Sliding into Home (3 page)

H
ey, Joelle, we missed you at tryouts yesterday.” The girl at the locker three doors down looked over and smiled. Joelle almost didn’t recognize her. It was the girl with the bouncy blond ponytail from her gym class. Brooke, she remembered. But today, instead of sweats and a T-shirt, Brooke had on a short black skirt with a trendy black and white blouse. Her hair hung in soft waves around her perfect face.

Everything about the girl screamed POPULAR. So why was she talking to Joelle?

“Um, Joelle, this is Brooke Hartle,” Elizabeth said, stepping out from behind Joelle. “Remember? She’s co-captain of our softball team.”

Softball captain? Brooke didn’t look like much of a jock, all dressed up like that.

“Oh, yeah.” Joelle nodded as she closed her locker. “You’re in my gym class. Hi.”

Brooke glanced at Joelle’s clarinet case. “Looks like I’ll be in band with you, too. That’s where you’re going next, right?”

Joelle fumbled with her schedule slip. She hadn’t had band at all yesterday. Did it meet first period today?

“Yes,” Elizabeth answered for her. She turned Joelle around and pointed down the hall. “Band room that way.”

“So what happened? You didn’t show up at softball tryouts.” Brooke fell into step with Joelle and Elizabeth.

“I told you,” Joelle said evenly, “I’d rather play baseball.”

“She went to talk to Coach Carlyle after school,” Elizabeth said.

“Wow.” Brooke seemed impressed. “He’s tough. What did he say?”

“What do you think he said?” Elizabeth sniffed.

“She can’t play,” Brooke guessed. “Oh, well. Too bad. So are you going to talk to Ms. Fenner and see if you can still be on our team?”

“No, she’s going to talk to the superintendent,” Elizabeth told her before Joelle could answer.

“Really.” Brooke looked at Joelle with respect. “Well, hey. Good for you. It’d be cool to play baseball!”

“You think so?” Joelle asked. For some reason she wouldn’t have expected a girl who looked like Brooke to want to play baseball. But looks could be deceiving. “Want to come with me?” Joelle asked. “You could tell the superintendent you want to play, too.”
Maybe if I could find at least one more girl who wanted to play baseball
, Joelle thought,
it would make my case stronger.

“Hmmm, all those cute guys.” Brooke tapped her finger against her chin, pretending to think it over.

Cute guys? Joelle cringed.

“But … sorry, I can’t,” Brooke went on. “I’ve got my softball teammates to think about.”

Right
, Joelle thought.
Fine, you stick with softball.

Brooke stopped in front of the girls’ bathroom. “I need to fix my hair. It’s a total mess. Anybody else coming in?”

Joelle squinted. Yep, it looked like three or four hairs over there on the right side were just a teensy bit out of place.
Major crisis time.

Okay, that was nasty, but Joelle couldn’t help it. There was something about this girl that bugged her. She was relieved when Elizabeth spoke up. “No, we’d better get to band early. Joelle has to meet Mr. Corcoran.”

“Okay.” Brooke looked back over her shoulder. “And remember, Joelle. If the superintendent deal turns out to be a bust, you’ve got a place on the softball team.”

“Great. Thanks.” Joelle pasted a smile on her face. She was not going to play softball. Especially not on that girl’s team.

Once Brooke had disappeared into the bathroom, Joelle asked Elizabeth, “Is she for real? She doesn’t exactly strike me as team captain material.”

“Well, you haven’t seen her on the softball field,” Elizabeth replied. “Brooke’s amazing. She can hit just about anything. Plus, she’s really good at organizing everyone. She’s a perfect team captain.”

Whatever
, Joelle thought. She didn’t care how perfect Brooke was. The girl seemed so … fake. She reminded her of Amber Fitz and Kari Roe, a couple of really popular, snobby girls back in Minneapolis.

