and caught up to him.
“Hey, Jagger,” she said, then suddenly feeling shy as he looked back at her.
“Yeah?”
“I can’t believe how well you throw the ball.”
“Thanks,” Jagger said.
The other boys around them giggled for no good reason.
“I was wondering if maybe—sometime—when you’re not busy—you could show me how you do that,” Hope said. “And maybe you could give me some hitting tips too.”
Jagger shrugged and smiled. “Sure. I’m not busy now.”
The other boys looked surprised, but they soon offered to help too. Jagger was the leader, and all the other teammates followed.
“It’s not like I’m an expert or anything, but this is what I try to do . . .” Jagger began and stepped back out onto the field to practice a little longer with Hope.
• • •
Later that week, Hope was at Honor’s house after school. She noticed a familiar book called Little Women in the family room, and she picked it up.
“Have you read this?” Hope asked Honor.
Honor’s eyes widened as she nodded. “It’s my favorite book ever. I love it so much. Have you read it?”
Hope put down the book and shook her head. “I’m supposed to be reading it for school.”
“Ooh—we could read it together maybe,” Honor said. “Like have a book club or something like that!”
“Sure,” Hope said, looking away.
Honor knew Hope well enough to know something was wrong.
“Are you okay?” Honor asked.
Hope didn’t want to say anything. She didn’t want to sound dumb, especially in front of someone as smart as Honor.
Just tell her. Ask for help.
She thought of the Bible verse they were memorizing in their small group that week, John 16:33: “In this world you will have trouble. But be brave! I have defeated the world!”
Hope decided to do exactly that and be brave.
“I have trouble reading,” Hope said, starting to describe everything to Honor, from confusing simple words with one another to having a hard time remembering what she’d read. Honor listened for a long time, then she asked a few questions, never judging or laughing or making Hope feel silly.
When Hope was finished talking, Honor asked, “Have you told your parents about all of this?”
“No,” Hope said. “I’m embarrassed. They’ve talked about this thing called dyslexia. And—I’m kinda afraid I have it.”
“You know how you asked for help to make you a better baseball player?” Honor said. “Why don’t you do the same with reading? Get help figuring out exactly what’s wrong and then work on it.”
It sounded so simple and easy. How had she made it so complicated in her mind?
“You’re smart,” Hope told her friend.
“Thanks. Only sometimes. But hey—let me read you the first chapter of Little Women. You’re going to love this.”
• • •
“Grab me another two-by-four there, will you, Hope?” Dad wiped sweat off his forehead.
Hope picked up a piece of wood from the barn floor and handed it to him.
Dad had been remodeling the stable on their farm. They didn’t have horses . . . yet. But when the stables were done, her parents said they could get a horse. Dad said if Hope got better grades, they might consider riding lessons too.
The loud buzzing of Dad’s circular saw filled the air. Then Dad hammered the wood into place.
“Hey, Dad,” Hope said when it was quiet again, “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dad knelt on the dusty floor with his back to her.
Just say it, Hope told herself.
“Maybe I could go talk to someone about my reading. Just to see, you know, if they can help.”
Dad turned around with a surprised look on his face. “Okay, sure, Hope. Is it becoming more difficult for you to read?”
She wanted to be brave and wanted to be honest. Hope nodded, trying to hold back tears. Dad stood up and walked over to her.
“Don’t worry about anything, okay?” He wrapped her in a hug. “We’ll figure it out.”
When she faced her dad again, he gave her an assuring smile.
“Remember what I told you about Little League?” he asked. “Just do what you can do. Don’t worry about anything else. And most of all, Hope—just be you. That’s all God wants you to be. You and nobody else.”
This time she gave Dad a hug. She’d made the first step of asking for help. And help of some kind would be coming.
• • •
It was the Cubs versus the Indians again, and the score was tied. At the bottom of the
sixth inning, Hope was batting next with one teammate on second base and two outs.
The chanting and jeering from the other team was worse than the first time Hope had played them. Especially now with everything on the line.
