Sliding into Home (6 page)

She had to do
something
to distract herself from baseball.

Joelle forced herself to think. So who should I call for witnesses? And what should I have them say? Maybe Jason would have a few ideas.

She wanted to talk to her brother anyway. She had a lot to tell him. Joelle dialed Jason’s number as soon as she got home. When he answered, she said in a rush, “Hey, it’s me! Guess what? My letter got printed in the paper today. Everyone’s talking about it at school and—”

“Whoa, Jojo! Hang on. I can’t really talk right now.”

Joelle frowned at the receiver. “What do you mean? We’re already talking, aren’t we?

“Well, yeah, but I’m on my way out. I’ve got a date.”

A
date?
“But I have to talk to you, Jason,” Joelle insisted. “It’s not just about my letter. There’s something else, too, and it’s really important. We’re doing this mock trial in social studies and—”

“I’m sorry, Jojo, but I really can’t talk. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Sure,” Joelle said glumly. But she had a feeling Jason wasn’t going to call.

He had his own life now. Wasn’t that what her mom had said?

C
heck out the editorial page today, honey,” Joelle’s mom told her a few days later.

Joelle fanned her face with her cap, trying to cool down from her morning run. She staggered over to the kitchen table, where the
Gazette
was lying open.

“You got seven responses to your letter,” Dad said.

“Really?” Joelle said eagerly. “What do they say?” She rested her elbows on the back of her dad’s chair and peered over his shoulder.

“Well, here’s someone who thinks you should be allowed to play.” Dad pointed to a letter from a Tom Healey.

Joelle quickly read the letter. Mr. Healey basically repeated everything she had said about baseball and softball being two different sports.
Score one for me
, Joelle thought.

“And here’s another supporter.” Mom called her attention to the next letter.

Wow
, Joelle thought.
That took guts.

“Nice letter,” Dad said. “Do you know this boy?”

“Not really.” Joelle shook her head. She and Ian had hardly spoken two words to each other on Saturday.

In another letter a woman said she didn’t know much about either baseball or softball. “But if a girl wants to play baseball,” she wrote, “I’m behind her one hundred and ten percent!

Joelle snorted. “That woman’s only supporting me because I want to do something that most girls don’t do.”

“Well, at least she’s behind you,” Mom said. “Not everybody is. Read this one.”

“What?” Joelle cried, outraged. “What does he mean, baseball’s not a girl’s sport?”

Dad chuckled. “Ignore that one, honey. Here’s another that was written by somebody on the school board. Let’s see what he has to say.”

“That’s so
stupid!
” Joelle exclaimed. “He makes it sound like I’m the one who’s being unfair.”

“I must say, I’m really surprised by all this brouhaha.” Dad shook his head.

“It’s a terrible shame, but I do understand what this man is saying,” Mom said. “You wouldn’t want the school to cut softball entirely and just have a baseball team, would you, Joelle? There are a lot of girls who play softball.”

“I never said anything about anyone cutting softball!” Joelle practically exploded. “Maybe there are boys out there who’d rather play softball just like I’d rather play baseball? Why can’t they have both softball and baseball and let kids play whichever one they want?”

She picked up the paper and looked at the rest of the letters. The last one was the worst of all.

Joelle gave the newspaper an angry shake and threw it back onto the table. “She’s got some nerve!”

Dad grinned. “Sounds like Brooke Hartle is every bit as spunky as you are.”

Joelle narrowed her eyes. “Do
not
lump me in the same category with that girl.”

“I hate to say it, honey.” Mom smoothed Joelle’s ponytail. “But ‘that girl’ has a point, too. It doesn’t look like you’re going to be able to play baseball here in Greendale. So maybe you
should
give softball a try.”

Joelle stared at her mother. “You want me to give up? I thought you were on my side.”

“I am, Joelle. But it wouldn’t really be giving up,” Mom said. “You’ve tried everything else. Would playing softball with the girls really be so terrible? You might make some nice friends.”

“And I’m sure you can play Little League this summer,” Dad added. “They aren’t affiliated with the school system.”

