Sport: Olympic-level mathlete
Favorite Athlete: To be determined during extensive conversation
Quote: “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” —Albert Einstein
Practice was already going. The coach, whose name is Coach Hollylighter, had the players on the field and she was hitting balls as other players ran the bases. The team practiced throwing to one another to try to get players out.
It wasn’t a hard drill but it showed they were pretty good as a team. The ball landed with solid thwacks as each player threw it to the next. I almost got carried away by the rhythm. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! I could listen to that sound all day.
Fortunately, Coach Hollylighter handed the bat to one of the players—ugh, Mario—and had him step up to bat. Devon was on the mound.
I’d been waiting for the batting portion of practice.
I called my catlike reflexes into action, scooting my butt to the very edge of the bleachers. I had the sense this was my moment. My winning-season winning life was about to restart NOW.
Mario looked over and gave me a weird eyeballing. Maybe I’d be wondering what I was doing there, too. Plus, there’s that whole he’s-never-gotten-a-hit-off-me thing, so my presence probably bothered him.
Devon went into her windup and lobbed a fastball. Mario took a big swing and missed.
I started to wonder if he couldn’t hit her pitches, either.
She threw again. Another strike. Wow, she was better than I remembered.
But Mario got a piece of the next pitch, and the hit was exactly what I was hoping for. A high pop fly headed to center field. I pulled on my mitt and leapt from the bleachers. I didn’t look anywhere but at the ball. I had their attention, I knew it.
I ignored Mario’s voice shouting, “Gaggy, get off the field!”
I ignored the other exclamations of “What is she doing?” “Is that the Luther Polluter?” “We’re practicing here!”
They’d be practicing their expressions of wonder and awe soon enough. That pop fly was my calling card.
Glove outstretched, I made one beautiful, ballet-like leap into center field, trying to cover as much ground as I could. The ball was coming down, headed for my glove. I was going to have it.
The ball and a WIN.
THWACK!
The ball hit my mitt and my hand closed around it.
SMASH.
UH-OH.
Was that blood?
“OUCH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? OUCH!!! MY NOSE!”
The center fielder, this girl Madeleine who was in my chemistry class, was looking at me with a blood-smeared face. She held her nose as blood oozed out of it. I touched my own nose, which was fine.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Are you okay?” My voice was VERY SCREECHY.
“NO!” she yelled, and I looked away from all the blood.
I might be good at sports but I am not good at blood.
I didn’t want to hurt anyone! But Madeleine seemed more bloody and angry than actually hurt. And the ball was in my glove.
Still, my movie moment turned from inspiring sports movie to terrifying horror movie.
So I stopped myself from holding the ball in the air and saying, “I got it!”
“What were you thinking?” The voice was an adult voice. An authority voice. A coach voice.
I turned and was looking up at Coach Hollylighter. She’s very tall with the kind of stick-straight hair that probably never does a shark-fin thing. She has freckles but even though freckles usually make me think someone will be easy to talk to (I don’t know why, I just do), her freckles are intimidating. Maybe because at that moment, they framed the very permanent-seeming frown on her face.
She probably has a kind and supportive face when it’s not quite so angry.
But it was SUPER-angry.
“Um, hi, I’m Gabby Garcia,” I said. Because I didn’t really know what I was thinking but I thought if I tried to explain the movie-moment thing, Coach Hollylighter was not going to like it.
“I know who you are.”
I was pretty excited when she said that. I figured she did—I knew all the top Piper Bell players’ names—and this confirmed it. But then she continued.
“I know who you are, Gabby Garcia. But my question is, what are you doing?”
“Um, introducing myself?”
“You thought you’d introduce yourself by almost giving one of your classmates a concussion???”
I looked at Madeleine, who had an ice pack against her nose. She was surrounded by members of the team who were not looking as impressed with me as I thought they’d be. But she definitely didn’t have a concussion.
“That wasn’t the point,” I said. I thought about telling her how I was going for a big movie moment and how it was supposed to play out. LIKE THIS:
The ball is in the air. It practically calls my name: “Gabby, bet you can’t catch me!”
I leap from the bleachers, eagle eyes on the ball dropping from the sky.
Every member of the team—even Mario, who should be running to first—stops what they’re doing to watch.
“It’s Gabby Garcia, from Luther . . . ,” someone would say in a hushed tone.
They know magic is about to be made.
The ball floats down from the heavens. I gracefully stretch out my arm, pirouetting toward the ball and my future. It’s a magical dance and, at last, the ball lands beautifully in my glove. The team applauds and lifts me onto their shoulders because they all know they have found the missing piece in their best season ever!
Then, perhaps, confetti.
But the eyeballs on me were not like that at all.
And there was definitely no confetti.
So I remembered something my dad once said: “A wise man once said nothing.”
Instead of explaining, I just said, “I’m sorry.”
I did mean that. Because Madeleine’s nose had to hurt and it was my fault.
Coach Hollylighter sighed. One of those grown-up, why-do-I-have-to-do-this sighs for people who are just too tired to form words. (Which is most grown-ups I’ve met.)
“Look, I know you can play, but it is late in the season and taking on a new player could disrupt things when they’re going well. You can try out tomorrow, though. Without any displays like that.”