Joelle followed Elizabeth into what appeared to be the instrument storage room. There was already a crowd of kids milling around, talking and tuning up.

Elizabeth wedged her way between two baritone players. “We put our stuff over here,” she told Joelle, dropping her schoolbooks into a row of cubbies along one wall. Shelves of instruments lined the opposite wall. She grabbed a flute case from one of the top shelves, then walked over to a table in the middle of the room to put her instrument together.

Joelle opened her clarinet case and stuck a reed in her mouth to wet it. Just then, she felt a light tapping of sticks on her head.

She whirled around. Ryan-the-Rubber-Band-Coach’s-Son was waving a pair of drumsticks at her.

“Hey, Space Case!”

Not again.
Joelle groaned silently and turned her back. Couldn’t she get away from this guy?

But Joelle forgot all about Ryan as she and Elizabeth entered the band room. “This place is huge!” Joelle said in awe. It was about twice the size of her old band room back in Minneapolis. And there were lots more kids hanging around, too.

“Band is really big in Greendale,” Elizabeth told her. “More than half the school signed up last fall.”

“
Half
the school?” Joelle said. “Wow.”

“Well, well, this must be our new clarinetist.” A large man with huge red cheeks and a tiny nose bustled over to greet Joelle. “I’m Mr. Corcoran, the seventh grade band director.” He pumped her hand up and down. “Joelle, right?” She couldn’t help staring at Mr. Corcoran’s mustache. It seemed to curl and uncurl with every word he spoke.

“Right,” Joelle replied.

Just then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Brooke walk in with a bassoon.

Brooke Hartle played the
bassoon?
In Joelle’s opinion, the bassoon was not a “popular girl” instrument.

“We’re glad to have you with us, Joelle,” Mr. Corcoran said, smiling. “I’m afraid I’ll have to put you at the end of the clarinet section for now. But our third trimester auditions start next week, so maybe you’ll earn a higher chair.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Joelle assured him. “I’m not that good. Really.” No need getting Mr. Corcoran’s hopes up that she was super musically talented or anything. Jason had quit band after seventh grade. Joelle figured she probably would, too.

She climbed up to the third row of clarinets, dodging music stands as she made her way to the end. A girl with long brown hair moved over to make room. “Hey, I’m not last chair anymore!” She greeted Joelle with a big grin. “I’ve played clarinet since fourth grade and I’m always last chair. I don’t know why. I’m not that bad. But after auditions you’ll probably move up and I’ll be last chair again.”

“Don’t bet on it.” Joelle sat down and laid her clarinet across her lap. She fastened her reed to the mouthpiece. “I was second-to-last chair at my old school.”

“You were? Cool. I’m Kailey. Kailey Robinson.” The girl held out her hand. “Sorry, I know I talk a lot. I’m on the
Echo —
you know, the school paper? If you don’t talk to people, you don’t find out anything. And then everyone complains the paper is boring. What’s your name?”

“Joelle.”

“Joelle?” Kailey paused a second. “Hey, you’re that girl who tried to get on the baseball team yesterday!”

“News sure travels fast around here,” Joelle muttered.

Kailey shrugged. “Hey, it’s a small school. If you ask me, they should’ve let you play. I mean, it’s not like our baseball team is that good. You couldn’t possibly bring them down any lower. I think the real question is why would you want to play on such a lousy team?”

“Well …” Joelle began. But Kailey didn’t give her much chance to speak.

“Our
softball
team’s not bad,” Kailey went on. “But the baseball team only won, like, one game all season last year.”

“One win?”
Was that true?
Joelle wondered.
Yikes.

A girl in the second row of clarinets turned around. “They didn’t even win one,” she said.

“You talking about the baseball team?” asked a redheaded boy heading toward the French horn section. “Man, they’re such losers!”

“Hey!” A guy in an Iowa Hawkeyes shirt banged the bass drum. “Who are you calling losers?”

