Read Online The Girl Who Threw Butterflies by Mick Cochrane - Free Book Online

Lonnie's Magic Marker mural, how Niedermeyer had busted him and let her off scot-free.
    “Lonnie?” Celia asked. “Lonnie House? He came along and drew a picture over the message?”
    “You should see it,” Molly said. “It's really something.” “Lonnie is really something,” Celia said. She smiled, a little wickedly.
    It felt good to be talking to Celia. But telling Celia about what had happened made it feel more real, like some-thing that had happened to her. What she understood, what she felt now, was that it was aimed at
her,
no one else.
It's nothing personal
was how Molly's mother often responded when Molly described some stinging slight, some injustice. As if that lessened the hurt. But this was totally personal. Molly knew what it meant. She remembered that look on Lloyd Coleman's face.
    “It's a hate crime,” Celia said.
    “That's what it is.” “They do hate me, don't they?” Molly said, and her voice broke. “They want to void
my
contract.” Celia patted her arm, but she didn't disagree.
    “What did I ever do to them?” Molly asked.
    “Nothing,” Celia said. “Not a darn thing.”
    “It's nothing I did, is it?” Molly said. “It's who I am.”
    Celia must have gathered her thoughts after that. By lunch -time she was ready to weigh in. She was angry and indignant and not about to hold back.
    “They are such cowards,” she announced. “Gutless. That's what they are. Gutless.”
    Molly just nodded.
    “It doesn't take much courage to vandalize a locker,” Celia said. “They never quite got around to signing their names, did they?”
    She was speaking so loud, Molly was afraid they'd be overheard. Lloyd and his crew were at the far end of the cafeteria, but still, Molly wondered, why broadcast? It crossed her mind that maybe Celia
wanted
to be overheard. Probably not. Probably it was just Celia being Celia, blasting away on her tuba, playing a solo in the key of outrage.
    “‘Give it up’?” Celia said, and snorted. “I mean, is that their best stuff? That's it? That's their A-game?”
    Molly had to agree. It was pretty lame.
    “You know what it sounds like to me?” Celia said. “ ‘Surrender Dorothy.’ Do you remember that scene in
The Wizard of Oz?
The witch riding her broomstick in the sky above the Emerald City, writing her message in smoke?”
    Molly smiled. It was funny to think of Lloyd Coleman riding a broomstick. But what wasn't funny was the prospect of seeing him that afternoon at practice. Thanks to him, she had a painful purple welt on her shin. There was no telling what he would try next. There were plenty of ways you could hurt someone in baseball. Balls, bats, cleats—you could turn anything into a weapon. Who was going to watch her back?
    “Dorothy had Toto,” Molly said. “I feel like I'm in this all alone.”
    “You could get a dog,” Celia said.
    “My mom's allergic,” Molly said.
    “Figures.”
    “Dorothy also had the Scarecrow,” Molly said. “Don't forget about that. She had the Tin Man.”
    “You've got me,” Celia said. “You've got Jackie Mitchell.”
    “Plus,” Molly said, “Dorothy had ruby slippers.”
    “You don't need ruby slippers,” Celia said.
    “Oh, I don't, do I?” Molly said. “Personally, I think I could use a little magic.”
    “You've got your own,” Celia said. “You've got your own kind of magic.”
    While she was putting on her cleats that afternoon, Molly thought about Jackie Mitchell. She struck out Babe Ruth! It was mind-boggling. The greatest home-run hitter who ever lived. Probably he was expecting fastballs, Molly figured, and Jackie gave him something off-speed. She must have outsmarted him. Molly would have loved to have seen it, the Bambino whiffing in grand style, screwing himself into the ground. And then she was banned from baseball, blacklisted.
    And Molly thought about what Celia had said about magic. When she was a little girl, her dad used to read to her from a big book of fairy tales. These were