Cassie smiled. If she was talking about playing her game, it meant she still wanted to play.
“What’s so funny?” Sarah said.
Her voice hadn’t dropped at all.
“Nothing’s funny,” Cassie said. “I was just thinking that you don’t sound like somebody who wants to quit the team.”
“So what if I don’t?”
“So don’t,” Cassie said. “We need you.” She smiled again and said, “And I sort of do too. Before long I’ll only have my dad to talk to.”
“If I do, it doesn’t mean we’re going to be friends.”
“Got it.”
“I just want to be a good team player,” Sarah said.
“I’m just trying to do the same,” Cassie said. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I can tell my dad you’ll be at practice tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Sarah said.
Then she told Cassie she was tired of talking now and that it was time for her to go. Cassie did. As she rode to Highland Park on her bike, taking Sarah’s route again, street by street, she thought to herself:
Might not have been the win I was looking for.
But it sure as heck wasn’t a loss, either.
TWENTY-SIX
Sarah was right.
They weren’t friends, at least not the way Cassie had always thought of friends, even though she thought people were too loose throwing the word around. I’m friends with her, she’d hear. But did that mean they really were friends, that they could count on each other? That was different, the way her relationship with Sarah was different from any other she’d ever had.
But they were still teammates on what had turned into the best team in their league with two weeks left in the regular season. This year’s team wasn’t as good as last year’s team, Cassie knew that. This wasn’t the season she’d expected, or hoped for, wasn’t the season she wanted it to be, for herself or for all her teammates. It was the same way with her dad, who admitted even he wasn’t having as much fun as he’d had coaching Cassie’s teams in the past.
But it was still the season they were playing, and trying to power through. They’d lost their second game of the season, to Greenacres, 1–0, in a game that Sarah had started and pitched really well in. But Kathleen let what should have been a single get past her after Allie had relieved Sarah, and by the time Kathleen ran the ball down, the runner, who’d been on first, had scored the only run of the game. It was a tough way to lose, but they all knew they’d been totally dominated that day by the Greenacres pitcher, a girl named Audrey Gibbons. She gave up two hits, one to Cassie and one to Lizzie, and shut the Red Sox down the rest of the way.
When the game was over, Sarah came over to Cassie and did something she hardly ever did.
She initiated a conversation.
“The girl who pitched for the other team is as good as you,” Sarah said, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world.
“Thanks,” Cassie said.
“You don’t have to thank me. We might have lost today even if you had pitched,” Sarah said.
“Might have,” Cassie said. “Hope we don’t have to face her in the play-offs.”
Greenacres was currently third in the league standings.
“Me too,” Sarah said. “She’s really, really supergood. Maybe even better than you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cassie said.
“Would it bother you if another pitcher in the league was better?”
“All I can do is play my game,” Cassie said.
Sarah seemed to be thinking that over. “Me too,” she said.
She went and collected her gear and left with her parents. Cassie felt herself smiling as she watched them walk through the parking lot near the field at Greenacres. Sarah Milligan might not have been the friendliest person Cassie was ever going to play softball with, but Sarah might have been the most honest. You had to give her that.
Their game had started at ten o’clock, and was over by eleven thirty. The Cubs’ game at Highland Park wasn’t until two, so Cassie had plenty of time to get back there in time to coach third.
She had come to love the job. In her heart she felt as if she were actually doing a lot more than coaching third base. She felt like she was a part of something really cool and really special that was happening with the team. It was something she just felt, the way she thought they all did, that they were a part of some crazy adventure now that Jack had become player- coach. Almost like they were kids who’d taken over the principal’s office.
“You guys are the ones who should be playing for a chance to get on television,” Cassie said to Jack during batting practice.
The Cubs were playing their second game of the season against Rawson today.
“I don’t care about being on TV,” Jack said.
Cassie said, “Wait a second. I thought everybody wanted too be on TV!”
“Not me.”
“I know,” she said.
“This looked like it was going to be one of the worst seasons ever, because of Mr. Anthony,” Jack said.
“You hardly ever talk about him.”
“But I can with you.”
They both knew he could.
“Now it’s like everybody can’t wait to get to the next practice, or the next game,” Jack said.
“Guess what?” Cassie said. “I feel the same way, and I’m not even playing.”
Jack grinned. “It’s because you finally learned the signs.”
“Maybe,” she said, “it’s because I like being with your team better than I do being with mine.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What I know,” he said, “is that nothing beats playing. You know when I found that out for real? When I helped coach your team for that little while last season after I quit playing.”
Now, that was something two people who felt they could talk about anything with each other hardly ever talked about. It had been such a terrible time for Jack, after his brother, Brad, had died in a dirt-bike accident, and he’d blamed himself for not telling his parents that he
