Mom’s glove.
Her old softball mitt is sitting on a shelf next to a dusty vase. I hesitantly pick up the glove and slip my hand inside. I hunt around for a softball and find one behind a box of CDs. I pull a deep breath and start pounding the ball into the glove, loving the release, loving the energy whipping through my muscles. I rush up the stairs, taking two at a time, and jog out into the front yard. Giving Mom’s tulip beds a wide berth, I throw the ball up into the air as high as it will go, then catch it. I do this over and over again. It never gets old.
Mom’s car pulls into the driveway right when the sun begins to set.
“You didn’t happen to bring your glove?” Mom asks as she steps out of the car.
“No.”
She slides her tote bag onto her shoulder and comes to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I’ve missed her doing that so much. “That’s too bad. We could’ve played catch.”
“Next time.” I smile at her, but it’s a pained smile. I wish I hadn’t quit the team last year. I wish I hadn’t let my former friends influence everything I did. I wish I had understood that people will always interpret my actions in different ways.
“There are public batting cages not too far from here,” Mom says, pulling her glove off my hand. She slips her hand into it and pounds a fist against the pocket. “You pay for rounds of balls. It’s fun—I go there sometimes.”
“By yourself?”
“Yup.” She beams. “Sometimes I even bat on the Major League Baseball setting. The balls come at you at 90 miles per hour.”
My mouth falls open. “How many have you hit? Balls going at 90 miles per hour, I mean.”
“A couple.” She laughs softly and brushes her hair over her shoulder. “I usually out-bat the men who go there. It makes them all upset. And then they hit on me.”
I grin. “Let’s go.”
“Let me change into sweats.”
We hit ten rounds of balls apiece, blowing way too much money. I even try the MLB setting, but I only manage a foul-tip. I’m proud of it, though, considering how rusty I am.
Then Mom and I go out to this healthy buffet she likes, where we build giant salads full of tomatoes and squash and avocado to take home to eat in front of the TV. And for the first time in over a year, I watch a Braves game.
•••
Dear Lord,
On Monday morning, when I get back to school, I’m going to talk to Coach Burns and Dr. Salter. I want to see if they’ll give me another chance to play softball this year. I pray you’ll be there with me when I ask. I know that being on a team means acting like a team player, which I haven’t been this year. I’m the last person who deserves to play softball. But I want to. I want to try. And I hope I can help the team win some games.
Thanks for the great Spring Break.
Written on March 19 while overlooking the Great Smoky Mountains. Burned using a candle.
the prom decisional
2 days until i turn 18
Dr. Salter and Coach Burns had the team take a vote.
Fourteen girls voted yes to letting me back on the team, while eight said no.
Now when I show up at softball practice, I don’t pay one lick of attention to Laura. I bat, I run, I field the ball. I dive when I have to, jump when I have to, take risks when I have to. I cheer for my teammates during games. I chew my gum and smile and enjoy the bright sky.
Rumors about Brian and me haven’t stopped, but I try my best to ignore them. I really try. But I cried myself to sleep one night after hearing Jake Sanders and Paul wondering aloud if Brian and I had ever had sex in the equipment shed. I cried again after I saw Will talking to Kate Kelly. I know he didn’t see me, but I saw him, leaning against his locker, smiling down at her. I wish he would smile at me like that again.
I cried because, even though things were over between us before we got caught, Brian left without saying good-bye.
But I love this game, and I’m ashamed I ran away from it.
•••
I didn’t get a dinosaur invitation to Bo’s party.
I didn’t figure I would, but deep down I hoped. Still, I ride my bike over to Walmart, where I buy a package of baseball cards, some of those capsules that expand into animals in the bathtub, and a new Matchbox car. It’s not much, and Will will probably think it’s way over the top and that I’m trying to get his attention in any way, but that’s not true. I like Bo, and I have a feeling that no one but my parents will notice my eighteenth birthday next week, and I don’t want Bo to ever feel that way.