Hope walked up to home plate and gave the Indians dugout a big, fat grin. Then she turned to prepare for the first pitch.
As she got into position, Hope couldn’t help thinking about the last few weeks. Running through her brain were all the tips and tricks the team of teachers and specialists had told Hope and her parents after they’d figured out she had dyslexia.
“Practice, practice, practice reading,” Ms. Miller, her fifth-grade teacher, had said.
The first pitch came. Hope swung and missed.
“Learn your strengths,” was a tip Mr. Beier, her assessment specialist, had given her.
The baseball whirled toward her, and Hope swung too late.
“Striiiiiieeeeke.”
Two strikes.
The last advice came from her speech-language pathologist, Dr. Estrada. She had told Hope the single most important thing when it came to dyslexia. “Never give up,” she had said. “The only way to become better at anything is to work hard at it day after day.”
The pitcher hurled the ball toward her. This time Hope hit it perfectly, blasting the ball toward the outfield.
As the winning run dashed over home plate and her teammates circled around her to celebrate, Hope understood something.
She wasn’t going to hit a home run every time she stepped up to the plate. But she had to keep trying. And that meant she sometimes needed to ask for help before she stepped up. She would need to prepare herself.
Then she would take her best swing.
Dear heavenly Father, thank You for making us who we are and for giving us the strength every day to overcome the tough things that might be coming our way. Amen.
Talk About It
1.Was Hope brave when she was playing baseball?
2.How did Hope try to become better at playing the sport?
3.Why was Hope scared about saying something about her reading difficulties?
4.Is there something in your life that you’re too afraid to ask for help with?
5.Who does God want you to be?
KEEPING POSITIVE NO MATTER HOW BAD THE DAY MIGHT BE
Glory’s Big Day
“So don’t worry, because I am with you. Don’t be afraid, because I am your God. I will make you strong and will help you. I will support you with my right Hand that saves you.”
—Isaiah 41:10
Just as she was starting to blow-dry her long blond hair, Glory’s pink hair dryer suddenly began to shoot out sparks. She yelped and dropped it on the bathroom floor, afraid it would catch fire. Glory quickly unplugged it, leaving it on the tile floor in case it was too hot to touch.
“Mom, my hair dryer exploded!” she shouted.
When her mom didn’t reply, Glory went looking for her. She found her downstairs in the office frantically trying to print something off the computer. Glory told her about the sparks.
“Don’t use it. Throw it away. You can use mine for now,” Mom said.
“But yours makes my hair look like I’ve been through a tornado.”
Mom was clicking and studying the monitor, hardly paying attention to her.
“Mom . . .” Glory said.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. You’re going to have to handle this yourself. I have to get these forms printed and signed for that field trip next week or your teacher says you can’t go. My hair dryer will work fine for now. You’ll look great.”
“But what about breakfast?”
“There’s cereal. Or grab a bagel. Whatever you want.”
Glory sighed and went to find her mom’s hair dryer.
Great way to start a birthday.
Glory couldn’t help thinking about how her dad liked to make his famous blueberry waffles on birthday mornings, always piling on extra whipped cream. Now that Dad didn’t live with them, there were no waffles. He had called first thing this morning to wish Glory a happy birthday. But they had only spoken for a few moments before he had to rush off to work.
When Glory finished blow-drying her hair, she brushed it then frowned at her reflection in the mirror.
She looked like a lion with a giant mane.
At least my hair didn’t catch on fire, she thought with a grin. Happy birthday to me.
Mom blasted Glory’s favorite song on the short drive to school, and they both sang along. When the song ended, Glory asked, “Are my sisters coming home for my birthday dinner?”
“They both have school activities, Glory. Besides, I need to work a little later than usual, so I’m not going to cook. Maybe we’ll go to Grandma’s for dinner.”
“We’re going there tonight?” Glory asked in disbelief. “Dinner with Grandma and her twelve cats? Are you serious?”
“Yes, Glory,” her mom said. “And don’t be disrespectful. Grandma misses us. Since Grandpa passed away, she’s been kind of lonely. Besides, I thought we might mix it up a bit since this birthday is a little different.”
