Stealing Bases Read online

  I launch a warm-up pitch at Zoe before the top of the second inning.

  Finally, Nyla breaks the deafening silence behind me. “Play’s at first,” she calls out.

  I receive the ball from Zoe. She glares at me and I feel a pain in my chest. Even Zoe, who witnessed everything that happened between me and Zachary, isn’t talking to me.

  Coach Kate relays the sign.

  Zoe holds down five fingers.

  I shake off the rise ball.

  I hate that pitch. If I only had Amber’s natural talent with the rise ball—or better yet, if I only worked harder on it—I wouldn’t be in this mess.

  Zoe shows me an outside fastball. I wind up and snap my wrist, firing a fastball.

  Smack.

  “Strike,” the umpire calls out.

  A couple of fans clap. The rest sit on the bleachers with their arms tightly crossed. Even the crowd is pissed.

  Zoe tosses me the ball and I walk back to the mound. The K signs in center field have disappeared since the day the article broke, along with the lacrosse team. Only one lonely sign, SAVE BEACHWOOD SOFTBALL—REINSTATE AMBER MCDONALD, remains.

  “Play’s at first,” Nyla repeats.

  Zoe gives me the sign for the drop ball.

  I set up, push off the rubber, roll my hand over the ball, and short step toward Zoe’s glove.

  Dong.

  The ball sails out toward center field. Chloe charges forward and catches the ball by the fence. She rolls it toward me as she jogs. I run out toward her with my glove hand up for a slap. She immediately runs the other way.

  Just then, Phoenix runs past me.

  “Hey, Phoenix!” I say, holding up my hand.

  She ducks her head and continues in the opposite direction.

  Clearly, no one’s interested in reveling in how well we’re doing. Or at least not with me. I jog over to the dugout and find a bunch of my teammates consoling Amber. Their togetherness—which has been nothing short of unstoppable these past two days—stands in direct contrast to how alone I feel.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be back out there in no time,” Chloe says, glaring at me from out of the corner of her eye.

  “I heard that Coach might have this mess straightened out by Friday,” Phoenix says, trying to calm Amber down.

  “Yeah. Just in time for the Desert Invitational,” Nyla adds.

  “Hang in there. We’re going to need you for the tournament,” Danielle says, squeezing Amber’s shoulder.

  Once the team has gathered in front of the dugout, Nyla shouts, “Hits on three. One, two . . . ”

  I add my hand to the cheer.

  Nyla stops counting. She looks at me, then my hand.

  I pull it away.

  A chorus of “Hits” breaks out, but I’m not among the screaming voices.

  One thing’s for sure: I need to figure out how to make this right.

  thirty-seven

  A few hours later, my mortification reaches an all-time high when the Beachwood school bus drops me off in front of Zachary’s house. It’s been years since I took the bus, and it’s even more humiliating than I remembered.

  I toss my Under Armour bag over my shoulder and drag myself across the aisle, down the three rubber steps, and out the door. Once I reach the street, I take a deep breath and wonder if this is how I’ll spend the rest of high school—in total self-induced purgatory.

  I trudge through the wrought-iron fence gate, keeping my back to Zachary’s house. Then I shove my key into the lock and head directly to my room, passing Kibbles along the way. As I’m about to fall onto my duvet, I notice a huge box sitting there.

  What the?

  Kibbles, who followed me into my room, barks at me to open it.

  I tear open the package and find myself face-to-face with a long, black Marc Jacobs garment bag. I quickly pull out the garment bag, accidentally sending a small white envelope fluttering to my bed. KYLIE is written on it in calligraphy. I rip it open. My mother’s handwriting stares out at me.

  Dear Kylie,

  Every prom princess deserves a dress to match. And here’s yours! sorry we didn’t get to shop together this year, but I know you’ll wow the crowds in this gown. You’re my daughter, after all! Just remember what you learned from the pageant circuit—keep those shoulders back and your chin high. Oh, and say hi to your friends for me!

  Love, Mom

  I toss the note on my dresser. She didn’t forget!

  Then I take a deep breath and unzip the bag. Inside I find a long ebony strapless gown. I pull it out and admire the open back. As I turn the dress this way and that, the silver shimmery accents glisten. It’s beautiful. . . .

  I strip off my softball uniform and step into the silk fabric. The dress is smooth against my skin. Looking up at myself in the mirror, I tug on my hair band. My hair falls across my shoulders in soft honey-blonde waves.

  Kibbles sits at attention by the mirror, watching me.

  I smile at her, thinking that if dogs could talk, she’d tell me how awesome I look.

  And yet, despite how perfect it all is, something about this dress just seems wrong.

  I pick up my mom’s note and think about how prom was supposed to go—with my mom, with Zachary, with my friends. Naturally, that’s when my dad peeks his head into my room.

  “Hey, cupcake,” he says. Then he takes a good look at me. “Sweetie, you look stunning. Where’d you get the gown?”

  “Mom,” I tersely reply.

  “Oh. So that’s what was in that box.” He slowly walks around my room, glancing at my pictures. “Nice one of you and Missy,” he says, pointing at a picture taken after we won the basketball championship.

