Free Brooke by V.C. Andrews Page A

friends, yes. You can never have enough friends,” I said, and looked at Heather. “Real friends, that is.”
    No one spoke a moment, and then Heather laughed.
“Touchè,”
she said. “You know what that means?”
    I wasn’t sure, but I nodded. The bell rang, and we all rose. I saw how each girl made sure her place at the table was clean. I did the same and followed them out to our next class.
    Heather came up beside me. “You don’t seem like you come from a rich family,” she said.
    â€œWhy not?” I asked.
    â€œYou’re too grateful,” she replied, and smiled at what she thought was her own cleverness.
    Everyone laughed, even Eva. They looked at me, and I thought, why not get right aboard their silly little ship? I laughed, too, and that made everyone, even Heather, feel better about me. Maybe I could do this, I thought. Maybe I could be someone I’m not.
    Physical education class was the last class of the day for us. Our class was combined with four others that included ninth, tenth, and even eleventh graders. Altogether, we had enough for two softball teams. Our teacher, Mrs. Grossbard, was a former Olympic runner who had been on the teamthat won a bronze medal. She looked at me with interest when I came out in our school physical education uniform, a white blouse with the Agnes Fodor logo on the left breast and a pair of dark blue shorts. The school also provided us with sneakers and socks.
    â€œYou play this at your last school?” Mrs. Gross-bard asked me.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I said.
    â€œCall me coach,” she said. “I have the wonderful distinction of being the school’s softball coach, swimming coach, relay coach, and basketball coach. I also have the distinction of never having a winning season in any of these sports, but,” she said with a sigh, “I try. I do the best I can with girls who are afraid to break a fingernail.” She looked at me. “Take shortstop on the blue team and bat fifth,” she ordered.
    I took the field with my team. Eva played first base, probably because of her height and reach. Heather was in the outfield, sitting on the grass immediately. The other girls were on the white team.
    It felt so good being outdoors, stretching my limbs and using my muscles. We had a beautiful day for a softball game. The sky was a light blue with milk-white clouds splattered here and there. The light breeze on my face was refreshing. The sun was far enough behind the trees not to get in our eyes, and the scent of freshly cut grass was intoxicating.
    Unfortunately, our pitcher had trouble reaching the plate. Her first three tosses bounced in front ofthe batter. Mrs. Grossbard told the pitcher to move closer, and she did so. Her next pitch was too high for anyone to reach, and the one after that nearly hit the batter.
    â€œWait a minute,” Mrs. Grossbard said. She put her hands over her eyes as if she didn’t want to look at her class for a moment or as if she were speaking to herself and then took the ball and threw it at me. I caught it easily. “Throw it back,” she ordered. I did. “Change places with Louise.”
    â€œWhy?” Louise, our pitcher, whined.
    â€œOh, I don’t know. I thought we’d try to get in more than one inning today,” Mrs. Grossbard replied sarcastically.
    Louise glared angrily at me as we passed each other.
    â€œWarm up,” Mrs. Grossbard ordered, and I threw in a half dozen pitches, all pretty much over the plate. “Play ball,” she cried, her eyes brighter.
    The first batter returned to the plate and swung at my first pitch. It was a blooper only about three feet in front of her. I rushed toward her and caught the ball at my waist. My team cheered. Mrs. Grossbard, who was leaning against the backstop, stood up.
    The next batter took her place at the plate and struck out on three pitches. The third batter hit a dribbler down to