Kristy and the Copycat

  And we began to yell at each other.

  When Dilys zinged a ball from third base to first and it flew over Marcia’s head, Marcia didn’t even try for it. She just threw up her hands in disgust.

  “You do better!” screamed Dilys. “I’d like to see you.”

  “With one arm tied behind me!” Marcia screamed back.

  “You haven’t been doing so hot, Marcia,” shouted Tallie unexpectedly.

  Marcia’s mouth dropped open and we all turned to stare.

  That was when Coach Wu stepped in. She blasted her whistle once, then motioned us off the field and into the dugout.

  “That’s enough for today, team.” She looked us all over, measuringly. “Team,” she repeated. “Keep that word in mind for the next practice. Dismissed.”

  She turned and walked away.

  No one spoke. Finally, Tallie made a face and headed for the locker room. The rest of the team straggled after her.

  In the tense, uncomfortable silence, I changed as fast as I could — and realized that I had forgotten my math book. At least the school was still open and I could get to my locker; one advantage, I guess, to having practice end early.

  I raced back to the school and down the quiet halls, grateful that practice was over, that the long day had ended, that I didn’t have a BSC meeting or a job that afternoon. All I wanted to do was go home and sit in my room with the door closed, pretending to do my homework. Trying not to think.

  Instead, when I yanked my locker open, it was an instant replay in super slo-mo.

  Wedged just inside the door was another folded square of paper. I didn’t even need to unfold it to know that I would find a note to me in big, square, anonymous block letters. The only difference was, this time, the note was a blackmail note.

  I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.

  PAY ME FIFTY DOLLARS OR I WILL TELL.

  My mouth dropped open.

  Fifty dollars? Pay who fifty dollars? And where was I supposed to get fifty dollars?

  I scooped up my math book, jammed it in my pack and, with the note clutched in one hand, raced back to the girls’ locker room. Although it seemed like an eternity since I had hurried down the dark, quiet halls of SMS after practice, it had only been a few minutes. Half the team was still there, getting dressed in gloomy silence.

  I skidded around the corner and grabbed Dilys’s arm as it emerged from the sweatshirt she was pulling over her head.

  “Meet me outside in five minutes!” I ordered.

  “Wh-what?” Her head popped through the collar of the shirt. “Oh! Kristy!”

  “Five minutes. Outside. Got it?”

  “What for?”

  “You’ll see,” I answered grimly. “Tell Bea. I’ll get Tonya.”

  Catching Tonya on the way out the door, I gripped her arm and pulled her to one side.

  “Hey! What’s this all about?” she protested.

  “You’ll see.” I kept a tight grip on her arm until Bea and Dilys emerged, then motioned all three of them away from the door to the lower corner of the back steps so we could have some privacy.

  “Well?” Tonya demanded.

  Without answering, I held out the note.

  The three of them stared at my outstretched hand for a long moment. Then Tonya took the note and smoothed it out and read it aloud softly.

  “Well,” she repeated in a different tone of voice.

  “Oh,” gasped Bea. She began poking around in her gym bag. She pulled out two crumpled pieces of paper — with identical writing and the wording almost the same as mine.

  I looked at Bea’s note, then I looked at Tonya and at Dilys.

  Dilys nodded, then slowly, sheepishly, pulled out three similar notes of her own. And Tonya unfolded a tiny square that she dug up from the corner of her pocket — another note!

  “We’ve all gotten them then: threats, demands for money,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t have that kind of money,” said Tonya quickly. She began folding the note back up.

  “Neither do I,” cried Bea.

  “Me, either,” said Dilys. “And even if I did …” Her voice trailed off.

  “What do you want to do?” said Tonya. “It’s not like he, or she, left any instructions on how we’re supposed to pay this money, anyway.”

  “That’s true,” I said thoughtfully. “Hmmm. Maybe we should just wait. Whoever is doing it will have to write at least one more note to say how we’re supposed to pay this money. If we’re observant, and lucky, we might catch him.”

  Bea said, “I hate this.”