The Penguins were undefeated, so I guessed that was what she meant. But wouldn’t I help make them MORE undefeated? I was a little surprised she didn’t say, “Hey, that was violent and scary but you really can catch and, let’s face it, we all know who you are, Gabby Garcia, so will you join our team, please?”
We could have avoided Madeleine’s bloody nose if she’d just approached me like that right away. But I got the impression that Coach Hollylighter probably was someone who liked things kept a certain way, and that meant not adding to an already-full roster with a DISRUPTION.
So getting a tryout was something. And I hadn’t had to actually ASK for it.
“A tryout sounds great!” I lied. “I won’t let you down.”
Coach Hollylighter raised one of her eyebrows.
“Well, let’s just see if you can avoid plowing into someone and we’ll go from there.”
All in all, I decided to call this day a WIN (despite putting Madeleine on the disabled list—ACCIDENTALLY!). A tryout is still a chance and a chance is all I need.
WINS: 1
LOSSES: 3
THE GREATS: MO’NE DAVIS
Little League Pitcher for the Taney Dragons
Age: 15
From: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Known for: Being one of two girls to play in the 2014 Little League World Series
Why she’s great: First girl to win and pitch a shutout in the series’ sixty-eight-year history! Yeah, throwing like a girl. (Who even thought of saying that as an insult when it’s OBVIOUSLY a compliment!)
Odd fact: Despite amazing baseball skills, considers BASKETBALL her first sport
TAKE IT TO THE LIMIT
Action: I would make up for my movie moment by showing them everything I know about baseball. Everyone likes an expert, right?
Post-Day Analysis:
April 23
Okay, so I really needed the tryout to go perfectly. Did it? Well, hmm, maybe writing about it here, in the calming confines of my room, will help me decide.
I might have been calling it a win, but in the back of my head, I was worried that yesterday’s show for Coach Hollylighter and the team was more of a loss. Overall, my Piper Bell losing streak was a lot like trailing toilet paper from the bottom of your shoe—I just wanted to get it off me but I didn’t want to touch it directly, and even when I did think it was gone, I was worried I’d look down and find out I was still dragging it around.
Like today, I showed up for biology and realized I forgot to finish my paper on photosynthesis. And in algebra, I almost turned in my homework without realizing I didn’t finish the last three problems. Johnny Madden caught it when I passed my paper forward.
He turned around. “You forgot to do the last three,” he said. “They’re simple, though. You can probably knock them out in no time and just turn in your paper at the end of class.”
I liked that he had faith I could just take care of them so quickly, instead of being one of those boys who assume you must need help because it’s math. I’m good at math. A lot of girls are good at math, thank you very much. (Just like we’re good at throwing.)
Also, I noticed his eyes were the same color as a ball field. He was kind of odd. He wore a tie every day and toted around extra math books that weren’t for class and sometimes forgot to even leave the classroom because he was doing extra equations in a notebook, I think for fun. He was cute. I got the sense that people didn’t notice this about him. But I did. I had yesterday, in the bleachers, before I knocked Madeleine out.
“And don’t worry about your tryout,” he said at the end of the period. “Just don’t be afraid to show them what made you such a good pitcher at Luther.”
“How did you know I pitched at Luther?”
“We’ve all heard of Gabby Garcia,” he said. “I just didn’t recognize you on the first day. But when you showed up in my algebra class, I told Coach to recruit you. She’s a stickler. She told me we have our lineup, and if you wanted to play, you’d say something. So I was really glad you showed up yesterday.”
At least someone had been. But before I could answer, he walked out of class. Holy schmoley! He’d TOLD Coach Hollylighter to recruit me! That was really nice! But why hadn’t he told me what she’d said before?
WAYS JOHNNY MADDEN IS STRANGE
•Wears a tie
•Great at math and doesn’t make a big deal about it
•Seems to love math so much he has extra textbooks about it
•In fact, what is he doing in regular algebra anyway?
•They probably don’t have a class smart enough for him.
•Totally went to bat for me (HA!) with Coach Hollylighter
•Just gets around to telling me NOW
•And then, walks away!
•Walks away!! Gah!
It gave me a boost of confidence, that was for sure. And it gave me an idea.
Who I was had nothing to do with my uniform or about big movie moments. I was Gabby Garcia, practically an expert at any sport. But especially baseball.
I needed to make that clear at my tryout today.
So, fine, the Penguins were good, but what if there was a reason I was here, and they needed me? Maybe all of this asbestos stuff was some twisted way to bring me here, to be a game-changer for the Penguins. I’m not into horoscopes or all that weird fortune-telling stuff, but I AM superstitious, like any respectable athlete. And like any respectable athlete, sometimes I get a feeling about things.
And I’d talked myself into it: they needed me. That was my feeling.
So I got to practice right on time.
When I saw Coach Hollylighter, I gave her my best “I promise not to wound anyone” smile. Then I said, “I’m here for practice.”
She held up a finger. “I need to remind you that this is a tryout. We’re a strong team and we need to make sure you’re a good fit. I’m not actively seeking new players, even great ones.”
