by Mike Lupica
“You know I play the right way, Dad.”
“Not tonight you didn’t,” he said.
She had taken what he’d said to heart. Ever since, she had run out every ball at practice, taken every drill seriously, even leading some of them when her dad asked her to. She had done her best to practice like she played. She knew it wasn’t a real game, knew that every swing she took and every ball she fielded and every pitch she threw didn’t matter the way they did when the games counted. But she had discovered something: there were all kinds of ways to have fun in sports. And now the harder she worked, the more fun she had.
She had told that to her dad after the first official practice for the Red Sox.
He’d put a hand to his chest and staggered back a couple of steps. “You’re telling me I was right?” he said.
“I’ll tell you what I tell Jack and the guys,” she’d said, smiling at him. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
There were thirteen players on the team, which meant they didn’t have enough to scrimmage. So when Cassie and the guys got to the field, her dad announced that he was putting Jack and Teddy and Gus to work. He needed them to be players, because he wanted to have a three-inning scrimmage, with him pitching for both teams.
“And which position would you like to play on Cassie’s team?” Mr. Bennett said to Jack.
Jack was grinning at Cassie when he said, “Shortstop?”
Her position.
“Very funny,” Cassie said.
Brooke jumped in and said, “You catch for my team, Jack. I’ll go play the outfield for theirs.”
“I’d rather play against Cassie anyway,” Jack said.
“Your loss,” Cassie said.
Cassie’s team was starting in the field. Sarah was on Cassie’s team, playing center. Cassie had watched her when her dad had brought Jack and Teddy and Gus out onto the field. She didn’t look frightened, exactly, at three boys she didn’t know basically joining the Red Sox tonight. She didn’t look angry. There was just a look of wariness on her face, as if somebody had moved her stuff.
Cassie had said hardly anything to Sarah over the past couple of practices, still giving her space. Or maybe not trying to invade her space. But now, watching as Sarah kept staring at the guys, she walked over and quietly said, “It’s okay. They’re friends of mine.”
Sarah’s response was to sprint out to her position.
The scrimmage, their first, was fun. Because it was a three- inning game, it meant that everybody would likely get one at bat. By the bottom of the third, last ups for Cassie’s team, they were losing 4–3. Jack, who could have been a switch-hitter, same as Cassie, had hit one over Sarah’s head in the top of the third, knocking home two runs and putting his team ahead.
“You figured me out,” Cassie’s dad said to him when Jack was standing on second base. “In one at bat.”
“Up and in, low and away, then up and in,” Jack said.
“You don’t miss much,” Chris Bennett said.
“He’s cocky enough already, Dad,” Cassie said from short.
“Look who’s talking,” Jack said.
Cassie’s dad looked at his daughter, then at Jack, and said, “So it goes.”
He got two quick outs in the bottom of the third. Greta popped out, and then Kathleen hit one hard, but directly at Teddy in right field.
When he threw the ball back in, he yelled to Cassie, “Am I about to get my first-ever win in girls’ softball?”
Cassie was walking to the plate. She yelled back, “I’m sorry, is the game over yet?”
“About to be,” Teddy said.
Cassie thought: I never make the last out, not even in a scrimmage. And I’m not doing it tonight with my boys in the game.
“That was a mistake,” Jack said from behind the plate. “Him chirping you.”
“Always,” Cassie said, taking her stance, setting her hands, staring out at her dad.
She ripped the first pitch she saw from him over Lizzie’s head at third base, down the left-field line, and into the corner, before Brooke finally ran it down and got the ball back into the infield.
Cassie thought she might have been able to make third. But she wasn’t sure she could make it. And you didn’t make the last out of the game at third, even if it was a scrimmage.
Practice like you play.
But once she was at second base, and the ball was back in her dad’s glove, she did find the time to stare out at Teddy in right, and put a hand to her ear, like she couldn’t hear anything. Chirping him right back without saying a word. Teddy acted like he couldn’t see, just turned to his other outfielders and made a motion with his fingers, reminding them there were still two outs.