“I can’t believe it.” Joelle sank into a chair. “
You
think I should join softball, too?” Wasn’t her father the one who had bought her first bat and glove? The one who had taken her and Jason to the park every night after supper? The one who’d jumped up and down when he heard Jason would be playing ball for the University of Minnesota?

Dad shrugged. “Well, you never know. You might find you actually
like
softball.”

Joelle crossed her arms. “Not if
that girl
”—she nodded toward the crumpled newspaper—“is captain of the team.”

Dad read Brooke’s letter again. “Oh, come on,” he said, tossing the paper in Joelle’s lap. “She doesn’t sound so bad. I think she’s issuing you a challenge.”

Joelle stood up, letting the newspaper fall to the floor, and stomped out of the kitchen. “I won’t give her the satisfaction,” she called over her shoulder.

There was one thing Joelle really appreciated about the guys she knew in Minneapolis. If they had a problem with you, they told you to your face. They didn’t issue challenges to you in the newspaper or talk about you behind your back.

Like Brooke and the girls who followed her around all over school were doing right now.

Joelle knew they were talking about her. She could just tell.

Between second and third period, she heard a voice from behind her. “Hey, Joelle!” Elizabeth waved as she caught up with her. “How’s it going?”

Joelle hugged her books tighter to her chest. “I feel totally paranoid. Like everybody’s staring at me.”

Elizabeth grinned. “Well, you are something of a celebrity around here, I guess. Look at it this way. You’ve hardly been at school a month, but everybody already knows you.”

“They don’t know
me
,” Joelle said. “To them I’m just ‘the girl who wants to play baseball’ or ‘the girl who won’t play softball.’”

“True,” Elizabeth admitted.

Joelle was starting to wonder if maybe she should just play softball. At least then kids would like her. Life in Greendale would probably be a whole lot easier.

“You know, some people really admire you,” Elizabeth said as they continued down the hall.

Joelle raised one eyebrow. “I seriously doubt that,” she said.

“No, they do!” Elizabeth insisted. “You’re standing up for what you believe in. That’s pretty cool. I wish I was more like that.”

Joelle wasn’t sure what to say. Elizabeth made her sound so brave.
But she’s the brave one
, Joelle thought.
It can’t be easy for her, dealing with her mom being gone.

Elizabeth never seemed to whine or complain or feel sorry for herself. Joelle knew Elizabeth had to be sad and angry sometimes, too. But Joelle had never seen her take her feelings out on anybody else.

Sometimes Joelle wished she were more like Elizabeth.

“Some kids think you’re right not to join the softball team,” Elizabeth went on. “I even heard a couple of the baseball players say this whole thing has been blown way out of proportion.”

“Not all of them are saying that.” Joelle sighed. Ryan Carlyle sure wasn’t. He hadn’t spoken to her since their little discussion in the hall.

“Well, those who aren’t probably can’t stand the idea of having a girl who’s better than they are on their team,” Elizabeth said lightly.

“Yeah, right,” Joelle answered with a smile. “And what do the girls on the softball team say?”

Elizabeth paused. “Do you really want to know?”

“No,” Joelle said. “Probably not.”

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

On Wednesday a crowd of kids gathered around the big double doors leading to the band room. “The new chair assignments must be posted,” Elizabeth told Joelle. She pressed closer to see the bulletin board. “All right! Sixth chair! I moved up!”

“Congratulations,” Joelle said. She wasn’t in any hurry to see her new chair assignment. It was one thing to sit at the end of a section with only seven clarinets. But now that she was in a band that had twenty-one clarinets, it seemed a whole lot worse.

“I knew it.” Kailey’s shoulders slumped as she moved away from the door. “Last chair again.”

“Bummer,” Joelle said.
I guess that means I’m second to last
, she thought. But when she stepped up to the door, she just about dropped to the floor in shock.

Eleventh chair!

Right in the middle—and in the
second
clarinet section rather than the third section. Joelle had never sat that far up before. How had that happened?

