FOURTEEN RED Vines in, and Ally and Rose are laughing, but not me. We’re hanging out in Ally’s kitchen trying to come up with a play-off plan, but every time we get serious, Trixie farts. Trixie is Ally’s golden retriever. She’s old and can’t help it. Usually, I would join in. (In the laughing, not the farting.)
When Ally gets up to grab more popcorn, Rose leans in. “What’s with the serious, Bird? Ally’s going to be okay.”
Rose thinks I’m thinking about Ally. I’m not. “Oh, I know,” I hear myself saying. First lie. “I was just thinking about the clue.” Second lie. “Remember when it said: Where feathers are hard? What do you think Girl Detective was talking about?”
“Why are you so obsessed with this?” She draws a long breath. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense because feathers can’t be hard.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” Third lie.
“Can we just focus on Ally?”
“Yeah. Sure.” But I can’t focus on Ally because I can’t stop thinking about Rose. The serious Rose saw on my face wasn’t about Ally and it wasn’t about the clue. It was about her. Rose. And what she’ll think if she ever finds out.
It started on Valentine’s Day. Rose was expecting a Valentine’s card from Romeo. She had decided to like him, and usually Rose gets what Rose wants. On Valentine’s Day, our fifth grade class was decorated in hearts and BE MINE cutouts. Along the back shelf, everyone had a bag with their name on it, also decorated in hearts and dorky cutouts, and throughout the day we all put candy or cards into one another’s bags. It’s a rule that you have to bring something for everyone. Rose was surprised that she didn’t get something special from Romeo. She decided he must be shy.
Romeo is not shy. After school, when I was going through my V-Day loot at the kitchen table, I found an envelope at the very bottom of the bag, my name written on it in delicate red ink. It was during the hour before Dad got home from work, so it was just me and Zora. While she was watching TV, I walked the envelope upstairs and closed my bedroom door behind me.
I looked at the writing for a long time. I imagined a secret fairy had singled me out or a Valentine genie had written to grant me a special Valentine’s wish. Because no kid in my class had handwriting as neat and nice as that! I was enjoying the mystery until I heard Zora yelling for me. The envelope went under my pillow and for the rest of the afternoon, I made up scenarios about its imaginary source.
When I finally opened it before going to bed, I had to read it again and again.
Dear Birdie,
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Didn’t want a girlfriend
Until I met you.
Forever yours …
And then a signature.
Romeo’s signature.
Romeo D., he’d signed it.
Girlfriend? Romeo? What?! I wasn’t ready to be somebody’s girlfriend! And lots of girls liked Romeo. Rose liked Romeo! What was he thinking?
I didn’t show it to anyone. Not even my mom. I hid it in one of my favorite books, When You Reach Me, and put it back on the shelf. Nobody I know would look there.
“Earth to Bird.”
“Huh?”
“Quit thinking about the clue already. We’ve got to go,” Rose says and gets up from Ally’s table, which is still covered with Red Vines. “Violin.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Hey, is your brother home?”
“Probably,” answers Rose.
I look at Ally. “Maybe he can help us.”
* * *
“If you’re pitching like that, we could use you on the high school team,” Simon says after Ally throws another perfect pitch into his glove.
“I’m not pitching like that, though,” she says.
Simon looks at me. “She’s really not pitching like that,” I say. I’ve been sitting on the porch of Rose’s house watching them for at least half an hour, while the sound of Rose’s violin wafts into the front yard. It’s a very sad song she’s practicing today. Over and over again. As my eyes fall upon the FOR SALE sign on their front yard, I feel a tiny hook tug at the bottom of my heart.
“Hmm.” Simon thinks and throws the baseball back to Ally. “It must be psychological, then.” Simon is the first-string catcher of the high school team. He knows all about pitchers and slumps. If anyone can help Ally, Simon can.
“Psychological?” Ally says. “What does that mean?”
Simon stands from his catcher’s squat and walks to her. “Pitching is not just about being able to throw a ball,” he says. “There’s a lot more to it. Mentally, I mean. You see it all the time. Pitchers get in a slump because of lots of things. They let the pressure get to them. Or somebody says something bad about them. Or they lose a game and can’t recover. Happens all the time. The main question is: What’s different about pitching in the front yard versus pitching in the game?”
“I don’t know,” Ally says. “I’ve never had a problem before.”
This is true. Ally pitches like a machine. At least she used to. That’s why her teammates love her and why Joey Wachowski pretends she’s no good.
Rose’s mom appears through the screen at the front door. “Simon, Ashley’s on the phone. Said she couldn’t reach you on your mobile.”
Simon pats his pocket for his cell phone that’s clearly not there. “Oh yeah.” He looks back at Ally as he steps onto the front porch. “So think about it, okay? It’s got to be about something.”
As he slips through the screen door past his mom, she rolls her eyes at us. “Girlfriends,” she utters so only we can hear. Rose’s mom has dark hair like Rose and the same blue eyes. As she retreats back inside, Ally sits down beside me on the stairs.
“He thinks I have a mental problem,” she says.
“We know you have a mental problem,” I say, then grin. “Simon just thinks you have an additional one.”
“Hilarious, Birdie.”
“You think it’s a boob problem?” I ask.
“No!” she says a little too quickly.
“Sorry. Just asking.” Ally’s younger than me and Rose, but she’s definitely older in the boob department.
“I’ve got on a bra and an ACE bandage,” she says. “I’m pushing them down as much as I can. I was pitching great three weeks ago. And they’re not any bigger now than they were then.” She looks down at her chest just to be sure. “At least I hope not.”
“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”
She shrugs.
“A boy?”
“Right.” Ally punches my shoulder. I don’t think Ally knows how pretty she is. I bet some boys will be noticing soon.
“We’ve got to beat the Broncos,” she says. “If we don’t, Joey will pitch the charity game. It will probably be against the Condors again. And if he wins that, they’ll pick him for the middle school team.” She sighs, then points to her chest. “I can’t let these or anything else get in my way.”