“A little?” Glory asked.
Mom didn’t reply.
“Why can’t we go to Precious Pasta like we always used to?” Glory asked. “I haven’t had their famous mostaccioli with meat sauce since my last birthday.”
“Your father wants to take you,” Mom said. “So I thought you two could do that together this weekend.”
“But this morning he promised he’d pick me up from school today,” Glory replied with a sigh.
“That’s right. He’ll drop you off at home afterward. But you and I will be having dinner with Grandma.”
Dinner at the cat house. Yuck.
“First no party, now this,” Glory said.
“Glory, I already told you—we can plan on taking all your church friends to the beach house for a sleepover when school ends to celebrate. We’ve just got too much going on right now.”
When they stopped at school, Mom kissed her cheek.
“I love you, Glory,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re eleven already. I’ll be praying for you to have a good day.”
“Thanks,” Glory said, her irritation lifting. She really did have an awesome mom, and she was grateful. “See you tonight.”
By gym class, Glory decided she’d try to turn her birthday around. So far, things hadn’t quite gone as hoped or planned, so it was time to get it back on track!
But Mom forgot to give her the field trip forms she’d spent the morning rushing to print and fill out. Then Glory realized she’d forgotten her math homework at home. And a boy in her class said she looked like a porcupine today. But that was okay.
A couple of goals in field hockey would sure help her mood!
• • •
When her gym teacher announced they’d no longer be playing field hockey but softball instead, Glory sighed. Field hockey was her favorite. Glory hated softball. She couldn’t hit a ball, and she couldn’t throw one either. She threw underhanded, and the ball always seemed to go only about six inches before falling to the ground.
Coach put her in the outfield. Garrison, the same boy who’d made the porcupine comment, was at bat. He hit the third pitch, with the softball soaring high and toward the outfield. Glory looked up in horror. The ball was heading straight toward her.
“Get it, Glory!”
“You can do it!”
Glory squinted, held out her hands, glove up and open, and moved to catch it. Maybe today would be the day she could actually make a play. She swerved to the left and then the right, trying to follow the ball, but she lost her footing. She tripped and fell.
The softball landed on her right foot.
Several of the kids laughed. Garrison ran around the bases and yelled, “Great job, porcupine!”
Glory got up and grabbed the softball. She jogged over to the pitcher and handed it to him instead of throwing it.
“I didn’t catch it
because, uh, because I didn’t want to mess up my hair,” she said with a smile.
Later that day, Glory balanced her lunch tray while she looked around the cafeteria for somewhere to sit. She smiled when she saw her friends Julia, Kaelyn, and Becca. They were talking and laughing about something.
“What’s so funny?” she asked when she sat down.
“Nothing,” Kaelyn said with a big grin.
“What were you talking about?” Glory asked, suddenly feeling very awkward.
They smiled, but they just shook their heads and said nothing. Glory sighed. She couldn’t believe it.
Of all the days to keep a secret.
“We were just wondering if . . . you could sit with us in chapel,” Julia said.
Glory nodded. She had almost forgotten it was a chapel day. Glory loved that part of their Christian school. They got to worship together and talk about Jesus in class. But sometimes Glory didn’t like it because none of the Brave Girls went to her school. Faith was homeschooled, Hope and Gracie both went to public schools, and Honor had just moved up to a new middle school. She wished at least one of them was in her class.
Suddenly, Glory had an idea. Maybe she could get her school friends to come home with her. Maybe she could persuade Dad to take them all somewhere fun, maybe to a park or out for some ice cream.
“I have an idea,” Glory said. “Want to come over to my house after school? I’m supposed to go to my grandma’s for dinner, but I know my dad will take us somewhere fun first if I ask him.”
They all looked at one another, holding in laughter and once again acting strange.
“I have swimming lessons,” Kaelyn said.
She’s never mentioned taking swimming lessons, Glory thought.
“I’m going to Girl Scouts,” Becca said.
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