Sarah came to the plate. She didn’t say anything to Jack, or look at him as she dug in. Cassie watched as Sarah went through the same exact routine she did before every swing. She leaned forward and touched the far side of the plate three times with the end of her bat. She tugged the right shoulder of her T-shirt, then the left shoulder. Tugged on the bill of her cap. Then, and only then, did she look out at the pitcher.
Her first time up against Mr. Bennett, she’d hit a ball so hard back up the middle that it had gone through his legs before he’d had time to get his glove down. Now, in her stance, she was completely still, the way she always was. Cassie liked to wave her bat a little before the pitch was thrown. Not Sarah. She looked as if she were posing for the Mannequin Challenge, which had become so popular earlier that year.
Cassie’s dad didn’t try to groove one for her, instead pitching her the same as he’d pitched everybody else. Up and in, low and away. Finally the count was two and two. Allie’s dad was calling balls and strikes from behind Jack. Sarah had taken all four pitches. If Mr. Bennett had stayed in sequence, the fifth pitch would have been high and inside. It was inside, but it wasn’t high enough.
Sarah crushed it to right.
Teddy, who played catcher on the boys’ team, could see right away how hard it had been hit, and how deep. Or maybe hear how hard it had been hit. But he stumbled slightly as he turned, got his balance back, running for the fence, having picked up the ball again.
Then he stopped, knowing he had no chance, knowing it was gone. He watched the way they all did as the ball disappeared over the fence, clearing it by a lot.
Cassie had been running all the way, with two outs, but she was following the ball, too, as she rounded third. She knew it was a home run about the same time Teddy Madden did.
She trotted the rest of the way home, right arm in the air. Her arm was still in the air as she crossed the plate, so it was easy for Jack to high-five her. The rest of the girls on Cassie’s team were treating it exactly like what it was, a walk-off homer. They were jumping up and down next to home plate while they waited for Sarah to finish rounding the bases.
Her head down, as usual.
Cassie wanted to be the first to congratulate her, so she had positioned herself a few feet up the third baseline, in foul territory, waiting.
When Sarah got to her, Cassie couldn’t help herself, shouting, “Sarah, that was awesome,” before she extended both hands toward Sarah, waiting for a double high five.
Sarah didn’t high-five Cassie back.
But she did shout back.
“Get off me!”
Then Sarah shoved Cassie, hard, shoved her to the ground, before touching home plate, pivoting, running past the pitcher’s mound, past Cassie’s dad, for the outfield, as if the rest of her teammates were chasing her.
SIX
Cassie kept telling everybody she was fine, she didn’t need to be helped to her feet, it was over, nothing to see here, move along. If one more teammate asked if she was all right, Cassie felt like she was going to be the one yelling for all of them to get off her.
At least Jack knew enough to back off and leave her alone. He just went and stood by himself, over near the bench on the third-base side of the field.
When Cassie walked over to him, she saw that he was s
miling.
“That was different,” he said.
“You think?” she said.
Cassie didn’t realize that Kathleen was right behind her. “How do you like her now?” Kathleen said.
Cassie turned and gave her the Look. “Not in the mood for this right now, Kath,” she said. “Not even close.”
“I’m sorry,” Kathleen said. “Did I do something?”
Cassie ignored her, turning instead to face the outfield, where her dad was talking to Sarah, who was standing in her usual spot, head down, of course. Neither one of them seemed in any hurry to join the rest of the team. To Cassie, it already seemed like an hour ago that everybody had been happy and celebrating.
When Cassie was sure it was just her and Jack, she said, “It was my fault.”
“It was nobody’s fault, Cass,” Jack said. “It just happened. Sometimes the heat of the moment gets really, really hot.”
“It was because I got up in her face,” Cassie said.
“Right,” Jack said. “And then you had the nerve to hit her hands with your chest.”
“You know what I mean.”
“And you know what I mean. That there was no way you could have known that she was going to react like that.”