  “Yeah, it’s okay.” I place the torn box on the ground. Kibbles takes this opportunity to snatch it with her mouth, even though it’s larger than she is, and run out of the room.

  My dad and I stew in silence. But then, after a while, I have to say something. “So, uh, shouldn’t you be getting back to Bridget?”

  Dad removes the photo from the wall. “No, that’s okay. She’s not here.” He pauses, staring intently at the photo. “I think I may have sprung her on you too quick . . . or maybe not quick enough. I don’t know. I was never good with these things. Your mother . . .”

  “Yes?” I take the photo from him and place it back where it belongs—on the collage I made in honor of our three-peat. I’m surprised that as I’m doing this, he doesn’t say anything in response. It doesn’t take long for me to realize that, once again, I’m going to have to be the one who breaks the silence. “Yes, Dad? What about Mom?”

  “Oh, it’s just that I know things haven’t been easy for you since she left for New York.” He pauses, taking a deep cleansing breath.

  I stare at his yoga tee.

  “And I know that I probably only added to the severity of the situation by moving out of the house, refusing to use most of the money from your mom, and setting up residence here.” Again, he pauses. “Plus, there’s the whole Bridget thing. . . .”

  I move my gaze to my dad’s tired eyes. “Honestly, Dad, the Bridget thing is really only the tip of the iceberg.”

  “Still, it must be hard for you.” He puts his hand on my shoulder.

  At that moment, I break.

  I shake his hand off me. “Yeah, Dad, it is. But it’s not nearly as hard as you pushing Mom away or you deciding to be all high and mighty about our finances or—”

  Dad cuts me off. “Kylie, I’m sorry for all of that.”

  “Let me finish, Dad. Did you think that maybe moving into my ex-boyfriend’s guesthouse might be the worst thing you could do for me?”

  “Yeah, of course I figured it’d be challenging. But—”

  “But you didn’t think that was enough of a reason to stay in our house a bit longer?”

  “I thought our not being there would make it easier to sell. Besides which, there were all those memories of your mother. . . .”

  “See! That’s exactly what I�
�m talking about! You thought it was hard to deal with memories of Mom. But I have to deal with living twenty feet from Zachary! Not to mention being ripped away from the house I grew up in!”

  “I know I’ve made some mistakes in my life, Kylie. And I guess I figured that you and Zach have always been friends. . . .”

  “But have you looked around? We’re not exactly friends anymore.” I take enough steps away so that my bed is between us.

  “I knew you were going through a rough patch . . . . ”

  “It’s more than a rough patch.”

  “I guess I didn’t really understood that.”

  “Of course you didn’t understand it! You weren’t looking! Mom would have looked . . . .” My voice trails off. “At least, she would have before. And don’t you dare go saying that—”

  “You’re right. She would have.”

  “What?” My mouth drops. Did my dad actually say something good about my mom?

  “I said that you’re absolutely right. Before she took this job, she would have noticed. And I was too caught up in my own stuff to really see what was happening with you.”

  I look up at my dad. His eyes are red.

  “But I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Yeah? Really?” I ask. My voice is tinged with sarcasm. “How are you going to manage that?”

  “Kylie, you’re my only daughter. I want to know what’s going on in your life.”

  “Let’s just say: a lot.”

  “Cupcake, please. I want to help.” He grabs my hand from across the bed.

  I look down at his hand in mine and the words tumble out before I can stop them. “Well, for starters, Zachary and I are done for good.”

  “So that’s why you’ve been so mopey lately. . . . I should have known.”

  “Dad, that’s only the beginning. There’s tons more where that came from.”

  “Okay, so tell me.”

  “I’m sure you don’t really want to hear it.”

  “No, I do—”

  “And besides, don’t you have a yoga class to get to? Or some sun salutations to do with Bridget?” I infuse her name with every ounce of annoyance I possess.

  “Sweetie, none of that matters. Bridget is great, sure. And I find yoga enormously relaxing. But at the end of the day, you’re the one I care about. You’re the one who I want to be there for. Who I should have always been there for. I . . .” He stops short when a tear escapes down his cheek.

  Finally, I decide to confess. “I lost my starting spot on the softball team, Dad.”

  “What!? That’s impossible. You’re . . .”

  “Save it. It happened. That’s why I didn’t want you coming to my games. And I made a complete mess of things afterward. With my teammates, with my friends, with my coaches . . .”

  “Honey, I’m sure it can’t be that bad . . . .”

  “Dad. It’s bad.”

  “Well, they’ll have to forgive you eventually. You’ve known all of them for years.”

  “And what if they don’t?”

  “They will.”

  “Your saying that isn’t exactly much comfort. How do you know?”

  “I know because we’re having this conversation.” Another tear escapes. This time, it trails down his other cheek.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, wiping away a tear of my own.

  “Well, we’re talking. For once. And we haven’t talked like this in so, so long.”

  “Yeah, well, like I said, I’ve been busy.”

  “No, honey, don’t go down that road. Don’t pull away. What I’m saying is that you’re opening up to me. And for you to do that, you must have forgiven me. At least at some level, deep down. And if you could forgive me for turning your life inside out . . . Well, there’s no way that what you did to your friends was nearly as bad as what I did to you.” He sits down on my bed, his head in his hands.

