Thrown a Curve by Sara Griffiths Read Free Book Online Page A

far from being in shape. I grabbed Brian’s glove and a flashlight, and snuck outthe back door. Justin was at his dad’s house for the weekend, so I couldn’t visit him. I wasn’t about to go anywhere near the school or its windows, so I headed to the park. I found a good-sized tree and figured it would make a perfect strike zone. Unfortunately, I had only one ball, so I had to throw the pitch and then run to pick it up. This was one reason I needed more friends.
    At least all the running would help me get in shape.

C HAPTER 6

    M onday after school, I tried to get myself ready for baseball practice. Did Coach say to report to the weight room? Oh, crap! I didn’t remember.
    I changed in the girls’ locker room with the softball players. I felt the vomit building in my stomach. I was already so nervous about the team, and it was only practice. Trudy Harris, a sophomore who was changing across the aisle, stared at me and asked, “Are you on the softball team with us this year?”
    “No, baseball, actually,” I answered, swallowing back the barf.
    “Seriously?” She looked interested.
    “Yeah, for the moment.”
    “Wow, great way to meet guys, huh?”
    Oh, the thoughts that were running through my head. Should I call her an idiot or just let it slide? She was trying to be nice, and I was too nauseated to get into an argument with her. So I closed my locker, and walking past her, simply answered, “I guess.”
    She quickly added, “Hey, after games, we always meet for pizza across the street, if you wanna come some time.”
    “Oh, okay,” I said, though I had no intention of going. I hadn’t told Sacamore the whole truth when he’d asked me about girlfriends. The truth was, girls made me feel uncomfortable. They were so feminine and talkative. Even when girls tried to befriend me, I kind of pushed them away. It was easier to be alone. The last time I had a girl friend was in elementary school—Latasha Hendricks. And the only reason I liked her was because she used to make the boys eat dirt. But then she moved.
    I went into the weight room. I was less nervous than I thought I’d be. I was there with a few skinny freshman pitchers and Mr. Jefferson.
    “All right, Mondays and Wednesdays we’re in the weight room,” Mr. Jefferson said. “Tuesdays and Thursdays we scrimmage until the season starts. We have two weeks until our first game.” He walked over to the free weights area. “I’m going to show you what exercises would be most helpful to you, and then you can experiment on your own. Just be careful you don’t lift too much weight or you’ll be too sore to pitch tomorrow.” He ran through the exercises and posted a schedule on the wall. “Okay. Get to it.”
    I’d never lifted a weight before in my life. I stood there, confused, as the boys jumped on the machines.
    “Need some help, Dresden?” Mr. Jefferson said to me.
    No one had ever called me by my last name before. I liked it. “If you don’t mind,” I said.
    He laughed and said, “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” He showed me what to do, one step at a time. He made small talk with me as he taught. “You’re right-handed, right? You have a mean curve, I hear.” I wondered why he was being sonice. Maybe the evil guidance counselor, Mr. Sacamore, had threatened him.
    After a while, I was actually starting to get comfortable with the weights. Lifting them made me feel strong. I liked the idea of being tough—usually I felt like a weak mess.
    After the workout, I saw a few of the boys talking to each other by the pull-up bar. One of the taller ones was shoving another guy in my direction. Oh, great! Now what? The kid headed toward me. I pretended to tie my sneakers and not notice him. He sat down on the bench next to me.
    “Hey,” he said.
    I answered suspiciously, “Hi.”
    “So, what are you doing here . . . exactly?”
    “What do you mean?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “Well, why aren’t you on the softball