THE LAST place I expected to end up today was in Joey Wachowski’s TV room. But here I am. Here we are. And it’s practically a miracle.
* * *
When I got to the island, after my talk with Rose’s mom, Rose jumped up as soon as she saw me and asked, “What did she say?”
“Nothing, really. She just asked me about the violin.”
“And?”
“I was cool.”
Rose let out a sigh of relief and sat back down under the willow tree. I plopped down, completing the circle between her and Ally, our cross-legged knees touching. There was a weird feeling in my stomach. I wondered if, in a year from now, our circle would be unbroken? Would being a good friend to Rose really mean anything then?
We’d been sitting for all of two minutes when a voice made us jump back to our feet. It was Romeo, boarding our island and yelling for us.
Out of breath, he exclaimed, “There you are!” He wasn’t looking at Rose and he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at Ally. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere!”
* * *
“He fell off the rope swing too close to the edge,” Romeo whispers. “Hit a rock. And crack.”
“We heard it and everything,” Connor says, making a weird bone-crunching sound.
There’s a rope swing upstream from our island where the boys hang out. It’s up a steep cliff and it’s dangerous and some boys are dumb.
We got to Joey’s house by bike caravan and Romeo wouldn’t tell us anything along the way. He and Connor led us into Joey’s TV room, where the big boy was draped across the sofa like a fallen soldier. With a cast on his right arm.
“I can’t believe you fell off the rope swing,” says Rose. “You really are the complete package. Charm and grace.”
“Shhhh!” Joey puts his left index finger to his lips. “My mom would crap if she knew I did this on the rope swing.” As one, our eyes shift toward the kitchen, where Joey’s mom is wiping the counter, and we become suspiciously silent.
“Everything okay in there?” Joey’s mom calls out.
“Yes,” Joey calls back. “We’re fine. Thanks for asking, Mom.”
Rose’s face scrunches. “What excellent manners, Joseph. So refreshing and unexpected.”
He rolls his eyes. “Shut up, string bean,” he says, like himself again, but quietly, so his mom won’t hear.
“What are you going to do?” Ally asks. She’s staring at the cast on Joey’s arm with real and true concern. “The game’s this Saturday!”
“Well, yeah,” Joey says, his chest deflating.
“Yeah,” Romeo says. “That’s why we asked you here.” Romeo nudges Joey.
“Do I have to?”
Romeo’s hands fly up, his face ready to explode. “Really? Come on, Joe.”
Joey glances down at the cast on his arm, then turns to Ally. “As you can see, this really sucks.”
“Totally sucks,” Ally says. “I hate the Broncos, but I hate the Condors more. Who’s going to pitch if you don’t? You guys have got to win.”
“We thought you’d see it that way,” Romeo says.
“That’s really tough luck,” Ally adds earnestly.
I look at Romeo. Is he hiding a grin?
“So, Blondie, that’s why we called you here,” Joey says. “We talked to Coach and the whole team agrees. If we’re going to win, we need a good pitcher.” Romeo pokes his leg. “Okay, a great pitcher. And if yours truly is not available, then there’s no other choice. We need you, Blondie. We need you to pitch the game on Saturday.”
“Huh?” Ally says, stunned.
“Yeah, can you do it? I mean it’ll be a great opportunity for you, too. It’s not all about the Broncos.”
“But mostly about the Broncos,” Rose says and elbows Ally back to life.
“Yeah,” says Ally breathlessly. “Of course—”
“Wait!” I hold up my hands. “There’s a condition.”
“What?” Joey says. “No conditions!”
“Only one, Joey. But it’s a deal breaker.”
Ally turns to me. She’s afraid I’m going to ruin this. I can see it in her eyes. But I’m not. I’ve got this.
Joey groans. “What is it?”
“Ask her again,” I say.
“Huh?”
“Just ask her again. The right way.”
Joey shoots me a look, then says, “Okay, Blondie, will you—”
I clear my throat pointedly. The confused look on Joey’s face tells me volumes about his intellectual capacity. Romeo leans over and whispers in his ear. “Oh,” Joey says, finally getting it. “Do I have to?”
“I’m going to throw you off that swing myself!” Romeo exclaims, but softly, keeping an eye on the kitchen and Joey’s mom. “Dude!”
“Okay, okay.” Joey looks at Ally. “Blon—I mean … Ally—will you pitch for me in the game on Saturday? Please?”
A smile blossoms across Ally’s face, but she buries it quickly and gives Joey a shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?” I say. “Are you kidding?”
Her smile returns like the sun. “Yeah, I’m kidding! Heck, yeah, I’ll pitch for you, Joey! I can’t wait to be a Bronco!”