When you turn eighteen, you’re supposed to go buy a lottery ticket. You’re supposed to buy cigarettes, even if you don’t smoke. Go clubbing with girlfriends in Nashville. Instead, I’ll probably have a quiet dinner at home with Mom, Dad, and Ryan. And that’s fine.
But as much as I want to take Mom’s advice and do things for me and only me, I’m still lonely. I still need friends. When I go to college in the fall, I’ll definitely be more social, but I will remain guarded. Was my connection with Brian real? Did we truly like each other? Does he miss me? I don’t know if I’ll ever get the cojones to reach out to anyone again, but if I care enough about the person to risk it, I’m open to the idea, and that’s gotta count for something.
I pack the gifts in a bag and write To Bo, from Parker Shelton on it, then I ride my bike out to Whitfield Farms, loving the smell of cut grass floating on the warm spring air.
I pass a bunch of hay bales, then I stop at their mailbox, prop my bike up with one foot, and slip the gift bag inside. I stare at their house, remembering the Sunday lunch I had with them and the time Will had me over to baby-sit Bo. I softly touch the spot on my neck that he rubbed. My mind wanders to the time I nearly let him kiss me in the equipment shed, where everything fell apart, but I snuff it out of my mind. I jerk my head from side to side, telling myself to get over it.
I’ve tried. He’s gone. That’s it.
I take a final glance at the farm and say good-bye to Will Whitfield, then I pedal home.
•••
Friday’s practice ends.
I hop on my bike and speed down the four-lane toward my house. The sky is edging into twilight. When it’s safe, I hold both arms out like I’m flying. The warm wind rushes over my body, and I’m smiling.
I pedal past Dairy Queen and get a major hankering for a Dilly Bar. I do a U-turn and thrust my arms out again, pretending I’m a bird. I’ve really lost it, but I don’t care. It feels good.
I lock my bike and head inside, where I find Will and Drew slumped in a booth, their trays piled high with food. They see me and stare. Will stops chewing. Drew doesn’t bite into the hot dog he’s holding. They look shocked. Probably because I’ve voluntarily chosen a fast-food restaurant. My first instinct is to rush to my bike and peel out of here, but I want that Dilly Bar. I haven’t had one in a couple years, and my taste buds are begging for the chocolate.
Heading to the counter, I avoid their faces. I don’t even glance back at them while I’m waiting for my order to come up. I smile to myself, glad that even with all the weird stuff that happened between Will and Drew, they’re still hanging out together.
When the ice cream is in my hand, I peel back the paper wrapper and bite into the chocolate shell. It cracks, and vanilla ice cream flows onto my tongue. Don’t groan, don’t groan, I tell myself. But I can’t hold back my smile.
On my way out, I sneak a peek at Will and Drew. Drew’s focused on his hot dog, but Will is watching me, one side of his mouth lifted into a subtle smile. He quickly averts his eyes and sinks his teeth into his burger.
That sucks, but I’ve got my ice cream and my bike and I’m heading home to my family. Maybe Dad will want to take a walk with me.
•••
I stand on the third base line with my hand
pressed over my heart. The national anthem is playing before the announcer reads the Prom Decisional lineup.
Coach Burns hasn’t let me start very many games this season since I hadn’t paid my dues and all, but he told me I’m definitely starting today.
Coach Burns never looks me in the eye.
The anthem ends, and the announcer says, “Thank you all for coming to the sixth annual Prom Decisional!” The crowd claps and whistles. The smell of popcorn wafts through the air. “It’s also Senior Night here at Hundred Oaks. Coach Burns asks that parents of seniors join the players on the field.”
Players who aren’t seniors go sit in the dugouts, and this horribly cheesy instrumental music spills from the loudspeakers. Mom and Dad stand up from their seats in the bleachers and make their way onto the field. Brother John and Mrs. Martin move to stand next to Laura, ignoring my family. Ms. Bates joins Drew, while Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield, carrying Bo, smile and wave at me on their way to stand with Will. I guess they didn’t hear the rumors about me.