“Still should have known better.”
“Are you insane?” Jack said. “You haven’t even known her for a whole week. You were supposed to know she’d go off because you congratulated her for hitting a home run?”
“I’ve been reading up a lot on Asperger’s,” Cassie said. “I’m telling you, I should have been smarter.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, “in a week you’re an expert.”
“You were right there,” Cassie said. “She was fine until I yelled.”
“Okay,” Jack said. “I’ll give you that. And next time you won’t.”
“She must feel terrible,” Cassie said, staring again at the outfield, where her dad and Sarah hadn’t moved.
“You’re already one of the smartest people I know,” Jack said. “But you need to leave this alone right now. Because you have no idea what she’s feeling.”
“I should go talk to her.”
“Your dad is talking to her.”
“I don’t want this to be a thing.”
“It’s already a thing!” Jack said. “That’s why you need to let your dad handle it.”
“I like to handle things for myself.”
“Wow,” Jack said, “I hadn’t ever picked up on that.”
Cassie didn’t have her phone in the pocket of her shorts. She didn’t know what time it was, or what time the scrimmage had ended, or how long her dad and Sarah had been out there. But it had been a while.
Jack touched Cassie on the shoulder and pointed across the diamond. Sarah’s parents had shown up now with some of the other parents, meaning it was seven o’clock, and time for pickup. The Milligans saw what everybody could see: the rest of the Red Sox players milling around at home plate still, or collecting their stuff at the first-base bench, or the fence behind it. And there was Sarah with Cassie’s dad, out in center. Sarah’s parents had to know something had happened. Not exactly what. But something.
“I should go explain to them what happened,” Cassie said.
But before she could even take one step in their direction, Jack gently placed a hand on her arm.
“Let the grown-ups handle this,” he said.
“You’re saying I can’t?”
“Not as well as the grown-ups,” Jack said. “Not even you.”
Mr. and Mrs. Milligan walked to the outfield. When they got there, Cassie saw her dad speak to them. She saw Mr. Milligan nodding his head. She thought he might even be smiling. Mrs. Milligan put an arm around Sarah’s shoulders. With her other hand she put a finger under Sarah’s chin, finally making her look up.
After a few more minutes they all started walking toward the infield, Mrs. Milligan’s arm still around Sarah’s shoulders. They turned at second base and walked across the infield dirt toward first. Mrs. Milligan stayed with Sarah. Mr. Milligan walked over and collected Sarah’s bat bag, either recognizing it right away or knowing exactly where it would be.
Then he and Mrs. Milligan and Sarah were opening the door in the fence and walking through it, heading for the parking lot.
Before Jack could stop her this time, Cassie was jogging after them.
They were in the parking lot when she caught up with them.
“Sarah,” Cassie said. “Hey, Sarah.”
She was careful not to raise her voice.
Sarah turned around, saw who it was. This time she didn’t look away.
“I just wanted to tell you I was sorry,” she said. “What happened was my fault.”
Sarah didn’t say anything, just stared at her, without expression. She didn’t seem angry now. She didn’t seem anything.
“I shouldn’t have gotten up on you that way,” Cassie said. “It won’t happen again.”
Still nothing from Sarah.
“Okay?” Cassie said.
Finally, in a voice that Cassie could barely hear, Sarah Milligan said, “Please stop talking.”
“I’m not trying to bother you.”
“Please stop talking, please stop talking, please stop talking,” Sarah said.
So Cassie did.
“Stop talking,” Sarah said again.
Then she opened the door and got into the backseat of the car. At some point Mr. Milligan must have handed Sarah her glove. Cassie was close enough to the car to look through the window and see that Sarah was wearing it now, pounding it again and again with her right fist, like she was trying to break it in all over again.
“It really was my fault,” Cassie said to Mr. and Mrs. Milligan.
Mrs. Milligan smiled, but her face looked sad.
