Thrown a Curve Read Online Free Page A

guidance counselor wanted me to play. What a sick, twisted turn of events!
    I entered third period five minutes late.
    “Taylor, do you have a pass?” Ms. Clark asked as I walked slowly to my seat.
    “No, I was in the office,” I answered.
    “If you cannot produce a pass, I will see you after school,”she said in a matter-of-fact, case-closed kind of voice. She turned back to the class. “Let’s open up to page nineteen in our novel.”
    Great. An after-school detention—just what I needed with all my problems.
    After lunch, I snuck out the back door of the school while everyone else was heading to the afternoon pep rally. I had to figure out what to do about this baseball thing. I couldn’t play, could I? I mean, baseball was the only thing that ever made me happy, but playing now would be like letting my dad off the hook for what he’d said. By not playing, I figured, I’d be punishing him. I never told him I stopped playing to hurt him, though, and he probably wasn’t hurt anyway. He was most likely thrilled that I quit. So the only person I’d be punishing was myself. I was in a daze by the time I pushed open my front door.

    After school that day, Justin stopped by my house. He found me lying like a slug in front of an afternoon talk show.
    “You actually watch this crap?” he asked.
    “I’m not really watching,” I said. “I’m trying to slip into a coma so I never have to go back to school again.”
    “What happened second period? I saw Horner taking you out of Algebra.” Justin pushed my feet off the couch so he could sit down. “Did he know about the windows? Are you suspended?”
    “Horner didn’t know anything. But Mr. Sacamore saw thewhole thing.”
    “That sucks,” he said, shaking his head. “What are they going to do to you?”
    “Well, Sacamore said he wouldn’t report me to the cops—”
    “Oh, that’s good.”
    “On two conditions.”
    “What?”
    “That I meet with him every Friday . . . and that I try out for the baseball team,” I said quietly and a bit embarrassed.
    Justin laughed. “The baseball team?” he said. “Now, that’s rich.”
    “I’m glad you think it’s so funny.”
    Still chuckling, he said, “It’s not funny, Taylor, it’s just . . . well, most people would be happy they weren’t suspended or arrested. You’re moping around here when you should be celebrating about how easy you got off. Typical Taylor—seeing only the dark side of things.”
    “It’s not easy, Justin,” I yelled. “You don’t understand about me and baseball. It’s not easy for me to just pick up a baseball and start playing again.” I was close to tears.
    “So, you’re out of practice. You can brush up after a little time playing.”
    “I don’t want to play!” I screamed. “I hate the game, and I’m not doing it!”
    “Why, T? What’s the big deal?”
    I was getting more and more upset. “You don’t understand,okay?” I was practically screaming at my best friend.
    He moved closer to me and put a light hand on my arm, trying to calm me down. Suddenly, I felt strangely weak and female, and pulled my arm away nervously.
    “So, explain it to me, then,” he said. “From what I remember, you’re pretty good. You played when we were kids and—”
    “Forget it,” I said, heading toward the staircase. “I’m going to lie down. I feel sick to my stomach.” I began to go up the stairs. “I’m not playing. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
    “Taylor, I don’t think you really have a choice,” he said, sounding concerned. “Sacamore handed you a gift with this, so accept it. I mean, really . . . consider the alternative.”
    I didn’t answer him, but I did consider the alternative, which would make life with Dad even worse, if that was possible.
    Justin watched me walk up the stairs before letting himself out.

C HAPTER 4

    T he next few days were total torture for me. All I could think about were the tryouts on Thursday. I couldn’t