Dad squeezes my neck, and Mom holds my hand. The announcer calls each senior’s name, and Dr. Salter shakes our hands and gives each of us a little bouquet of roses. I invited Theresa to come, to stand next to Mom, but she graciously declined. And truth be told, that relieved me a bit. But I’m glad I asked her. I know Mom was glad too.
The bright lights shine down as we take the field. The boys are batting first. Sam steps up to home plate, taking a few practice swings. I bend over onto my knees, focusing on him, chewing my gum. Laura winds up and pitches a strong fastball right down the center. Sam watches it go by.
“Come on, Laura!” Jordan yells from the stands. “Strike him out!”
Sam smirks and takes another practice swing. JJ punches Jordan in the shoulder, and she shoves him. I stare Sam down. This time he swings and flies out to center field.
“Nice!” I say, smacking my glove. “Three up, three down, Laura.”
The next batter up is Travis Lake. Laura takes a deep breath and gets ready to pitch. He hits a groundball to me, and I easily make the grab and hurl the ball to Allie at first. Two down.
Drew bats third, slamming a line drive over Mel’s head. He stretches it into a double. Will bats cleanup but doesn’t manage to clean anything up. He hits a line drive to Laura, and she catches it for out number three.
Coach has me leading off. Since I’ve shed a lot of weight, I’ve gotten way fast—fast enough to bat first. Jake Sanders pitches the softball overhand, which is kinda weird. I let the first pitch pass. On the second, I bunt and sprint down the first base line faster than Paul can pick up the ball and bomb it. Mom and Dad yell my name and clap. Mel is up next. She smacks the ball over the shortstop’s head, and I hurl myself around second toward third. The left fielder launches the ball to Will at third. I slide into the bag right as Will tags my leg.
“Out!” the ump says.
I pull myself to my feet and brush the dirt off my pants. I give Will a quick smile before jogging to the dugout.
Our teams stay tied at zero-zero over the next three innings. In the fifth, Sam slams a homer over the left field wall. He showboats around the bases, dancing and acting up.
One-zero, Boys.
In the sixth inning, I hit a triple, knocking two runs in, and Allie also earns two RBI. In the same inning, Will hits a homer and brings Drew home. Before the eighth, the crowd sings “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” I’m having a great time, even if I’m not really speaking to anybody and nobody’s speaking to me. As usual. It’s just fine. I love this game.
In the top of the ninth, we’re still up four-three with one out. Tim Keale hits a line drive straight into the hole. I lurch left and snatch the ball, then chase Will back toward second base. I outrun him, tagging his back.
“Out!” the ump yells.
We win!
My team rushes toward the pitcher’s mound, screaming and hollering and jumping in circles. I smile to myself and pound the softball into my mitt.
“Good game,” Will says, clapping my back and hustling toward the dugout. The guys I used to manage are packing up their equipment, acting like the game meant nothing. I can tell their pride is hurt. Will says something to the guys, and then they walk back onto the field. They start shaking hands with the girls and say, “Good game.”
Sam asks Laura, “So what’s the prom theme gonna be?”
“Disney,” she replies, making everyone groan. And I mean everyone.
“Oh God,” Will says, adjusting his cap.
“Wait,” Allie says. “We need to discuss this as a team.”
The girls huddle together, but I stay on the outskirts, not really caring. They’re arguing, calling out all sorts of ridiculous themes. “Titanic!” “Christmas in May!” “Paris!” “Vegas!” “Cowboys and Aliens!”
Sam slips two fingers in his mouth and whistles. “Parker made the winning play. Let’s hear what she wants.”
“Ancient Rome,” I say, grinning, thinking about the theme Sam has been jockeying for. “The decorations can be fake columns and gold lights and stuff.”
“I like that idea,” Allie says, and Mel nods.
“What about Disney?” Laura asks, bouncing on her toes.
“I dressed as Sleeping Beauty when I was, like, five,” Sydney says. “It’s been done.”
