Sliding into Home (4 page)

A
re you
crazy?
” Joelle’s brother was practically yelling at her over the phone.

“No!” Joelle said, switching the receiver to her other ear.

She stretched the phone cord further and sat down at the kitchen table. “Mom and Dad think Greendale is such a great place. Everything’s fine for them. But I hate it here! I want to come back to Minneapolis and move in with you.”

“No, Jojo,” Jason said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

“But why not? Come on, Jason. I won’t get in your way, I promise. I could cook for you. And clean your apartment.”

“You?” Jason laughed. “Cook? Clean?”

“Hey, I’m a lot neater than you are,” Joelle pointed out. Dad always said Jason’s room would qualify their family for federal disaster relief funds.

Jason snorted. “Well, Jojo, that’s a real tempting offer, but it would never work.”

“Why not?” Joelle tried not to sound whiny as she twisted the phone cord around her finger. Jason hated whiners. So did she, for that matter.

“Well, for starters, Mom and Dad would never go for it.
Plus, I’m not here a lot. And this place is pretty small. I already have three roommates. We don’t have room for another one. Not even one who cooks and cleans.”

“I could sleep on the couch.”

Jason sighed. “Look, Jojo. You can’t move in with me. You’re just a kid. You have to live with Mom and Dad.”

Joelle bit her lip. “I am not a kid. And I don’t belong here,” she said.

“Oh, come on. Iowa’s not that bad, is it?”

“They won’t let me play baseball, Jase,” Joelle said in a small voice.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “What do you mean, they won’t let you play baseball?”

Joelle told her brother the whole story.

“Huh!” Jason said when she’d finished. “That
is
pretty bad.”

Joelle went to the fridge with the phone and pulled out a carton of juice. “So,
now
can I move in with you?”

“There’s got to be something you can do to convince them to let you play,” Jason said.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve never known my kid sister to give up so easily.”

“I’m not giving up,” Joelle protested. “I’m just … out of options.”

“You
always
have options, Jojo.” Jason sounded almost disappointed in her.

“Well, the only one I’ve come up with is to move in with you,” Joelle grumbled as she sat down at the kitchen table again.

“I told you. That’s not an option. You need to find a way to let that coach see what you can do. Then he’ll probably be begging you to play.”

“Carlyle?” Joelle scoffed. “Don’t think so.”

“Okay, let somebody else see you. Somebody who’s in a position to put pressure on the coach.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know. Or maybe—” Jason stopped.

“What?” Joelle held her breath.

“How about writing to the newspaper?”

“Jason, what are you talking about?” Joelle said, frowning.

“Look in the paper,” Jason told her. “There should be a whole bunch of letters to the editor in the main section.”

The
Greendale Gazette
was still on the kitchen table, right where Joelle had left it that morning. She shoved the sports section and the want ads aside. The front-page section was underneath.

Joelle grabbed it and started flipping pages. When she reached one that said “Opinion,” she stopped. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I think I found it.”

There were several letters on the page. One was about some kind of school bond issue. Another was about a local option sales tax, whatever that was. “These all look pretty boring,” she told her brother.

“Maybe. But I bet a lot of them talk about letters someone else wrote. Letters in the paper always get noticed. And one from a kid might even get more attention.”

“You think so?” Joelle asked doubtfully.

“Sure,” Jason answered. “Your civil rights are being violated
here. There are bound to be plenty of people out there who’d support you if they knew about the whole girls’ baseball deal. Then that coach would have no choice but to let you play.”

Joelle took a closer look at the letters. One complimented a Mr. John Sweeney for his “balanced and intelligent” assessment of the school bond issue. But another said Mr. John Sweeney was basically an idiot who didn’t understand the issue. Joelle wondered what people would say about a middle school girl who wanted to play baseball.

“Never underestimate the power of the press,” Jason said.

Joelle shrugged. It was worth a try. At this point, what did she have to lose? She grabbed a pen from the counter. “Okay, so what should I say?”

“Sorry,” Jason said. “No clue.”

“Come on, Jason,” Joelle urged. “You have to help me out here. I don’t know how to write a letter to the editor.”