“Yeah, we’re looking way better this season,” Ryan spoke up from one of the snares. He glanced at Joelle, then looked away like he was embarrassed.

“Yeah, but are you looking good enough to actually win a couple of games this year?” the redhead asked.

“I bet they’d win a couple if they let Joelle play,” said a tiny blond flute player next to Elizabeth. Joelle thought she recognized the girl from gym class.

The bass drummer snorted. “The last thing we need is a girl on our team! That’d just make things worse.”

“What’s wrong with having girls on your team?” Joelle asked. No one at her old school in Minneapolis would have ever said such a thing. Not about Joelle Cunningham.

The drummer just rolled his eyes.

To Joelle’s relief, Mr. Corcoran came in and tapped his baton on his music stand. Everyone immediately quieted down.

All these guys will be playing a different tune
, Joelle thought,
once I’m on their stupid baseball team.

I
t wasn’t hard for Joelle to find her way to the educational center after school. She tried Center Street first and got lucky. A sign in front of an old brick building in the middle of the block said Greendale Educational Service Center.

Joelle adjusted her backpack, then pulled the heavy door open and stepped inside. A directory on the wall listed the superintendent’s office on the third floor. Joelle plodded up the stairs.

She could tell that this building had once been a school. It had the same old concrete block walls and wooden doors with windows. And that same old school smell.

The stairs ended at the third floor. The superintendent’s office was just across the hall. Joelle read the doorplate:
Margaret Holland, Superintendent of Schools.
She could hardly believe her luck. The Greendale superintendent was a woman!

Excellent
, Joelle told herself.
A woman will definitely see things my way.

Joelle opened the door and stepped inside a brightly lit
office. A small, birdlike woman sat at a large desk in the middle of the room. She wore a plain white blouse with a necklace of blue beads.

“May I help you?” she asked Joelle.

“Yes. I’d like to see—” Were you supposed to say Ms. Holland? Or
Superintendent
Holland? Joelle didn’t know. “I’d like to see the superintendent,” she said finally.

The woman blinked without smiling. “Do you have an appointment?”

Appointment? It hadn’t occurred to Joelle to make an appointment. “Um, no,” she admitted. “But I’m not in any hurry,” she added quickly, noticing the tan couch across from the secretary’s desk. “I can wait until she’s able to see me.” Joelle would wait all afternoon and all night if necessary.

The woman pursed her lips, then picked up the phone. “I’ll see when Ms. Holland might be available,” she said.

Joelle sat down on the couch. She opened her backpack and pulled out the newspaper articles and stat sheets she’d gathered that morning.

“Margaret? There’s a student here to see you.” The secretary glanced at Joelle as she held the receiver away from her mouth. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Joelle Cunningham,” Joelle said. “I’m here because—”

The secretary shook her head and held up a hand for Joelle to be quiet. “All right, I’ll tell her,” she said into the phone. She hung up and pointed toward the inner office. “You may go in now,” she said.

Joelle bounced up. “Great! Thanks.”

Margaret Holland looked about Joelle’s grandma’s age—a lot older than her parents, but not nursing-home old. Her chin-length, dark hair was streaked with gray. She wore a denim dress with a red scarf that matched the red blush on her cheeks and her red lipstick. She stood up when Joelle entered the room and offered her hand. “Hello. I’m Superintendent Holland,” she said with a smile. She seemed like a nice enough lady.

Joelle shook the woman’s hand. “Joelle Cunningham.”

“Have a seat, Joelle. What can I do for you?”

Joelle sat in the hard-backed wooden chair in front of Superintendent Holland’s desk. “Well, I just moved here from Minneapolis,” she began, placing her newspaper clippings and stat sheets on the desk. The superintendent glanced at them briefly, then back at Joelle.

Stay cool and be polite
, Joelle reminded herself. That was the way to get what she wanted. “I’m a seventh grader at Hoover. I played baseball at my old school, so I wanted to try out for the team here, too. But the coach won’t let me.”

