SOFTBALL
A short list of responses came up. KT clicked blindly on the first one. It was only a definition.
SOFTBALL: a little-known game, rarely played, involving bats and balls and bases
In a panic, KT hit the red-squared X at the top of the page. She sat still, breathing hard.
Little-known? Rarely played? Nooooo . . .
She decided to start slow, maybe with sports she didn’t care about so much. She Googled soccer, tennis, football, basketball, rugby, lacrosse. Field hockey. Water polo. And it seemed like people still played these sports some in this version of the world.
Okay, rarely, KT told herself, forcing herself to face facts. So . . . kids spend all day in school doing sports conditioning and almost never actually play the games?
She guessed it was kind of like how, in the real world, students spent so much time drilling and drilling to be ready for the state tests but almost never did lab experiments or field trips or other activities that kids who actually liked school might call fun.
Well, who cares? I don’t need a lot of people playing the same sport as me, KT thought. I don’t need hundreds of people cheering me on. I just need softball.
She took a deep breath and Googled “softball” again. She added a second word: “leagues.” After a moment, she added four more: “in the United States.”
The search results came up.
The nearest softball league was four hundred miles away.
“There you are,” a voice said from the doorway.
KT looked up. It was Dad.
“Max had a terrible game,” Dad said. “I think you rattled him, running out like that.”
KT shrugged.
“Sorry,” she said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded sullen and sulky.
“What has gotten into you?” Dad asked. “We’ve never had this kind of problem with you before. You get such good grades . . .”
KT remembered Molly and Lex laughing about how if you got straight As, teachers and parents acted like you should be a saint. She’d never really thought about it before, but Molly and Lex probably did get straight As.
In the real world.
Probably in this one too. They were lucky. They could be happy both places.
“What are you doing in here?” Dad asked.
“Looking for people like me,” KT said, and somehow all the pain she’d been holding back throbbed in her voice.
“Oh, princess,” Dad said. He eased the door almost all the way shut and came over and wrapped his arms around KT.
“I’m not anyone’s princess,” KT said fiercely. Dad hadn’t called her that since she was four. Nobody called pitchers “princess.”
She pushed him away and pointed to the softball-league information frozen on the screen.
“Will you take me to this?” KT asked.
Dad looked at the screen, then did a double take.
“That’s hundreds of miles away!” he said. “You know we couldn’t do that!”
“You’d do it if it were Max’s math team,” KT said, the sulkiness back in her voice. She didn’t know this for a fact, but she couldn’t say, You drove me that far in the real world for softball.
Dad sighed.
“Max’s math . . . has a future to it,” Dad said. “He’s young yet, but if he plays as well as I think he can in high school, he’ll get a full-ride college scholarship out of it. Maybe he’ll even go pro. The sky’s the limit for Max.”
“But not for me?” KT wailed.
“Now, now,” Dad said, patting her shoulder. “You’ll have a very . . . stable life. Easier than Max’s, in a lot of ways. You’ll be a good employee someday out in the work world. Of course, maybe if you start playing some sort of ac now, maybe you can still have a better high-school experience . . .”
A sly note crept into his voice, and KT thought maybe this was an argument Mom and Dad had been making with her alternate-world self for a long time.
Just like they keep bugging Max in the real world to start playing some sort of sport, KT thought.
“You didn’t play acs in high school!” KT protested. “You played sports! Cross-country! Wrestling! Baseball!”
“KT, you know that’s a lie!” Dad scolded her. “You know I got varsity letters in three acs—mathletics, chemademics, and geography find. Though, I have to admit, I was lousy at geo. There just weren’t that many other guys at my school who wanted to go out for that team.”
That was how he used to talk about cross-country.
KT blinked, doing something like translation in her head.
All those stories Dad always tells about his high-school career, how he was “this close” to a baseball scholarship at UCLA, and how that’s why it would be doubly sweet to see me get a softball scholarship—it’s all flipped around in this world. It’s acs he was good at, acs he almost got a scholarship for, acs he wants to see his kid do better at than he could do himself . . .
And it flipped around so Dad wanted Max to succeed, not KT.
“You only care about Max,” KT accused bitterly.
Dad let out another deep, heavy sigh.
“We’re back to that, are we?” he complained. “Your mother said you were just jealous of Max.”
“No, I’m not!” KT protested.
“Then stop acting like it!” Dad said. “Stop whining! You want people to play some silly game with? Then find them right here in Brecksville! Organize a league yourself!”
KT opened her mouth to protest the word “silly.” Then she shut it. Dad was being mean, but KT had dealt with plenty of mean coaches and teammates and opponents over the years. It didn’t help to taunt back.
Especially when he’d actually had a good idea.
KT Sutton, pitcher, did not sit around moaning and groaning and complaining when things didn’t go her way. She made them turn around. She’d snatched wins away from stronger, faster, better opponents. She’d pulled off come-from-behind victories when her team was losing by as many as ten runs.
Maybe the way to get back to the real world was by making this one actually bearable.
All she had to do was create her own softball team.