I nodded. Darn, she really was a stickler. I’d been hoping she’d just go with the practice thing and I’d be on the team. But, okay, maybe Coach Hollylighter was just tricking me a little about the tryout. She was calling it a tryout, but really I was just joining in a practice and as I practiced I would also be trying out. She HAD called me a great player, after all.
I was back in business. I was going to entirely shed this losing streak like it never existed.
“What should I do?” I asked Coach Hollylighter.
“Well, we’re doing our Round of Catch warm-up. How about you take shortstop for that drill? It’s how we start practice.”
Catch was how we ended practice at Luther. But, okay, I could deal with that. However, I’m a pitcher. Not a shortstop.
“I’m a pitcher. Shouldn’t I be there?”
Coach didn’t answer right away. I tried to make eye contact with Johnny, who had a calculator and was entering player stats into a big logbook, but he didn’t look up. After what he’d said in algebra, I’d been hoping for some support on his end. But I guessed he felt about math the way I did about baseball: when he was doing it, that was all he could think about.
“DeWitt, you okay stepping off the mound for a bit? For Gabby’s tryout.”
Devon did her slow-blink thing. She did not seem okay with it.
But she tossed the ball to Ryder Mills and stepped off the mound. “Yeah, whatever,” she said, and walked past me without any eye contact. She would be grateful for me soon enough, though!
I didn’t get to notice it so much last week, because I was so busy smashing into Madeleine, but the grass on the field is cushier than the grass at Luther, and the dirt isn’t as dusty. It was as tidy a field as the rest of Piper Bell, like it should have been covered in plastic like my grandma’s furniture so that my dirty cleats couldn’t mess it up.
But even though it was different from Luther’s scrappy field, it was a ball field. Ahhhhh. With each step, I felt stronger, like one of those nature specials where the baby animals take their first steps and then suddenly are able to run. I was becoming ME again. Yup, baseball is my game, and even more than that, baseball is ME.
On the mound, I could see everything. Maybe that’s why I’ve always liked being a pitcher. When you’re right at the center of everything, you know exactly what to do. You’re already winning, in a way.
It made playing good baseball a lot clearer than a lot of other stuff in life.
Ryder tossed me the ball and I knew to throw it to Mario.
“Heads up, Salamida,” I called.
He said, “Duh, Gaggy,” but caught it and threw to Devon at shortstop.
We circled around like that and I could feel Coach Hollylighter watching me, so I tried to dazzle her a little by giving tips to the team.
“Devon, you’re twisting your wrist on the catch too much! But good throw!”
“Mario, you’re way off the bag. Stay close.”
“Ryder? You looked away from the ball! Heads up! You’re a catcher! How will you frame a pitch if you’re not watching it? Be José Molina!”
I tried to give a tip to every player whose name I knew. Except Madeleine. I just said “Good job!” to her. She seemed sensitive, plus I did almost break her nose. But when I looked over at Coach Hollylighter, I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
“Let’s take some batting practice,” she said. “Gabby, do you mind pitching to the team?”
“Not at all!” Of course I wanted to pitch. It’s what I DO.
Right away, I noticed that Dinah Labuto, the first batter, neede
d some bat alignment help. “Hey, you’re turning your foot.”
“I always turn my foot.”
“Yeah, she’s good that way,” Devon said from the on-deck circle.
“But what if she’s better with it the other way? Mookie Wilson turned his foot and then he straightened it out and his average went up ten points!” This is true, and if Diego had been there, he would have backed me up. He wasn’t, and when I looked at Johnny, hoping his statistical wizardry would mean he knew the same fact, he just gave me a thumbs-up, which was nice but not very helpful.
Dinah didn’t straighten her foot. And she didn’t get a hit off me in ten pitches, which I thought proved my point.
Before Devon stepped up, I tossed a practice throw to my current catcher, a girl named Elizabeth Wu, who was in for Ryder as he waited for his at bat. She almost toppled over as she reached up for the ball.
“I think your glove needs to be a little higher,” I told her. “Trust me. Remember, you’re not just catching. You’re framing and blocking.”
I was using my pitching lingo with expertise and authority.
Elizabeth listened and raised her glove. On my next practice pitch, she easily grabbed it out of the air. “See, you got it! Just follow through on your throw to the mound.”
Mario, who was manning first base for the drill, let out a massive groan. “Gaggy is bossy today, huh?”
“Hey.” I turned to him. “Are you paying attention out there?”
I thought I was doing pretty good, showing my skills and knowledge of the game so far. I was being a helpful guide to the players who needed it. My pitching arm was ON FIRE.
Johnny was right: how could Coach Hollylighter not see all I would bring to the team?
When we started running laps at the end of practice, though, I got the sense that the other players were hanging back. “Come on, guys,” I yelled, leading the pack.
But still, they lagged behind me. And they were chatting among themselves. Could they really have been that slow?
I was hoping they’d be inspired. Oh well.
I stayed out ahead of the team. It was never too late to inspire them. Running was a fundamental. When we were on our third lap, Coach Hollylighter called me over to her. This was it. This was when I’d officially join the team.
Gabby Garcia's Ultimate Playbook Page 4