“Well, neither do I. English is my worst subject.”

“But you’re the one who came up with this bright idea,” Joelle pointed out.

“Well …” Jason paused. “Just write about what happened when you went to try out. And why you want to play so badly. Tell people the differences between baseball and softball.”

Joelle made a few notes in the margins of the paper.

“Okay, so how do I put all that stuff in a letter?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to figure that out,” her brother replied. “I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to be at work already.”

“But—”

“Sorry, Joelle,” Jason broke in. “I’m serious. I can’t be late to
work again or I’ll get fired. Besides, this is
your
letter, not mine. You have to write it in your own words.”

Maybe Jason had a point, Joelle realized. Mr. All-State-Three-Years-in-a-Row had no idea what it felt like to be told he couldn’t play ball. But she did. Maybe her words
would
be better.

“Look, hang in there, okay?” Jason said. “Everything’ll work out.”

“If it doesn’t, then can I move in with you?”

Jason laughed. “Later, Jojo.”

Joelle glared at him through the phone and hung up. Now that she had a plan of attack, she had to admit she felt a little better.

She didn’t even get upset at dinner when she told her parents about her meeting with Superintendent Holland.

“So you’re not too disappointed?” Mom raised a questioning eyebrow as she passed the bucket of fried chicken.

Joelle helped herself to a drumstick, then dished up some potato salad. “Well, I was at first,” she said truthfully. “But then I called Jason.”

“You talked to your brother? How’s he doing?”

“He sounded fine.”

Mom looked concerned. “I hope he’s going to all his classes.”

“What do you mean?” Joelle asked. Her brother would never skip any classes.

“Never mind,” her mother said.

Dad took a roll from another box. “What did Jason say that put you in such a good mood?”

Joelle told her parents about the letter to the editor idea.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Mom said slowly. “That might not be such a good idea.”

“Why not?” Joelle asked, putting down the drumstick.

“Well, when you write a letter to the paper, your words are right out there for everyone to see. People will form opinions about you. And some of those opinions may not be entirely positive. Would you be able to handle that?”

Joelle shrugged. “Sure.” Anyone who saw her reasons spelled out in black and white would surely agree with her. Not letting girls play baseball was just plain wrong.

“Your mother’s got a point, Joelle,” Dad said. “There can definitely be consequences to going on record. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. Not if you feel strongly about something.”

“Maybe the question is, how strongly do you feel about this, Joelle?” Mom asked. “What do you hope to accomplish by writing to the newspaper?”

Joelle thought for a minute. “I just want people to know what happened to me. Maybe if enough people see my letter, something will happen to change the dumb policy.”
And maybe I can still get to play this season
, she added to herself.

Her parents exchanged looks. The fact that they didn’t answer right away told Joelle that they were at least considering giving her permission.

“Well, okay. But I want to see that letter before you send it in,” Mom said finally.

“Deal!” Joelle grinned. Now she felt a
lot
better.

After dinner, Joelle went straight to her room to work on her letter. Luckily, she had her own computer, since her parents had upgraded theirs.

It took her a while to figure out exactly what she wanted to say. But she kept at it, adding and deleting and moving words around. Finally she felt satisfied. She read the letter over one more time before she printed it.

Even Joelle’s parents agreed it was a pretty good letter.

“I think you should delete the names, though,” Mom said.

“Why?” Joelle asked. “I told the truth.”

“Yes, but it’s a lot less confrontational if you don’t name names.”

“Okay.” Joelle sighed. She went back and substituted “my new middle school” for “Hoover Middle School,” “the baseball coach” for “Coach Carlyle,” “my new principal” for “the principal, Mr. White,” and “the superintendent” for “Superintendent Holland.” But everyone would know who all those people were. There was only one public middle school in Greendale.

“Now is it okay?” Joelle asked.

Mom reread the letter over her shoulder. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “It’s very honest and heartfelt.”

“Thanks,” Joelle said. “So do you think it will make a difference?”

Mom gave Joelle’s ponytail a playful tug. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

P
sst!” Brooke whispered to Joelle from across the aisle during social studies.

Joelle turned around.