Superintendent Holland cocked her head. “You mean you moved here too late? You missed the softball tryouts?”

“Not softball.
Baseball.
And no, I didn’t miss the tryouts. Those were yesterday. But Coach Carlyle says that if I want to play ball in this district, I have to play softball. Because I’m a girl. He and my principal, Mr. White, both told me it’s some kind of district policy.”

“Well, Joelle.” Superintendent Holland folded her hands on her desk and smiled again. “I’m afraid that
is
the policy. You
see, as a district, we’re required to spend the same amount of money on the girls’ athletic program as we spend on the boys’ athletic program.”

Right. Joelle nodded. She already knew that.

“That means we sponsor just as many girls’ sports as we do boys’ sports.”

“But what if I want to play a sport that you have for boys, but not for girls?” Joelle asked.

The superintendent shifted in her chair. “Well, there
was
a situation a few years back where a young lady wanted to play football.”

“Yes, I heard about her,” Joelle said. “Her name was Tracy something. And she got to play, right?”

“Yes, I believe she did. But Greendale doesn’t have a girls’ football team, you see, so in that case—”

“You don’t have a girls’ baseball team, either,” Joelle pointed out.

“No, but we do have a softball team,” Superintendent Holland said, still smiling.

“But baseball and softball aren’t the same thing!” Joelle was having a hard time keeping her tone reasonable and polite now.

Superintendent Holland didn’t seem to notice. “They’re pretty close, aren’t they? A player hits the ball and runs around bases.”

“There’s a lot more to it than that!” Joelle insisted. “You use a different kind of ball and a different bat. The ball comes at you at a totally different angle.”

Superintendent Holland didn’t seem to be listening. She was looking at Joelle’s papers again. “What are all these?” she asked.

Joelle leaned forward eagerly. “Newspaper clippings and stat sheets from last year. I highlighted the column with my stats, see?” She handed Superintendent Holland one of the pages.

“Mmmm,” the woman said, looking at the stat sheet over the top of her glasses. “Oh yes. I can see that your numbers are higher than a lot of the others.”

Joelle closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Obviously, the superintendent had no idea how to read baseball stats.

“Superintendent Holland, I love baseball,” Joelle said finally. “And as you can see, I’m …” She didn’t want to brag, but what else could she do? “I’m pretty good. So, please can you talk to Coach Carlyle and ask him to let me try out?”

The superintendent shook her head. “I’m very sorry,” she said as she handed Joelle back her stats. “In this district, softball is the girls’ alternative to baseball.”

Joelle bit back her frustration as she folded the pages and stuffed them into the back pocket of her jeans. So that was the end of that. It couldn’t be much clearer.

This whole deal was so unfair! Joelle wished her dad had never gotten his stupid promotion and they’d never moved to Greendale.

Now what?
Joelle asked herself as she trudged home from the education center by herself. She’d already talked to the coach, the principal, and now the superintendent. There was nobody left to go to. She wasn’t going to be allowed to play baseball in Greendale.

Period.

Back home, the Blue Jays would have held tryouts this week, too. Joelle wouldn’t have had to try out. Since she was already on the team, it would just have been a busy week of warm-ups, practice, and gearing up for the season ahead. But she wasn’t in Minneapolis anymore.

Suddenly Joelle stopped short in the middle of the sidewalk. Maybe there was a way she could go back to Minneapolis!

Her brother still lived there. He had his own place. He was eighteen. Maybe she could move in with him!

Mom and Dad probably wouldn’t be thrilled at first, but they’d get used to the idea. It wasn’t like she wanted to go off and live on her own. She just wanted to move in with her brother. Her
older
brother who was very responsible.

Yes, this could definitely work!

If Jason agreed.

And of course he’d agree. Why wouldn’t he?

Joelle ran the rest of the way home, in record time. The sooner she talked to her brother, the better.