“Hey, you!” A baritone player nudged Joelle. “Can the rest of us see the list, too?”

“I can’t believe it,” Joelle told Elizabeth as they stepped to the side. “Eleventh chair.” Maybe she should reconsider quitting band.

“Hi, Elizabeth.” Brooke breezed past the two of them, her bassoon case in hand.

Joelle cleared her throat. “Uh, my name’s Joelle,” she said. “In case you’ve forgotten.”

Brooke whirled around. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” she said sweetly. “I’d just rather say hello to Elizabeth than to you.”

Elizabeth looked down at her feet.

“I’ve
always
said hello to Elizabeth,” Brooke went on, smiling. “It just wouldn’t be the same saying hello to you.”

What? Was that some sort of reference to me liking baseball better than softball?
Joelle wondered.

“Yeah, well, talking to you is pretty much always the same,” Joelle shot back.

But Brooke was already gone.

Before the bell rang in social studies, Joelle felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around.

The frizzy-haired girl sitting behind her said, “Hey, Joelle. I’m Stephanie.” She was wearing a colorful tie-dyed shirt and her mouth was full of heavy silver braces. “So tell me,” she went on, “why won’t you play softball?”

Joelle just stared at her.

“Hey, I’m not trying to bug you or anything,” Stephanie added. “I’m just curious.”

Joelle hesitated. How should she answer this time? No one seemed to understand her softball-isn’t-baseball argument.

“Is it because you think softball is wimpy?” Stephanie asked. “Or do you just like playing with guys better?” She seemed genuinely interested.

“It’s nothing like that,” Joelle said cautiously.

“Well, what then?”

“I don’t know,” Joelle said, shifting in her seat uncomfortably. She felt like she was back in Mr. White’s office, trying to explain. “I … um … I like the way a baseball feels in my glove. It just fits, you know? And I like the crack of the ball when you get a good hit.”

“There’s a crack when you hit a softball, too,” Stephanie said. “Right?”

“No. I mean yes.” Joelle shook her head. “There is, but it’s different. I’ve always played baseball. I don’t even own a softball or a softball glove.”

“So buy them,” Stephanie said, shrugging.

“You don’t understand,” Joelle said. “It’s not really that simple. Not for me, anyway. We’re kind of a baseball family. My brother made All-State three years in a row. He has a scholarship to play baseball for the University of Minnesota. If I want to get one, too, then I need to play for my school.”

Stephanie still didn’t seem convinced. “But aren’t there scholarships for softball players, too?” she asked. “You can play softball in college. You can play it professionally, too. It’s even an Olympic sport. I saw it on TV.”

Joelle drew back. What was this, Twenty Questions? But she had to admit that Stephanie was right about all of those things. “Look, I never said softball wasn’t a real sport or a good sport or anything like that,” she said. “It’s just not
my
sport.”
Plus, I can’t stand the captain
, Joelle added silently as Brooke slid into the seat across from her.

“Well, okay. Thanks for trying to explain,” the girl said. “I was just wondering.”

“No problem,” Joelle said. “Nice talking to you.” She turned around in her seat again, feeling a little awkward. She’d been afraid the girl was going to make fun of her or start arguing.

But she hadn’t.

Maybe I
am
getting paranoid these days
, Joelle thought.

“So how are our two attorneys doing?” Mr. Hawkings asked after the bell rang. His eyes fixed on Joelle and Brooke. “Have you been putting your cases together?”

“I’ve got my witnesses already, Mr. Hawkings,” Brooke said. She shot Joelle an I’m-so-much-better-than-you look.

Joelle really wanted to beat Brooke in this trial and wipe that smirk off her face. But the truth was, she hadn’t talked to anyone yet about being a witness for her.

She’d better get down to business. Fast.

Joelle had already decided not to put Goldilocks on the stand. A defendant didn’t have to testify. A prosecuting attorney—especially one like Brooke—could really make a defendant look bad. Joelle decided to concentrate on other witnesses—Goldilocks’s teacher, Goldilocks’s neighbor, and maybe the Bears’ neighbor—to build her case.