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It was difficult to get any teaching done. First period freshmen English resembled a zoo just before feeding time.
“Where will we play games?” Victoria asked. “There’s no field!”
“Yes, there is, on Cobblestone Street,” Caleb said. (This was an odd name for a street with no cobblestones.)
“That’s not a field!” Victoria said.
“Yes, it is. There’s still a backstop!” Caleb said.
“Yeah, but if you lean on it, it will fall over!” Victoria said.
Emily hadn’t been aware of this field, of any field. “Who owns this field?” she asked, but no one answered her.
“What will we wear for uniforms?” Sydney asked.
“Your basketball uniforms,” Tyler said, and everyone laughed. “A better question is, who on earth is going to pitch? Have you seen how those girls pitch?” Then he whipped his arm around in a hilarious attempt to demonstrate, making himself look like an uncoordinated scarecrow, and earning even more laughter from his peers.
“Caleb, do you know who owns the field?” Emily asked.
“I think the town, or the school, I mean, I think it used to be the school’s field?” Caleb said, but he was looking over her shoulder at Tyler, who was now standing and pitching balled up pieces of paper across the room.
“Tyler!” Emily said, her voice completely void of anger. “Go pick those up. And stop. First, you’re not allowed to try out for the softball team—”
“Sexist!” Tyler declared.
“—and second, you are going to hurt yourself.”
The second period juniors weren’t much calmer. And they had the same questions, for which Emily still had no answers, plus a few new ones:
“Will we go with the baseball team?” Hailey asked.
“That’s my plan, but we don’t actually have a schedule yet,” Emily said.
“We’re going to miss a lot of school,” Hailey said.
“Only you would worry about that,” Thomas said. Then he looked at Emily. “Can I be the manager?” This brought raucous laughter from the other boys in the room, but it appeared Thomas was serious.
“Sure,” Emily said.
“Lucy asked me to sign her up,” Hannah said. “Is that OK?”
“Sure,” Emily said again, happy to hear a non-basketball girl’s name. This made her think of DeAnna, who was sitting silently, staring down at her school-issued laptop. “How about you, DeAnna?”
She looked up at Emily, but just barely. “I don’t think so.”
Emily took a step closer to her and lowered her voice. “I would really like it if you would play, DeAnna. Would you reconsider?”
She shrugged. Then she asked, almost inaudibly, “Does it cost anything?”
Emily took still another step closer. “Not a penny. And I really, sincerely would enjoy having you on the team. I think it would be fun.”
DeAnna looked up at her. “Why?”
“Why would it be fun?”
“No. Why do you want me to play?”
Emily sort of knew the answer to that, but it wasn’t one she could share with her. She couldn’t say, “I think you have a miserable life, and this will give me a chance to show you some love.” Nor could she say, “I’m trying to prove to my principal and my sort-of fiancé that there are girls on this island who need a softball team.” So she said, “I would just enjoy getting to know you better.”
The corners of DeAnna's lips moved. The expression came and went so quickly, Emily was able to talk herself out of even having seen it, but it was there. A rare DeAnna Anderson smile. “Maybe,” she said.
“Tell you what. I’ll sign you up. You can try it and if you don’t like it, you can change your mind at any time. OK?”
“I’ll have to ask my mom.”
“Perfect. You do that.”
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It was MacKenzie in sixth period who noticed a significant pattern on the sign-up sheet:
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Name |
Grade |
Interested in pitching or catching? |
Chloe Gagnon |
10 |
no |
MacKenzie Ginn |
10 |
no |
Hailey Leadbetter |
11 |
no |
Jasmine Lane |
12 |
no |
Sydney Hopkins |
9 |
no |
Victoria Smith |
9 |
no |
Lucy Donovan |
10 |
no |
Ava Warren |
12 |
no |
Hannah Philbrook |
11 |
no |
Natalie Greem |
12 |
no |
Kylie Greem |
7 |
no |
Allie Cousens |
12 |
no |
Lily Coombs |
7 |
no |
Zoe Lane |
8 |
no |
DeAnna Anderson |
11 |
no |
Sara Crockett |
10 |
no |
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“Um, Miss M? You have no pitcher,” MacKenzie said worriedly.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”
“We will?” MacKenzie looked doubtful. “Isn’t pitching kind of hard?”
“Not really. It’s only difficult to be good at it.”
The class laughed at this, though Emily hadn’t been trying for humor, but MacKenzie didn’t even start to smile. “You’re not going to make me do it, are you?”
Emily walked over to her desk and softly said, “No. You can’t pitch. You’re the catcher. Now please take out your short story.”
“What? Why?”
“Why do I want you to take out your short story? Because this is English class.”
MacKenzie gave her a scowl that was now so familiar to Emily it had become endearing. “You know what I mean.”
“In softball, the catcher runs the field. The catcher has to be tough, smart, and able to lead. I need to make sure you can catch the ball, but I’m pretty sure you can. Then you’ll be my catcher.”
MacKenzie looked at her for a moment longer and then looked down at the sign-up sheet. She erased her “no” and replaced it with an “I’ll try.”
“Those are the miracle words, my dear MacKenzie.”