  “Right, Bea. Like we all love it,” said Tonya. “Kristy’s right. We’ll wait. It’s all we can do.”

  Dilys sighed, then nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, then,” I said.

  The door to the girls’ locker room slammed. We looked up. Tallie and Marcia were standing there. They stared at us and we stared back at them.

  I cleared my throat. “See you later,” I said loudly to Bea and Tonya and Dilys.

  “See ya,” murmured Tonya.

  As I moved away, I raised my hand and waved at Tallie and Marcia. Tallie gave me a little half wave back. But Marcia just frowned suspiciously.

  I gave up. I turned and walked toward the late bus, faster and faster and faster as if I could leave my thoughts and all the terrible things that had happened behind. But of course, I couldn’t. Because no matter who had seen what had happened, no matter who was blackmailing me, the worst part was that I had brought it on myself. I’d let myself be talked into something I didn’t believe in. I’d copied others to try and fit in, instead of being myself.

  And now, I didn’t like myself very much at all.

  “Ah, what a perfect day for softball,” said Claudia.

  Stacey couldn’t help smiling. The weather was nice and, barring any major disasters, it probably was a perfect day for softball, which meant, of course, softball practice for the Krushers with Coach Kishi and Coach McGill.

  Most of the Krushers had already assembled. As Claudia and Stacey walked onto the field, the team all turned toward them expectantly, exactly, Stacey thought, like those high-speed films of flowers following the sun that she’d seen in biology class.

  It was a little daunting to Stacey. But she had experience now, having survived the last Krushers practice. She blew her whistle, clapped her hands, and said, “Hey, everybody, listen up.”

  Now it was Claud’s turn to smile, too.

  Stacey looked down at her clipboard and said, “We’re going to begin with a little warm-up jog around the field.”

  Several people groaned. “Hey,” said Stacey. “Be cool. This is exactly what Kristy’s team at SMS does to start practice.”

  That got everybody’s attention, and in a couple of minutes, she had the satisfaction of seeing the Krushers trotting around the field — not all together — that would have been too much, considering the age range (and size range) of the team. But all at once, which was good enough.

  Stacey was studying her clipboard thoughtfully, where she’d written notes from a basic book of softball, and trying to figure out why she had written the word “fungo” in the margin, when Claudia poked her in the ribs.

  “Don’t look now, but look,” Claud hissed.

  Coming across the field was Karen. Karen was wearing black bicycle shorts with yellow racing stripes down the side, an enormous white v-neck T-shirt with what looked like a black bathing suit top underneath, a pair of Nikes with white shoelaces, and a hat turned around backwards. If that sounds familiar, it’s because it was almost the exact replica of the outfit Stacey had been wearing at the last Krushers’ practice, including a baseball hat (plain blue, not the Brooklyn Dodgers one Stacey was wearing) on backwards. With Karen was Ricky Torres.

  “Hi!” said Karen brightly.

  “Hi, Karen,” said Claudia.

  “Hey, guys,” said Stacey.

  In her most grown-up voice, Karen said, “I’d like you to meet Ricky Torres. My boyfr
iend.”

  Something told Stacey not to say anything like, “What, you mean he’s not your pretend husband?”

  Claudia said solemnly, “We’ve met, I believe. How are you doing, Ricky?”

  Ricky shrugged. Karen poked him with her elbow. “Uh, fine, thank you,” he muttered.

  Karen gave Ricky a big, sweet smile and said, “Shall we watch the kids practice?”

  “Aren’t you going to play, Karen?” asked Stacey.

  Karen’s eyes got big. “No!” she said, as if Stacey should have known the answer. “Ricky and I are going to watch and … and talk to you. You know.”

  “Oh.” The first of the joggers was returning from the warm-up trip around the field. Stacey looked down at her clipboard. “Well, Claud and I are going to be pretty busy …”

  “That’s okay,” said Karen. “Ricky and I do not mind. Do we, Ricky?”

  Ricky was quicker this time. “Nah,” he said.

  Claudia was opening the gear bag and pulling out balls and gloves for people to do some throwing drills.