“What did the superintendent say?” Brooke asked, keeping her voice low. Today she was wearing a fringed denim skirt and a gauzy blue blouse. A blue barrette held her hair at the nape of her neck and blue hearts sparkled in her ear lobes. She looked … perfect.

Joelle checked to make sure she wasn’t going to get in trouble for talking. But Mr. Hawkings was busy reading.

“She said I couldn’t play,” Joelle whispered back.

“Bummer.” Brooke didn’t look too sorry, though. “So you’re going to join softball now, right?”

“No.”

Brooke frowned. “Why not?”

“I’m just not.” Joelle was starting to feel annoyed now. How many times did she have to repeat it?

She tried to get back to her worksheet on courtroom procedure, but Brooke wouldn’t shut up. “So what are you saying?”
Brooke asked. “If you can’t play baseball, you’re not going to play
anything?
” The way she said it made Joelle sound like a spoiled little kid.

“No,” Joelle said evenly. “It’s just that if I join softball now, people are going to think I was never all that serious about baseball.”

“Well, you’re not going to be able to play anyway. Everyone’s told you that already.”

Mr. Hawkings looked up from his reading to see who was talking.

But Joelle wasn’t going to let Brooke get the last word. “They might change their minds,” she whispered quickly.
If enough people call in and complain after my letter appears in the paper
, she said to herself.
It could happen.

After school, Joelle went out to the baseball field. Coach Carlyle could keep her off the team for now, but he couldn’t stop her from watching practice. She climbed up to the top bleacher behind the fence and took a seat.

The guys were working on bunts. One group was lined up behind home plate. Another was lined up behind third base. As Joelle watched, the guys at home and third bunted, then sprinted to first or second base. Every now and then, one of the boys would glance over in her direction, but nobody said anything to her. Ryan Carlyle seemed to make a special point of ignoring her as he moved up in the line behind home plate.

“Remember, one hand on the bat,” Coach Carlyle called as a boy with a buzz cut stepped up to the bag at third. “Find the balance point and everything else will fall into place.”

Joelle had done this same exact drill many times. Coach Perry always said that everything he could teach about bunting—grip, bat angle, catching the ball with the bat—happened naturally when you bunted one-handed.

She watched the batter wipe his hand on the back of his sweats, then get into position. He seemed really tense. When the ball came toward him, his hand sort of stuck to the bat and he missed.

The next batter made almost the same mistake. Joelle couldn’t hold back. “Drop your hand as soon as the pitcher lets go of the ball!” she called to him.

Several boys turned and glared up at Joelle.

“Who asked you?” the guy with the bat shouted.

“Ignore her,” another boy said. “She’s not even supposed to be here.”

The batter turned back around. This time he did drop his hand as soon as the pitcher released the ball. It popped against the bat and hit the dirt just a couple feet in front of him.

“See?” Joelle muttered as the batter sprinted for first. He didn’t look back.

Ryan stepped up to the plate next. The pitcher threw a fastball. Ryan stepped forward, dropped one hand from the bat and nicked the ball down. Perfect. The ball hit the ground to the left of the pitcher and Ryan took off for first base.

“Hustle, hustle!” Coach Carlyle shouted. Joelle wasn’t sure whether he was shouting at Ryan or at the pitcher, who was running for the ball. The pitcher threw to first, but Ryan was safe.

“Good play!” Joelle clapped.

Coach Carlyle looked over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed and his whole face had a pinched look. “Excuse me,” he said, lumbering over to the fence. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“N-nothing,” Joelle said. Her heart was pounding. “Just watching.”

“You’re distracting my players.”

“I’m not distracting them,” Joelle said. “I’m just sitting here. And trying to offer some helpful advice.”

“It would be a lot more helpful if you left,” the coach said.

“Aw, let her stay, Coach,” yelled one of the guys clustered around home plate. “She could be our team mascot.”

“How about bat girl?” another player snickered.

“Oh, you wish!” Joelle shouted, one hand on her hip.
Bat girl!
The way some of these guys were playing, they’d be lucky to qualify to carry bats.

“That’s enough, boys, back to work!” Coach Carlyle folded his arms tightly across his chest and focused his attention on the drill. He completely ignored Joelle.