“If we pick Ancient Rome, we’ll all get to wear beautiful white gowns and crowns of ivy,” I add.
“I love that!” Allie says.
“I can wear my gold strappy sandals,” Mel replies.
“I have a white chiffon dress,” Chelsea Clark says.
And the guys can show up in togas. I grin to myself.
“Sam,” Allie says. “The theme is Ancient Rome.”
He gapes and says in mock horror, “That’s a terrible idea.” Under his breath, he says to me, “Nice one.”
Will lets out a laugh and gives me a quick smile, revealing the dimple I haven’t seen in weeks.
I grab my bat bag and head toward my parents, running into Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield on the way. Bo’s curled up in his mom’s arms, playing with her necklace and sucking his thumb.
Mr. Whitfield shakes my hand. “I can’t believe you made that double play. It was great.”
“You need to come over for dinner sometime soon,” his wife says. “It was so nice of you to give Bo a birthday present. Do you have something to say to Parker?” Mrs. Whitfield asks him.
He takes his thumb out of his mouth. “Thank you,” he says, then deposits the thumb right back where it was.
“You’re very welcome.” It surprises me that the Whitfields are speaking to me, considering all the rumors flying around about what happened with Brian. I move to walk off but Mrs. Whitfield speaks again.
“We miss seeing you around,” she says quietly. “Will hasn’t said as much, but he’s been down.”
I give her a quick smile. “I miss him too,” I mumble.
Trey is yanking on his mother’s jeans and yelling something about a trip to McDonald’s, so I excuse myself and go meet Dad and Mom. Her hug feels like the warmest blanket on the coldest night. Thanks, God, for giving her back.
going the distance
18 years old
“I love it.”
I pull the dress out of the box and hold it in front of my body. It’s covered in blue and white flowers.
“It’s a vintage ballerina dress. From the 1950s,” Mom says, taking the full-bodied skirt between her fingers. “I figure you can wear it to graduation. We’ll probably have to get it altered.”
Dad looks pleased. He sips his coffee. I carefully place the dress back in its box.
“This is from me,” Ryan says, pushing a gift bag across the table.
I dig through the pink tissue paper to find an envelope containing a gi
ft certificate for a mani-pedi at Elizabeth Arden. “Thanks! It’s perfect.”
A smile flits across his face. I open Dad’s present next. It’s a new iPhone, something we can’t even begin to afford.
I’m grinning like crazy. “Dad, this is too much.”
“It’s fine—your mom and I went in on it together.” I jump out of my chair to give both of my parents a hug. Ryan lets me hug him too, and I’m happy that my family’s together again. Maybe not in the way I wish we were together, but it’s close enough.
“Cake and ice cream?” Mom asks.
“Sure,” I reply, thinking I might eat the entire piece. I’m still not used to big portions, but I’ll try. I blow out the candles, and the four of us dig into Mom’s red velvet cake with cream cheese icing.
I hear a rap on the door. I swallow a bite of cake and go to answer it. I find Drew standing there. He hasn’t knocked in years; he always lets himself right in.
“Hey,” I say, stepping onto the porch. Moths flit around the porch light.
“Happy birthday,” he says, passing me a gift wrapped in silvery paper. It makes me happy that he remembered.
“Is this from you?” I ask, hardly believing he got me a birthday present.
“Yes.” He takes a step back and hops to the grass, avoiding my face.
“Should I open it now?”
“Whatever you want.”
I stare at the gift. I glance up at him. “Thank you. I’d better get back inside.” I point over my shoulder at the house.
“Okay. Good night.” I step inside as he says, “Wait. I know the truth.”
“The truth about what?” I reply, facing him again.
He slips his hands into his pockets. “That nothing had happened between you and Corndog. He told me the truth.”
I nod slowly and bite on my lower lip, running my fingers over the silver wrapping paper.
“I just needed some time…to process everything, you know?” he says, glancing at my face.
Stealing Parker (Catching Jordan) Page 20
