“STRIKE THREE!” the umpire calls out and everyone in our bleachers cheers. That’s where Rose and I are sitting watching Ally strike out another Condor.
“Way to go, Ally!” Joey calls from the dugout. It’s already the sixth inning and the Broncos are leading 2–0. The sun is blazing and I don’t know how Ally’s doing it. When I called her last night, she said she’d had a stomachache all day. And this morning, when Rose and I met her at the concession stand before the game, she still wasn’t feeling so great. But there she is, like some kind of mythical warrior, battling the Condors and the midday sun.
We’re at the big baseball field at our park—the one with the tallest bleachers, the biggest scoreboard, and the most official announcer. Broncos fans crowd the bleachers on the third-base side, Condors on the first-base side. On the field, Romeo’s behind Ally at third base and Connor’s at first. They’ve got her back today.
The General, Mark, Zora, and my parents sit on the row behind us. Simon and Ashley are a few bleachers up.
I’m wearing a white shirt and rainbow shorts, and Rose is in her yellow overall shorts and a tee. It’s so hot, I feel like my sweat is sweating. Rose leans into me and whispers, “This is my last baseball game. Maybe ever.”
I hate to be reminded of that. There are so many lasts this summer and they’re tumbling over like dominoes. And my mom has already started packing us for Chicago.
Another batter walks up to the plate. “Come on, Ally,” my dad calls out. Her eyes peek our way before turning back to business. She pulls down the front of her Broncos hat, winds up, and throws. Whoa.
“Strike!”
“She’s doing so great, Jill,” my mom says to the General.
The General puts her finger to her lips. “Let’s not jinx it.”
My mom gives me the look. The one that says there is no scientific basis for “jinxing” things and I’m not to believe such nonsense. Honestly, I’m not sure which mother is actually right.
“Strike two!”
My eyes wander to the announcer’s booth. We saw the middle school coach go up there at the start of the game. He’s been watching Ally this whole time. I wonder what Joey thinks of this. Ally doing this great in front of Coach Rodriguez might change his chances in the coming year with the old middle school team. He’s being pretty cool, though. For Joey.
Crack. The batter makes contact and hits the ball hard. “Line drive,” the announcer cries. Everyone stands as a collective “ooh” erupts from our bleachers. Romeo dives and makes the catch. The ump calls the out and the announcer shouts, “What a catch by third baseman, Romeo Dawson!”
“Yay, Romeo!” Rose yells, and claps. I clap, too. It was pretty incredible.
The next batter approaches the plate. One more out and the inning is over. One more inning and Ally has won the game. Ally throws and, “Strike!” It’s all going her way. Until Rose elbows me in the arm—hard.
“What?!” I turn, ready to elbow her back. But Rose is not looking at me. She’s staring at Ally, in a very weird way.
“Look,” she whispers. “When she throws.”
I watch as Ally pitches but don’t see anything. The umpire calls a ball and our entire bleachers boo him. Except for Rose. She can’t keep her eyes off Ally.
“Maybe I’m seeing things,” she whispers again. “I hope I’m seeing things. Just look. When she steps forward. Look at the inside of her pants.”
Ally winds up and throws, her left leg coming forward off the mound as she releases her fast ball.
“Oh no,” I say quietly, and squeeze Rose’s knee. Whipping around, I wave the General toward me. She leans down and I whisper in her ear, “Ally’s got her period!”
The General’s eyes seek out the red spot of blood trickling down the inside of Ally’s white baseball pant leg. “Oh no,” she echoes, and grabs my shoulder. “As soon as she gets off the field, you girls get her to the bathroom.” She doesn’t wait for a response.
“Where’s she going? What’s wrong?” Mom asks, and I whisper what’s happened in her ear.
As soon as we hear “Strike three!” from the field, my mom says, “Come on.” The inning ends and the players are leaving the field. We pass Mark on the way to the stairs.
“What’s up?” he calls out.
“Later!” Rose answers as Ally sees us heading her way.
* * *
I close the door to the bathroom with a loud clunk and lock it.
“What’s up?” Ally cries. “I can’t be goofing around!”
“We’re not goofing,” Rose says.
“We’re not, Al,” I say, shaking my head and looking down at her pants.