She sat down.

Well, she’d won that one. Or had she?

For the next few days, Joelle kept trudging out to the baseball field after school to watch the Hawks practice. When the guys did their warm-ups, Joelle did her own stretching behind the
fence. A couple of the players looked over and shook their heads when they realized what she was doing. But most of them, like their coach, ignored her.

Once the boys started their drills, Joelle plopped down on the top bleacher to watch. After that first day, she never said a word. She just watched.

It wasn’t always easy to keep her mouth shut. But if she didn’t actually say anything, Coach Carlyle couldn’t complain she was bothering his team. Hey, it was a free country. She could do sit-ups and jumping jacks if she felt like it. And there was no law against watching, right?

At least Coach Carlyle will realize I’m serious about baseball
, Joelle told herself. She even went to the Hawks’ opening game on Tuesday after school. She couldn’t help yelling whenever they struck out or missed the ball. But everyone else in the small crowd was shouting at them, too. It was frustrating to watch the guys make error after error. Hoover lost 2–8.

It must have been frustrating for Coach Carlyle, too. He really laid into his players at the next practice. The boys sat in a straight row along the foul line, heads down, as the coach listed off all the things they’d done wrong. Even though Joelle didn’t think Coach Carlyle should yell so much, she had to agree with every point he made. Pay attention. Watch the ball. And
hustle.

But the whole time, the coach never seemed to notice her.

“Why do you do this to yourself, Joelle?” Elizabeth asked as she climbed the bleachers to where Joelle was sitting one afternoon. Her gym bag was slung over her shoulder.

Joelle glanced up at her friend, shading her eyes from the bright sun. “Hey, don’t you have softball practice?”

“Not today.” Elizabeth pulled the elastic band out of her hair and her long red curls tumbled to her shoulders. She sat down next to Joelle. “We don’t have practice on Wednesdays.”

“Hey, Elizabeth!” a girl’s voice called from behind the bleachers. “A bunch of us are going over to Caitlyn’s. You want to come?”

“Can Joelle come, too?” Elizabeth called back.

Joelle bit her lip nervously. She recognized the girl from one of her classes, but she didn’t really know her.

The girl shrugged. “I guess.”

Joelle knew when she wasn’t wanted. “Hey, no problem,” she told Elizabeth. “I’d rather sit here and watch the guys practice anyway. You go ahead.”

“No, that’s okay,” Elizabeth said. She waved down the girl. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Shelby.”

After Shelby had left, Elizabeth hugged her knees and looked at Joelle curiously. “Why do you sit here and watch the guys like this all the time?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Joelle said glumly. “I guess I’m still hoping for some miracle.”

She hadn’t told Elizabeth about her letter to the editor. She hadn’t told anyone. More than a week had gone by. The
Gazette
probably wasn’t even going to print it.

Joelle had no idea what she’d do then.

She looked back down at the field. “You know, my whole life used to be about baseball,” she told Elizabeth. “I played. My brother played. My family went to tons of games. Twins games. Minor league games. School games. There was hardly a week during the spring and summer that we weren’t at a ball park somewhere.”

She stared down at the ground through the bleachers. “But it’s different here. My brother’s not here. There’s no professional ball team here. And now I can’t even play, myself. I … I really miss baseball, Elizabeth. I don’t know who I am without it. Does that make sense?”

Elizabeth looked away. “Sort of,” she said softly. “That’s pretty much how I felt when my mom left.”

Joelle opened her mouth, but no words came out. She didn’t know what to say. “Your mom …
left?
”

Elizabeth nodded. “On Christmas Day last year. With some guy. She just told my dad this wasn’t the life she wanted and then she was gone.”

“Wow.” Joelle felt terrible. Her own problem seemed pretty insignificant in comparison to her friend’s. “Do you ever, um, hear from her?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Sometimes. Not a lot. At first I kept hoping she’d come back, but I don’t think she will. I don’t really want to talk about it.” She blinked away tears.

“Okay, sure,” Joelle answered carefully. But she had a feeling Elizabeth probably did need to talk about it. Maybe not right now, especially here in the middle of baseball practice. But sometime.