  Stacey motioned toward one end of the field. “Walk this way,” she said.

  Behind her, Claudia immediately began to goof, doing a crazy duck walk. The rest of the team fell in. By the time they reached the outfield, everyone was stifling hysterical laughter and when Stacey looked back, they couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  Stacey put her hands on her hips and shook her head. Then she started laughing, too.

  “How silly,” said a voice beside her. It was Karen.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Karen,” said Stacey. “I thought it was pretty funny.”

  “But childish,” said Karen. “Funny, but childish.”

  “Mmm.” Passing on that one, Stacey went over to Claud and they got the drill organized. It went pretty well, if you ignored the fact that Jackie somehow lost not one but two balls.

  Karen thought that was “immature.” Stacey and Claudia just looked at each other. Karen was trying so hard to be a grown-up. But how could they tell her that being a grown-up didn’t mean not having any fun?

  The practice meandered along, with Stacey consulting her notes and Claudia improvising and everybody having a good time even if they weren’t exactly improving their skills. Ricky got tired of watching after awhile, and soon joined in, but Karen remained stubbornly aloof from the friendly chaos, trying to talk to Stacey and Claudia about nail polish and boyfriends and clothes and magazines whenever she had the chance.

  That was when I showed up, after what had been, possibly, the worst afternoon of my entire life, brooding about the horrible practice that had just been cut short, the notes that Dilys, Tonya, Bea, and I had received, everything.

  When I realized that getting out of the SMS softball practice meant that I could catch the end of the Krushers’ practice, I momentarily forgot my troubles. It was so wonderful to see the Krushers, a team that was one for all and all for one no matter how erratically the individual members played. I watched as Claudia picked up a bat and swung at a pitch thrown by Matt Braddock. She overswung, wrapping herself in a pretzel. Claire and some of the younger kids laughed delightedly and Claudia grinned. As she crouched back down, Matt signed something and his sister interpreted: “Hang in there, Claudia, I mean, coach! You can do it.”

  It made me laugh while it brought a lump to my throat. I missed them.

  Just then, Stacey saw me and waved me over. “Kristy. Coach Emeritus!”

  “How’s it going, Stace?” The sound of Claudia actually connecting with the ball sort of answered the question as I trotted up.

  “No problems,” said Stacey.

  Unfortunately, just at that moment, David Michael, who’d been on first, slid into second base. And slid. And slid. The base had somehow worked loose and sort of skipped off into the outfield when his feet kicked it.

  Claudia doubled over laughing at first while Buddy Barrett tagged David Michael triumphantly and shouted, “You’rrrrrre OUT!”

  “I am NOT,” said David Michael. He looked over at Claudia and Stacey. “Am I?”

  “Yes,” said Stacey.

  “No,” called Claudia.

  “Oh. No,” said Stacey, just as Claudia changed her vote to “Yes.”

  They paused. They looked at each other. Then, by mutual agreement, they looked at me.

  “Play it over,” I said.

  “Uh, Kristy?” said Stacey. “Why don’t you take it from here?”

  “Well, if you’re sure,” I said.

  Stacey made a neat little bow, and Claudia clasped both hands over her head in a show of support.

  I put my hands to my mouth in a megaphone. “Okay, everybody,” I shouted. “Listen up.”

  “That is not an indoor voice,” I heard Karen say disapprovingly.

  It wasn’t and it felt great. “Stay where you are,” I continued. “We’ve — you’ve — got a game against the Bashers coming up, so let’s make every minute count!”

  “Yaaaay, Kristy,” Claudia called across the diamond. “Play ball!”

  “Kristy, over here.”

  I stopped and looked around. Tonya and Bea were, well, not exactly lurking, but definitely sort of hanging around the front door of the school in a suspicious manner.

  Or maybe that was just my guilty conscience that made it seem that way.

  “Hi,” I said, loudly and (I hoped) not guiltily. I walked over, trying to act casual.

  “Have you heard?” Bea gasped.

  “Heard what?”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “No, Bea, I haven’t heard,” I answered, feeling impatient.