Chαpter Thirte3n
KT and Dad met up with Mom and Max in the school lobby, in front of the school trophy case. The engraved desks still hung near the top of the case where the jerseys belonged. And KT saw now that the trophies were all for acs, not sports: the three acs Dad had named—mathletics, chemademics, and geo find—as well as historia, poetry slam, write-a-thon, bio bash, translatOr and something called spelldown.
Never mind, KT told herself. I’m still going to have softball.
“You are so deep in trouble,” Mom said, glaring at KT. “We’ll talk about this later.”
Other kids and families walked by, dutifully calling out, “Good game, Max!” Mom pasted on a fake smile and turned around to face them.
“There’s always next year against Winchester!” she called out.
Max’s team must have lost.
KT glanced at her brother. He didn’t look like he’d added up a couple of numbers wrong. He looked like he’d been tackled. Possibly by an entire football team at once.
Max’s face was even more colorless than it had been at the beginning of the competition. His hair stuck up all over the place, as if he’d been tugging on it, trying to pull answers out of his brain. His fingernails were chewed down to the quick.
And—worst of all—his bottom lip was trembling.
“Shake it off,” KT told him. “Buck up.”
She actually meant that in a friendly way. “Shake it off” was what Coach Mike had told her that time she’d been hit in the chest by a line drive so fast she hadn’t had a chance to get her glove behind it. When bad things happened, you did just have to shake them off and keep going. That was why KT was going to shake off this crazy mixed-up world by starting her own softball team. Maybe an entire league.
But Mom grabbed KT’s arm and yanked her off
to the side, out of the path of the disappointed crowd leaving the mathletics competition.
“If you utter the words ‘it’s only a game’ or ‘it’s only math—it’s not like it’s something important like school,’ so help me, you will be grounded the rest of your life,” Mom said.
“I wasn’t saying that!” KT protested.
But—had she said it before in this alternate world? Just like Max had said “it’s only a game” to KT in the real world?
“Just stay away from your brother,” Mom said. She glanced back toward Dad and Max, still waiting by the trophy case, and her voice turned lighter and kinder. “Max, when we get to the car, you can sit in the front with Dad, to go over your strategies for your next game. And do you want to go to Applebee’s for dinner?”
No! KT thought. Applebee’s is where Mom and Dad always take me to cheer up after a loss!
But she kept her mouth shut.
Softball, she told herself. Just think about how to organize your softball team.
She did notice that Max wasn’t jumping at the chance to go to Applebee’s.
“I just want to go home,” he moaned.
“All right, buddy,” Dad said in an even voice. “Maybe we’ll order pizza.”
They walked out to the car. Mom and Dad still had to run interference with people calling out to Max. They were almost like his bodyguards.
KT trailed three or four paces behind.
I’ll re-friend my entire club softball team on Facebook, she thought. I’ll send them invitations to join me in this new softball league. And I’ll send invitations to everyone who was on the seventh-grade school softball team last year—no, everyone I remember even trying out. I remember a lot of last year’s eighth graders, too—I can send them messages as well.
She got in the car behind Dad and slid as far over from Mom as she could.
I know who I’ll invite from this year’s seventh graders too, KT thought. And maybe there are some sixth graders who would be good . . . .
In the front seat Dad was saying, “and Max, you were the first one who figured out to solve for x in that train problem. I was watching everyone’s screen. You just didn’t buzz in with the answer fast enough.”
“I never want to do that again,” Max moaned.
“There’s the spirit!” Dad said. “Take a vow: ‘I’ll never get beat on the buzzer when I have the right answer first.’ Even if it’s your own teammate buzzing in faster, you don’t want that!”
“No,” Max said, “that’s not what I meant. I meant I never want to be in another math competition in my life.”
“Maxwell Charles! Don’t say things like that!” Mom cried.
Dad had been starting to pull out into the street, but now he slammed on the brake. KT’s head hit the seat in front of her. Dad lined up the car with the curb once more and put it back in park. He turned to face Max.
“I am not raising a quitter,” Dad said sternly.
“Why not?” Max muttered. “Why shouldn’t I quit something I hate?”
“Max, you have a great talent,” Mom chimed in from the backseat. “An incredible talent. Very few people at your school are capable of doing what you do.”
“I felt like I was going to puke the whole time I was up there,” Max said. “Mr. Horace told me a hundred times, ‘Max, we’re counting on you. Max, we’re counting on you.’ I don’t want people counting on me! I don’t want people watching me! Especially not when I’m doing math!”
“Max, you had one bad game,” Dad said, soothingly. “That’s no reason to give up a promising career.”
“Career?” Max said. “Career? I’m twelve years old! I don’t have a career!”
“If he’s that miserable, you should let him quit,” KT said.
“That’s it! You are grounded for two weeks!” Mom said, whipping around and pointing an accusing finger at KT.
“Just for trying to help my brother?” KT wailed.
She’d never been grounded before in her life. What if that meant she couldn’t start her softball team for another two weeks? She hadn’t gone an entire two weeks without playing softball since she was eight.