Joelle cleared her throat. “Um, if you ever do want to talk,
let me know, okay?” Joelle wasn’t sure she’d be very good at talking or listening. She hadn’t had a lot of practice. Most of her friends back in Minneapolis were guys. They didn’t sit around and talk much. But Joelle was willing to give it a try.

“Okay.” Elizabeth sniffed and quickly swiped her eyes. “I’m fine. Thanks, Joelle.”

Joelle knew her friend wasn’t fine. But she didn’t want to be pushy.

The two of them sat together in silence for a while, watching the Hawks practice fielding.

“Some of these guys are really terrible,” Joelle said, resting her chin in her hands.

“Ryan’s not so bad,” Elizabeth said as Rubber Band jumped up to catch a pop fly. “You know, he asked me about you the other day.”

Joelle tucked her hair behind her ear. “Oh yeah? What did he say?” she asked, keeping her gaze on the practice field.

“He just wanted to know who you were,” Elizabeth said, shrugging. “I told him your name and that you just moved here from Minneapolis. I think maybe he likes you.”

A boy liked her? As in
liked
her liked her? “What makes you think that?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Just a hunch.”

Joelle chewed the inside of her cheek and watched Ryan as he jogged back to the end of the line. He
was
kind of cute, she had to admit.

Coach Carlyle blew his whistle. “Okay, that’s it for today!” he called.

Most of the Hawks bolted toward the school as though they’d been released from prison. But Ryan stayed behind to help his dad gather equipment. He didn’t look up at the bleachers.

Joelle rose to her feet. “I guess we should go, too.” She made a point of not looking Ryan’s way, either.

The girls climbed down from the stands and walked along the fence. Joelle glanced over her shoulder once and saw Ryan staring after her. She quickly turned around again, her face burning.

Did Ryan Carlyle actually like her?

Well, it didn’t matter
, Joelle told herself quickly. It would never work. Ryan Carlyle was the enemy’s son.

Joelle never set her alarm on Saturdays. After getting up at six o’clock every school day during the week to run, she figured she deserved a break. But she was so used to waking up at the crack of dawn, it was hard to sleep late.

She stayed in bed till eight-thirty. Then she pulled on one of Jason’s old T-shirts and a pair of sweatpants, ran a comb through her hair, and went out for her run. This time she headed down to the park at the end of the block.

It was a nice day, so there were quite a few other joggers out. Joelle followed the path over a small bridge, around a bend, and toward what looked like a baseball diamond. A group of kids were gathered around a couple of benches next to the fence.

Joelle slowed to take a closer look. Some of the kids looked familiar. She was pretty sure she recognized a boy from her English class. And another from her science class. Several in the group held mitts and bats.

Joelle dropped her pace to a walk, her eyes still focused on the group of ballplayers. A large boy with a Twins cap stepped aside and then Joelle saw who was standing behind him: Ryan Carlyle.

Ryan must have noticed her at exactly the same moment. “Hey!” he called, waving.

Was he talking to
her?
Joelle checked behind her.

“Yeah, you!” Ryan said, pointing straight at Joelle. “You want to play? We’ve got uneven sides.”

Joelle could hardly believe her luck. What had Jason said about letting people see what she could do? And who could be better than Coach Carlyle’s son?

“Sure!” Joelle answered eagerly and ran toward the group. A couple of the guys exchanged looks, but she didn’t care. She’d show them. Even better, she was finally going to get to play some ball!

“Okay, let’s see if she’s really as good as she thinks.” A guy with a serious acne problem punched a fist into his glove and grinned good-naturedly.

A tall, shaggy-haired boy looked at Joelle. “What’s your name again?” He had eyebrows that joined together at the bridge of his nose.

“Joelle.”

“I’m Ian. You’re on their team,” he said, jerking his chin
toward the group of guys who were already starting to take the field.

“Okay,” Joelle said. “But I don’t have my glove with me.”

“You can borrow mine.” The boy who was in line to bat after Ian tossed his glove to her.

Joelle caught it. “Thanks.”

There weren’t enough players to cover all the positions, so Joelle wasn’t sure where to go.

“You want to play third?” Ryan called to her.