“You couldn’t possibly have known that congratulating Sarah would make her act that way,” she said. “Please don’t blame yourself. We’ve had Sarah her whole life. We know her better than anyone. You’ve only known her since tryouts.”
“I want to help her,” Cassie said, keeping her voice low.
“I’m sure you do, dear,” Mrs. Milligan said. “I’m sure you do.”
She opened the door and got into the front seat. Mr. Milligan walked around the car and got in on the driver’s side. Then Cassie heard the car starting, and watched it slowly pull away.
As it disappeared in the direction of town, Cassie found herself feeling the way she had with Peter Rizzo, the autistic boy who’d been in the fifth grade with her.
Somehow she was going to fix this.
• • •
They were at Fierro’s now, their usual booth in the back, Jack and Gus on one side of the table, Cassie and Teddy on the other. By the time they’d gotten there, Greta and Kathleen and Nell had been across the room in a booth of their own.
After Cassie and the guys ordered, Greta came over and said, “This wasn’t even a real game, and now I’m wondering if every game is going to be like this.”
She pointed over at her table and said, “Everybody’s worried.”
“It’ll be fine,” Cassie said.
“And you know that . . . how?”
“We’ll all just have to figure it out,” Cassie said. “Sarah included. She lost her head because I lost mine.”
“Yeah,” Greta said. “You gave her a big shout-out for hitting a home run. What were you thinking?”
“But at least it all started because she did hit that home run,” Cassie said. “I’ve never hit a ball that far.”
Cassie didn’t want to be talking about this with Greta. She wanted to talk about it with Jack and Gus and Teddy. But it wasn’t as if she could get up and leave her own booth.
And Greta wasn’t finished.
“Just because you want to be friends with her doesn’t mean we have to be friends with her,” she said. “And just because you’re okay with her being on our team doesn’t mean we are.”
“Just because I’m trying
to be nice to her doesn’t mean that we’re friends,” Cassie said, voice rising, unable to stop it. She knew she was tired, and knew she was getting crankier with Greta Zahn by the second. “Do you see her sitting here with me? I just want this to work out for her, and work out for us. Are you okay with that?”
“Our team doesn’t need any help, and you know it,” Greta said.
Then she was the one who walked away.
When she was out of earshot, Teddy said, “Forget about being friends with the new girl. Why did you ever want to be friends with her?”
“Good question,” Cassie said. “We’ve never had much in common other than softball.”
“Usually that’s enough for you,” Gus said.
“I keep reminding myself of that,” Cassie said.
Their pizza came. They all ate in silence for a few minutes, Cassie going through the motions, because she’d lost her appetite. A couple of times she looked across at her teammates. One time when she did, they all stopped talking.
“It is gonna be fine, right?” Cassie said. “We all just have to get used to Sarah. Me included. It’ll be fine.”
She knew how much she sounded as if she were trying to talk herself into something.
Jack leaned forward a little and said, “But what if it’s not?”
“Hey,” Cassie said. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours,” he said. “Like always. But you know what a bear you are for winning. In anything. You just gotta know that it’s not only your own team you have to worry about. There’s gonna be another team on the field.”
It stopped her. “I hadn’t even thought about that,” she said.
“Not saying they’re gonna be mean,” he said. “But it’s not like they’ll be worried about making softball the positive experience for Sarah that you want it to be. They’ll just be looking to knock off the best team in the league. Maybe in the state.”
Teddy asked Cassie then what her dad had said after Sarah and her parents were gone. Cassie told them what her dad had told her: that what had happened tonight would happen from time to time, unexpectedly. When Sarah was younger, she’d experienced some bullying in school, and it had made her more sensitive and sometimes defensive than she already was, even though there hadn’t been any bullying for a long time in Sarah’s life, at least that they knew about. But she still had her guard up, constantly, for aggressive behavior of any kind. And Mr. and Mrs. Milligan had told Cassie’s dad that the other kids on the Red Sox were going to have to understand that what they considered normal communication might not be normal for a child with Asperger’s.