  “It’s great news,” Tonya interrupted. “Guess what? It’s the boys’ baseball team!”

  Before I could get Tonya to decode this, Bea explained, “They’ve been blamed for the fire. The police found the evidence!” She suddenly waved frantically. A moment later, Dilys came up to join us.

  As Bea and Tonya repeated the news, I stood there numbly. What a total bomb! I couldn’t believe it.

  A minute later, I heard Bea say, “And the team has been disbanded. A whole new team is being chosen.”

  “What?” I heard my voice go up several octaves.

  “Kristy. Cool it,” said Tonya reprovingly. “Listen, it could have been us. Can you imagine?”

  “But they didn’t do it, did they?” asked Dilys. She didn’t seem as thrilled by the news as Tonya and Bea. But she didn’t seem as shocked as I was, either.

  Tonya shrugged.

  My brain was reeling. The baseball team! It couldn’t be! Logan was on the baseball team. Now, because of what we’d done, he wasn’t going to get to play this year.

  “They couldn’t have done it!” I blurted out before Tonya could answer. “What are we going to do?”

  “Do?” Tonya looked at me like I was crazy. “Do? Nothing. We’re off the hook.”

  “Hooray!” said Bea and she and Tonya gave each other a high-five.

  “Except for whoever wrote us those notes,” said Dilys softly.

  “We can handle that,” said Tonya. “After all this, that’ll be a piece of cake. Come on, guys.” The three of them began to walk away. Tonya looked back. “You coming, Kristy?”

  I shook my head.

  “See you at practice this afternoon, then.”

  How could things have gotten worse? Until I’d heard that news, I hadn’t believed they could.

  Practice that afternoon was a nightmare. But it was only a nightmare for me. Clearly, everyone else on the team had heard the news and clearly they thought it was good news. Tallie and Marcia were laughing and joking and making superstar plays, and teasing Bea and Dilys and Tonya and me good-naturedly. Everyone on the team had the spirit, and if it hadn’t been for what I knew, I would have thought it was the best team in the world and I would have been proud to be a part of it.

  But I wasn’t. And when Coach Wu beamed at us in our post-practice conference and congratulated us on the best practice yet, I didn’t feel any cause
for celebration.

  The BSC meeting was worse.

  I arrived to find Mary Anne telling Shannon all about what had been going on at school in a voice of woe.

  “I don’t believe it!” Shannon said as I walked in. “The entire baseball team is being disbanded? What kind of proof do they have?”

  Mary Anne shook her head miserably. “Logan doesn’t know. And he probably won’t know until next week. They’re going to have a team meeting and the coach is going to talk to them.”

  “That’s terrible, Mary Anne,” said Shannon sympathetically.

  “Unless they really did it,” Claudia put in.

  “Logan didn’t!” said Mary Anne.

  “No!” I heard myself say. “You’re absolutely right, Mary Anne.”

  Mary Anne gave me a grateful look, then said, “Logan says they won’t tell them what the evidence is. Everyone’s talking, but no one knows anything.”

  I cleared my throat. “Anyway, this meeting of the BSC will come to order.”

  If Mary Anne ever found out what I had done to Logan, she’d never speak to me again….

  That was the grim start to a grueling weekend. Everywhere I went, everyone seemed to be talking about the vandalism at SMS. Even Karen had heard about it. When I met her and Andrew at the door Friday evening (it was their weekend to be with us) she didn’t bound through it as usual. Instead, she clasped her hands in front of her and said, “Can you believe it? About the boys’ baseball team at your school?”

  “Come on in, Karen,” I said.

  “I lovvve your shirt,” said Karen, following me into the house. “Did you get it at the mall? Maybe we could go to the mall tomorrow and shop? Kristy?”

  “Maybe,” I said absently. “Listen, I gotta go do some homework.”

  “Do you have a date this weekend?” asked Karen.

  “Only with my books,” I said as I headed for the refuge of my room.

  Behind me, I heard Karen laugh — not a Karen laugh, but a funny sort of breathy, fake-y giggle. “Oooh, Kristy. That is sooo funny.”