TJ wore her free Crazy Daisy shoes to the first day of practice. I wore my old cleats from last year. Mom said that was against the contract, but since I knew Rusty would be wearing the stretched out seven-and-a-halves, I couldn’t let her be the only one wearing old shoes. Just as I thought, everyone else was wearing Riley Maes.
TJ noticed right away. “What’s up with the shoes?”
“I dunno. I just missed my old cleats.”
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and ran out to the pitcher’s circle.
“Okay girls, let’s take some infield.” Mr. Thompson stood at home plate with a bat and a ball, ready to hit some grounders.
“Riley, since all our bases are filled, why don’t you be a floater between short and second today?”
TJ frowned as her dad hit the first grounder right up the middle to her. She snagged it up in her glove and fired it right back to Stacie Ferguson, our catcher.
The next grounder came the shortstop’s way, and Rusty bent down to make the play. The ball bounced kinda funny just as she got ready to grab it, which sent it up and over her glove . . . right through her legs. I watched her shoulders drop as I snatched the ball and threw it back.
“Sorry. I guess I’m not quite warmed up yet.”
TJ gave me an intense stare.
“It’s okay, Rusty. That one took a nasty hop.” Mr. Thompson tried to encourage her.
He hit a few more grounders to the other infielders and then sent some fly balls to the outfielders. Rusty did a great job being a relay person from the left fielder. Every time she threw the ball, it hit dead center in the player’s glove.
“You’re so accurate. Do you practice that a lot?” I wanted to encourage her too.
“Not really. I just have good aim, I guess.”
Mr. Thompson started the second round of grounders, and when the shortstop’s turn came around again, I found myself praying that Rusty would make a fantastic play so that TJ would stop glaring.
It didn’t happen. The next grounder came hard at Rusty and whizzed right through her legs again. TJ slammed her glove down in the pitcher’s circle. I hoped Rusty didn’t see that. I looked over at her, intending to say something to cheer her up, when I noticed that she was a little shaky. She grabbed her head and bent down on one knee.
“Everything okay?” Mr. Thompson put down his bat and started out to check on her. I ran over and got there first.
“I can’t believe I keep missing those,” Rusty whispered to me.
“Are you sick?” Mr. Thompson helped Rusty up on her feet and looked into her eyes. I watched a tear slide out of her right one.
“Hey, coach, can we take a quick break? You’re wearing us out.” I tried to take the attention off of Rusty.
“Break already?” TJ had now joined us — with no sympathy. “Haven’t we had, like, a nine-month break?”
Mr. Thompson looked like he was thinking hard about something. Then he turned and called out to all the girls. “Five-minute break! Grab a drink, and then be ready for sliding drills.”
All the girls ran in from the field and started fishing in their backpacks for their water bottles.
Rusty didn’t, though. She walked slowly over to the drinking fountain near the dugout — the one with the nasty tasting water. (It tastes just like you swallowed a mouthful of pennies.)
Something was majorly wrong about that. All the rest of us had our sport bottles. I looked around for a backpack that might have been Rusty’s but I didn’t see one. She probably forgot to bring it. So I ran over to see if I could find out what was up.
“If you drink that, you’ll gag.” I warned her too late. She had already taken a big gulp from the fountain. It was entertaining watching her face, though.
“Eww.”
“Did you forget to bring a water bottle? I only have this one, but you can share it with me. I don’t have too many germs.” I held the bottle out to her. She grabbed it and sipped down at least a third of the bottle.
“Thanks, that tasted much better.”
“Did you forget to bring a drink? I didn’t see your backpack anywhere.”
“Uh, no, I didn’t bring one today.”
“You’ll never make it through one of our practices without water. Mr. Thompson really works us out.”
Rusty swallowed hard, and I noticed that her face was really pale.
“Are you sure you’re not sick?”
“No.”
“Cause you look sick to me.”
She turned and walked away from the drinking fountain, farther away from the team.
“Rusty, what’s wrong?”
She stopped walking and put her head down. I stepped up next to her.
“I’m not sick.”
“Then, what?”
“I’m . . . hungry.”
I was relieved. I could do something about this.
“Oh, well you’ve come to the right place. I stuffed my backpack full of granola bars this morning, and I’d be glad to share.”
Rusty looked up at me and smiled.
“When was the last time you ate?” I expected Rusty to say breakfast, ‘cause I know sometimes I miss lunch for dumb reasons.
It was a simple question, meant to make small talk as we returned to where my backpack was, but the answer shocked me somewhere deep inside.
“Uh . . . let me think — ”
She had to think about it?
“I guess it was Sunday dinner.”
My jaw dropped a mile at least. This was Wednesday afternoon!
I didn’t know what to say. I dove into my backpack, grabbed a granola bar, and tore it open. I handed it to Rusty.
“Eat. Now.”
She did. Next I pulled out an apple. She started to eat that too.
“Okay, girls, I want to see you out on that field!” Mr. Thompson walked over to me and Rusty.
“Everything okay over here? Rusty, you look better.” He grinned.
I answered. “Yep, we’re all better now. Thanks for the break, coach.”
He nodded and turned to run back to the field.
“Thanks for the food, Riley. When I bent down to field those grounders, I got a little dizzy. Maybe I’ll do better now.”
I just stared at her. She stared back.
“Does this happen a lot?” I couldn’t let her go yet.
“What?”
“You, not eating. Are you anorexic?”
“No. I mean yes.”
“Huh?”
“No, I’m not anorexic. Yes, sometimes I don’t eat.”
“Come on, girls!” Mr. Thompson hollered. He was standing over at home plate with the rest of the team.
“Why not?”
“Riley, Rusty! We’re waiting on you!” There was no mistaking TJ’s annoyed voice. She had her hand on her hip.
“We better go . . .” Rusty broke into a run. I was bugged that she didn’t answer me, but I was happy to see that she looked better.
But I got worse.
My concentration went out the window. My mind was so caught up in the Rusty situation that I totally forgot the coach’s instructions on what we were supposed to do next.
Who doesn’t eat for three days?
During our sliding drill, I forgot to slide and got tagged out at second base during a routine play.
“Afraid to get scraped up? That’s not like you.” TJ pulled me aside in the line for the next drill.
“Nah, I was just thinking about something else.”
“Thinking about how we need a better shortstop?” TJ smirked. She was really getting on my nerves.
“Rusty’s a good player. You should give her a break.”
“What, are you best friends now?”
“No, I’m just saying that you need to give her a break. Not everyone can be perfect like you.” Oops. That was mean.
Thankfully, TJ and I have been friends for a long time. We’ve said mean things to each other before and then we say we’re sorry and forgive each other. This time would be no different . . . I thought.
“I liked you better when nobody knew your name.” She turned, huffed off, and didn’t talk to me for the rest of the practice.