  Still in my dress, I scooch next to him, placing one hand on his shoulder. “Dad, you didn’t mean to do anything to me.”

  He looks up. “That doesn’t matter. I’m your father, and I should start acting like one.” He puts his arms around me, bringing me in for a warm embrace. And then he just holds me there, making all the pain wash away.

  “I love you, Kylie,” he says, squeezing me tighter.

  My reply escapes before I can even stop to think. “I love you too, Dad.”

  And in that moment, I realize: I do love him, yoga shorts and all.

  I always have.

  thirty-eight

  My dad stands in my doorway, about to leave my room, when he stops and says, “I got so caught up with our talk that I almost forgot to tell you: Missy’s outside waiting for you.”

  What? Missy? I thought she dropped me like last fall’s blazer trend. Just like everyone else.

  “Do you want me to send her in?”

  “Sure,” I say. My stomach drops as my dad walks out of the room. What if she’s only here to reprimand me? After the chat with my dad, I’m finally feeling a little bit better. I don’t think I can take any more criticism.

  As I’m thinking this, I realize that I’m still in the gown my mom sent over. Quickly, I slink out of it, shove it back into the garment bag it came in, and throw on a pair of B-Dub sweats and an ASA tee.

  A moment later, Missy walks in. The first thing she does is look around the room. I can see that she’s thinking about how tiny it is.

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “So . . .” I begin. “You’re here.”

  “Of course I’m here,” she says, running her hand along my dresser. “I couldn’t not come to talk to you, could I?” She stops when she notices the same photo my dad pointed to earlier. “We’ve been best friends for years, haven’t we?”

  “Yeah, but that was before you got yourself a new best friend.” I look over at the Marc Jacobs garment bag, now hanging awkwardly in my closet, and think about what should have been.

  “First off, you know Hannah is not my new BFF. Secondly, I figured, Kylie’s one pissed off girly tonight. Understandable after everything you’ve been through.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not taking Amber’s side. Isn’t that what the whole school is doing?”

  “Ky, I don’t know if you spilled to the Sand Dollar or not. But God knows, I’m no saint. So who am I to judge?” She sits on the edge of my bed.

  I turn to face her. “You mean that?”

  “Do you even have to ask?” She smiles mischievously. “But if you wanna tell me what really happened . . .”

  “Nah, I’ll let the mysterious source remain anonymous.”

  “Suit yourself.” Missy sighs. “But you know, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been working with Hannah for like two months and I know more about her than I’ve ever known about you.” Missy lies on her stomach, resting her chin against the back of her hands. “And we’ve been best friends since birth.”

  I roll my eyes. “If you think telling me about your new BFF is really helping me, you might want to consider another strategy.”

  “Ky, how many times do I have to tell you? Yeah, there’s a lot more to Hannah than I thought. But she’s not my best friend. You are.”

  “So then why have you been spending all of your time with her lately? And why is she the only one you ever talk about?”

  “Because I need her.”

  “No one needs Hannah.”

  “I hate to admit it, but I do. She’s more talented than me, and if I want to stand out when I apply to college, she’s really my only hope.”

  “Fine, whatever. But it doesn’t seem like you’re just using her anymore. It seems like you two are actually friends.”

  “I never thought I’d say this a few months ago, but yeah, we are.”

  “So then I’m right.” I cross my arms.

  “Ky, she’s a friend, yeah. But . . .” Missy pauses. “She’s not you.”

  “You mean that?”

  “Duh. Of course I do!” She bolts upright an
d throws her hands up in the air. “But seriously, Kylie, you’re the one who usually shuts me out. I didn’t even know about your parents’ divorce until my mom told me. And then I didn’t find out about your moving to Zachary’s guesthouse until the night of the party. Who doesn’t tell their best friend that kind of stuff?” She takes a deep breath. “So are you going to tell me what else is going on?”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  “How about we start with your favorite topic: your mom. Is she permanently in New York now?”

  “I don’t even know. She said it was only temporary, but I haven’t seen her since Christmas. And apparently she didn’t even care that my dad just sold our old house.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah. Just—”

  Missy interjects. “So does that mean you’ll be leaving casa de Murph?”

  “Yup. My dad hopes to move somewhere further inland where there will probably be solar panels and a giant compost pile in the backyard.”

  “Crazy.”

  “I know. But what’s even crazier is that my mom never calls me back, so I haven’t even gotten to talk to her about it.”

  “When was the last time you guys spoke?”

  “Let’s see . . . There was the time she canceled our shopping trip via text. And then today I got a prom dress from her in the mail.”

  “Hold on a sec. That’s good, isn’t it? I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “Sort of. But it was more about something for us to do together, you know?” I walk over to my dresser and pick up the discarded card. I quickly glance at it one more time and then hand it over to Missy. “And the way she worded this card—it’s like the only thing she cares about besides work is my being named prom princess.”

  Missy scans the card. “Well, she definitely still loves you.”

  “Maybe.” I walk over toward my window and peek out the blinds. Zoe and Zachary are playing a pickup game of basketball in their backyard court.