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Authors: Weezie Kerr Mackey
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Mo whispers back. And then in her normal voice, “So, that year she came to school, but she didn’t play any sports. In eighth grade, though, she tried out and was so good they put her on varsity, which is unheard of, you know. And then again in ninth grade. But by the spring of tenth grade—that was last year—Rocky got her license, and that was the end of her softball career. The aunt went back to her life, and Rocky gave up her own.”
“Which was especially unfair because she has this older brother,” Frannie says, “who graduated last year.”
“Why doesn’t he help out?” I ask.
“Anthony is a phenomenal football player,” Frannie explains.“Spring Valley recruited him when he was in eighth grade. They got all the kids, the whole family, into the school on scholarships because of him. Nobody was going to ask
him
to quit football or rearrange his schedule.”
“So, how do
you
know about her?” Mo asks, and I must have a blank look on my face because she asks again.
“Oh, I met her over by the lower school.”
“You met Rocky?” As if she’s some sort of celebrity.
“She picks up her sister and brothers at the same time my mom picks me up. She told me she watches practice from the library while she waits to drive everybody home.”
“She watches practice from the libes?” Frannie asks.
“That’s kind of sad,” Mo says.
“What’s sad is her brother,” Frannie counters. “He’s the cutest guy. The best football player we’d had in years. College scouts came to see him play. And then he blew out his knee at homecoming. Supposedly a doctor told him he’d never play football again. So, he didn’t go to college. He got a job with Mr. O’Hara, who’s a security guard in some fancy hotel downtown. And that’s it. He still lives at home. He still doesn’t help out Rocky. Nothing. She’s stuck.”
I just sit there and try to take it in. I can’t finish my yogurt. I can’t even look at my chocolate chip cookie.
And then Rocky appears at our table. It’s shocking really. We’re stunned into silence.
“Hey,” she says to us, then to me, “Did you talk to your mom?”
“Yeah. She’s thrilled she doesn’t have to pick me up anymore.”
Rocky smiles. “Good. I’ll see you around five forty-five?”
“Sure.”
“Bye.” Rocky nods. Mo says, “She’s so nice.”
“Totally,” Frannie adds.
I’m excited and nervous about softball the whole day. During Behavioral Science someone tells Mr. Dominick that Nate is absent today, and I’d been so distracted by softball I hardly even noticed!
I realize that reading a lineup (with only nine players) and scrimmaging isn’t a huge deal, but it’s the first time I’ve ever played a real game, and I want to be good. I want to understand every position and where you’re supposed to be on the field. I want to be able to read a batter, which is something Coach mentioned yesterday, and people nodded their heads, and I had no idea what she was talking about. I need to remember to look that up online tonight.
Mostly, I want to hit the ball and get on base. I want to learn to slide. I want to cross home plate and have the whole team high-five me. And I want to throw like a girl. A
real
girl.
Coach reads two lineups. The
good
lineup is on the field, and Coach is barking instructions at them. They seem pumped and confident. The rest of us kick around in the dirt, waiting to hear what we’re supposed to do and gazing at the bats leaning against the fence.
“Okay,” Coach says when she finally comes over to us, the leftovers. “Y’all are up. Everyone will bat. And then we’ll put you out in the field for one rotation. To make things go a little faster, each batter gets three pitches. Kat’s catching; she’ll make the calls. If the three pitches are balls, then you walk. But if one’s good, you swing away. I’ll be coaching from first. We won’t work on signs or anything today. Just hit the ball.”
I swear she’s
“Which was especially unfair because she has this older brother,” Frannie says, “who graduated last year.”
“Why doesn’t he help out?” I ask.
“Anthony is a phenomenal football player,” Frannie explains.“Spring Valley recruited him when he was in eighth grade. They got all the kids, the whole family, into the school on scholarships because of him. Nobody was going to ask
him
to quit football or rearrange his schedule.”
“So, how do
you
know about her?” Mo asks, and I must have a blank look on my face because she asks again.
“Oh, I met her over by the lower school.”
“You met Rocky?” As if she’s some sort of celebrity.
“She picks up her sister and brothers at the same time my mom picks me up. She told me she watches practice from the library while she waits to drive everybody home.”
“She watches practice from the libes?” Frannie asks.
“That’s kind of sad,” Mo says.
“What’s sad is her brother,” Frannie counters. “He’s the cutest guy. The best football player we’d had in years. College scouts came to see him play. And then he blew out his knee at homecoming. Supposedly a doctor told him he’d never play football again. So, he didn’t go to college. He got a job with Mr. O’Hara, who’s a security guard in some fancy hotel downtown. And that’s it. He still lives at home. He still doesn’t help out Rocky. Nothing. She’s stuck.”
I just sit there and try to take it in. I can’t finish my yogurt. I can’t even look at my chocolate chip cookie.
And then Rocky appears at our table. It’s shocking really. We’re stunned into silence.
“Hey,” she says to us, then to me, “Did you talk to your mom?”
“Yeah. She’s thrilled she doesn’t have to pick me up anymore.”
Rocky smiles. “Good. I’ll see you around five forty-five?”
“Sure.”
“Bye.” Rocky nods. Mo says, “She’s so nice.”
“Totally,” Frannie adds.
I’m excited and nervous about softball the whole day. During Behavioral Science someone tells Mr. Dominick that Nate is absent today, and I’d been so distracted by softball I hardly even noticed!
I realize that reading a lineup (with only nine players) and scrimmaging isn’t a huge deal, but it’s the first time I’ve ever played a real game, and I want to be good. I want to understand every position and where you’re supposed to be on the field. I want to be able to read a batter, which is something Coach mentioned yesterday, and people nodded their heads, and I had no idea what she was talking about. I need to remember to look that up online tonight.
Mostly, I want to hit the ball and get on base. I want to learn to slide. I want to cross home plate and have the whole team high-five me. And I want to throw like a girl. A
real
girl.
Coach reads two lineups. The
good
lineup is on the field, and Coach is barking instructions at them. They seem pumped and confident. The rest of us kick around in the dirt, waiting to hear what we’re supposed to do and gazing at the bats leaning against the fence.
“Okay,” Coach says when she finally comes over to us, the leftovers. “Y’all are up. Everyone will bat. And then we’ll put you out in the field for one rotation. To make things go a little faster, each batter gets three pitches. Kat’s catching; she’ll make the calls. If the three pitches are balls, then you walk. But if one’s good, you swing away. I’ll be coaching from first. We won’t work on signs or anything today. Just hit the ball.”
I swear she’s
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