“What are you looking at?” Ally asks and looks, too. Like it’s no big deal. Until it’s a humongous deal. “OH MY GOD!” she cries. “WHAT’S HAPPENING?”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I say, trying to calm her.
“It’s your period,” Rose tells her.
“My period?” she says in total disbelief, even though we learned all about it when they gave us the talk in school last year. “But I’m only eleven.”
“I know. But—”
“I can’t have my period today! I’ve got to finish the game!” Ally grabs my arm like a lifeline. “Did anybody see it? Do the boys know?”
“I don’t think so.” I look to Rose.
“Nah. Boys are too dumb to notice something like that. We caught it in time.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely,” Rose says and I nod, having no idea whether they saw it or not.
There’s a knock on the door and Ally freezes like it’s the police.
“It’s your mom.” I open the door, and the General and my mom slip inside.
The General drops a backpack on the floor and starts unzipping it. “I was afraid something like this might happen,” she says. “But why today?” She pulls out a pair of underwear, blue jeans, and a box of maxi pads and hands them to my mom.
“What is this?” Ally asks, her eyes bugging out.
“I got my period when I was eleven,” the General says. “Before all of my older friends. Happened at school and I didn’t know what was going on. I know we’ve talked about it, but we probably should have talked more. I packed a bag and hid it in the car, just in case. But I really didn’t think it would happen so soon.”
Dumbstruck, Ally stares at her mom.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” the General asks in the gentlest tone I have ever heard come out of her mouth.
“Yeah,” Ally croaks quietly.
“Okay.” The General turns toward us. “Give us a few minutes. Okay?”
“Yes,” my mom answers. “Let’s go, girls. Mrs. Lorenz has got this.”
The bathroom door closes behind us, and my mom, Rose, and I stand awkwardly outside.
“Wow,” Rose finally says.
“It’s going to be all right,” says my mom.
“Yeah, but why did it have to happen today?” I ask. Mom puts her arm around me and pulls us out of the sun. I look up at her. “When is it going to happen to us?”
“Sooner than I’m ready.”
I remember Ally’s phone call from the night before and say, “So that’s why Ally wasn’t feeling good.”
“Yeah,” Rose says.
“Sometimes it doesn’t make you feel good,” Mom says. “But it’s part of becoming a woman and all that. Biological. Scientifically sound.” She gives us a motherly look. “It’ll be okay. I didn’t have mine until thirteen, so you probably have a little time. We’ll get prepared.” She looks at Rose. “You should ask your mom about it. So you can be ready, too.”
Rose nods but I can tell she’s a little freaked-out inside.
The bathroom door opens slightly. “Glad you’re still here.” The General leans through the crack. “Birdie, we need you.”
I slip into the bathroom and look at Ally, who’s standing in her Broncos shirt and new underwear. “What’s up?”
“She can’t pitch in jeans. It’s too hot. And that’s all we’ve got,” the General says, eyeballing my rainbow shorts.
“Oh.” I look down at my shorts. “Oh!”
By the time we’re walking back to the bleachers, me wearing Ally’s jeans on the hottest day of the year, the Broncos coach is going nuts. Joey runs up to us and yells, “Where’s Blond—I mean Ally?!”
“She’s coming,” my mom answers. “Slight wardrobe malfunction. That’s all.”
“Yeah, cool your jets,” says Rose.
“Here she comes,” I say as Ally and her mom turn the corner heading our way.
The General marches over to the agitated coach, and I hear her say, “Her pants ripped.” A real and true Greater-Good lie. Way to go, Gen.
Ally grabs her glove from the dugout and heads back toward the pitcher’s mound, my rainbow shorts hanging out from under her Broncos jersey. There are murmurs all around, especially from the other players.
“What’s with the shorts, Al?” Romeo calls out from third base.
“It’s too hot out here,” she answers, all relaxed-like. “Needed to cool down.”
And just like that, Ally settles in.
She strikes out every Condor who comes to the plate.
She wins the inning. And wins the game.
After the ball game, the boys, led by Joey, lift Ally up on their shoulders and everything. Riding high, she throws off her hat and pulls the tie out of her hair. With her long blond hair flowing, there is no doubt that a girl just won the big game.