Of course, she really hadn’t been trying to help her brother. She’d mostly just wanted Mom and Dad to stop talking and drive home, so she could start sending out messages about starting a softball league.
Dad turned off the car. He turned sideways in his seat so he could face the entire rest of the family at once.
“Everyone needs to calm down,” he said. He took a deep breath. “KT, I would like to take you at your word and try to believe that you were, indeed, trying to help your brother. We’ll talk about the grounding later. And Max, I understand that you had a bad game. I remember what it’s like to feel like you’ve let your team down, let your coach down, let your family down. But quitting is not the answer.”
KT wanted so badly to say, Why not? Who cares? But she didn’t want to be grounded for three weeks.
“Max,” Mom said in a tremulous voice. “You have so much potential. Why would you throw away such a golden opportunity?”
She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
Dad cleared his throat, sounding a little emotional himself.
“When I failed to get that mathletics scholarship at UCLA,” he said, “I knew exactly what that meant. All my dreams—crushed. All my possibilities—evaporated like so much morning dew.”
This was a very, very strange version of Dad. In the real world he only talked about sports. Even when he talked about other things, sports crept in. His coworkers were “in a first-down situation” or some project was “a slam dunk” or some other company had done “an end run” around his.
“Losing that scholarship,” Dad continued in a somber voice, “I knew I was in for a lifetime of hard physical labor.”
“Hard physical labor?” KT cried. “Dad, you’re an accountant!”
Dad gave her a rueful smile.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetie, but you know that’s only a hobby,” Dad said sadly.
“Ha-ha,” KT started to say, because sometimes back in the real world Dad would joke that being an accountant was just a hobby—his real job was driving KT to softball practices and games.
But maybe—maybe in this world he’s serious? KT thought in amazement. If school and sports flipped around, does that mean adults’ jobs changed too? Accounting is what people do for fun and . . . what exactly does he do in his job in this world?
“You spend your workday exercising,” Max said in a flat, expressionless voice.
“You know we do,” Mom said bitterly. “You know your father and I are on treadmills all day long.”
KT had heard Mom refer to her job in an insurance office as a treadmill before, but what if she actually meant that literally? What if jogging was Mom’s whole job now?
“But—,” KT started to say. Then she realized she couldn’t ask what she really wanted to. “But . . . isn’t that fun?” she finished lamely.
“You would think so,” Mom said. The bitterness in her voice was almost overwhelming.
“We hope you love your job when you get out into the work world,” Dad said, back to his soothing tones. “We hope both our children will be very happy in their chosen careers. And that means developing your talents to their full potential. Which begins right now. Max, you can’t take it easy at this point in your life and expect to just catch up later on.”
“What if I don’t want to catch up?” Max asked. “What if I just want to . . . hang out? Be myself?”
“Oh, Max, mathletics is you,” Mom said. “You are a mathletics champion. It’s like your coach told us way back in second grade: ‘Max’s mind is made for math.’ Do you know how proud we were when we heard that?”
KT couldn’t help herself. She snorted.
Mom snapped her attention back to KT.
“Young lady!” she began.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” KT apologized, spreading her hands
out flat, a gesture of innocence. “I was just . . . breathing.” She wanted to add, I’m allowed to do that much in this family, aren’t I? But she thought better of it. “Maybe . . . maybe you want to have this conversation with Max in private? Maybe, so I don’t get into any more trouble, I should just walk home on my own?”
Mom gave a quick glance out the window. KT realized she was looking to see who would notice if they let KT out. Evidently nobody important was around, because Mom narrowed her eyes at KT and said, “Go ahead.”
KT opened the car door. She was surprised to see that her legs were shaking as she stood up. She made her way to the sidewalk.
Don’t they care about me at all? she wondered.
She heard the electronic sound behind her that meant someone was rolling down a car window. She turned back, and Dad had his head halfway out.
“Turns out we are going to Applebee’s,” he said. “You want us to bring something back for you, or do you just want to grab something at home?”
Okay, they care enough to offer me food, KT thought. Cold food, after they’re done eating. Big whoop.
“No, thanks,” KT said, with what she hoped was great dignity. “I’ll make myself a sandwich.”
She wanted to whirl back around and stalk away, but she watched Dad’s face just a moment longer, willing him to say, Oh, you don’t have to do that! Here—hop in the car! We’ll go through the drive-through at Wendy’s for you first thing, drop you off at home, and then we’ll take Max out!
Instead Dad said coldly, “Suit yourself.”
KT looked away from Dad. She didn’t mean it to, but her gaze fell on Max, just for an instant. He was staring straight back at KT, his face more pinched and pale and desperate than ever. It had been years since KT had been the least bit interested in what Max might be thinking, but in that moment she felt like she could read his mind. He was thinking: No, please! Don’t go!
KT spun on her heel and started walking briskly away.
Right, Max, KT thought. You just want me around so Mom and Dad will yell at me instead of lecturing you. Forget it!
She straightened her shoulders, broadened her stride. No way was she going to let Mom and Dad and Max see how upset she was.