Whatever Life Throws at You (3 page)

“I’m gonna take off. Call me if you need anything,” Frank says, heading toward the door. He turns to me before leaving. “And stay out of trouble, kid, all right? Jason Brody’s going to turn interview shy if you spend any more time around him.”

Somehow I doubt I’ll ever be able to fool him again.

I stand up perfectly straight and give Frank a salute. “Yes, sir.”

Savannah immediately launches into a major info dumping session with Dad, pulling out various papers from folders for him to sign. She’s going through the hours Grams’ babysitter will be here to keep an eye on her when I finally get a good look at the clothes across the back of the couch.

I pick up the first hanger and hold it out. “Dad, have you taken up bagpipes as a hobby?”

Savannah laughs. “Those are your school uniforms.”

“Uniforms?”

Savannah looks from Dad to me. “For St. Teresa’s Academy.” It’s obvious to Savannah that Dad has made some plans without informing me. She looks worried. “Oh boy…your dad said to find the best track program in the area and this school has the best girls’ track-and-field coach in the state. They won last year.”

I lift the hanger up to get a good look at the red plaid skirt. “Well, this is different. That’s for sure. Do they care that I’m not Catholic?”

“Not really,” Savannah says. “But I can give you a crash course if you’d like?”

I let out a breath. I don’t want Dad to know I’m nervous since I’ve conveyed nothing but confidence regarding this whole move north. That’s probably why I subconsciously avoided drilling him with questions about school and the house before arriving in Kansas. No, Missouri. “Yeah, we should do that.”

Savannah helps me carry all the clothes to my room. I sit on the bed and watch her peel off the plastic covers and place the five skirts, seven white polo shirts, and two V-neck sweaters into the closet. “The school’s about twenty minutes from here. It’s right downtown near the stadium.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever worn a skirt to school in my entire life,” I admit.

She gives me a sympathetic smile. “The good thing about uniforms is that you’ll look like everyone else.”

“The boys wear skirts, too?”

She stops in the middle of smoothing pleats. “No boys.”

I stare incredulously at her. “An all-girls school?”

“Is that bad?”

“I don’t know.” We’ve moved a lot and with taking care of Grams, outside of the ex-boyfriend, I haven’t really had many close friends that are girls. My ex’s friends were my friends, which means by default, we all sort of broke up when he and I split. “Girls can be a pain in the ass sometimes but then again, much of that revolves around boys and fighting over boys so maybe…” I look at Savannah. “What do you think?”

She takes a seat in the desk chair. “I went to visit last week and it seemed very relaxed, no one really wore much makeup, lots of ponytails and headbands. I think the lack of boys allows everyone to sleep in a little later in the morning.”

I shrug. “Guess I can live with that.” I wouldn’t say I ever really primped for boys at school but I’m sure even I was influenced by their presence at least a little. “So the track team is good? Have they already started practices?”

Savannah looks relieved that I’m not throwing a teenage tantrum and goes back to hanging uniforms. “Yes, they have, but the coach is really looking forward to having you. Your dad emailed your times and events from last year to her. Also, I haven’t picked any courses for you or anything. You’ll meet with the counselor tomorrow morning and take care of all that.”

I’m not used to having people hang up clothes for me. I’ve been doing mine, Dad’s, and Grams’ laundry for years. Sitting and watching her work for me is uncomfortable so I grab a box from the floor, toss it onto the bed, and start removing items. “Thanks for…you know…visiting the school and all that. I’m sure the last thing you wanted to have to deal with is registering someone’s kid for high school.”

“I don’t mind at all,” she says. “I’ve wanted to visit St. Teresa’s for a while now. I’d love for my daughter to go there.”

I drop my running shoes onto the bed. “You have a daughter?”

“Lily.” She gives me a sheepish grin. “She’s only six, but I can’t help planning ahead. Not sure if I’ll be able to afford the tuition at St. Teresa’s though. We’ll see.”

“Is it expensive?” Can Dad afford it? I’d been too caught up in the Catholic, uniform, all-girls school details so private school equals expensive hadn’t crossed my mind.

“It’s five times more money than the neighborhood Catholic elementary school around here,” she admits. “That’s where Lily goes now. She’s a first grader.”

“You live in this neighborhood?” I’m surprised because it’s kind of fancy and she just expressed concern with school tuition.

“We live in the apartment complex a few blocks away.” She’s finished hanging all my school clothes, but instead of leaving, she picks up a box of clothes from home and begins unpacking that next. “Jake London’s daughter goes to St. Teresa’s, too. They live right down the street.”

I’m carrying a stack of books from the bed to the shelf beside the dresser. “Jake London?”

“First baseman,” she says.

“Oh, right.” I shake my head. I tend to reference players by their position rather than names. Probably because I’ve never really had to address one personally. Until Jason Brody. Ugh. “What exactly is your job?” I ask Savannah.

“For your dad, I’ll handle scheduling, interviews, and travel arrangements, and I work with two of the other coaches as well. I’m also the publicity liaison for the all the Royals pitchers. I go between the press and the agents and get everything scheduled and keep everyone happy.” She quickly steers the conversation back to me. “Sounds like you got to meet Jason Brody today?”

I laugh. “I guess you could call it that.”

Savannah turns around to face me. “Do tell?”

“Yes, Annie, do tell.” I look up and see Dad leaning on the doorframe. “What exactly was your goal earlier? The fake interview and all?”

I walk over to the doorway and shove him back. “Sorry, Dad, this is girl talk. I gotta practice, right? Since I’m being sent to an all-girls school.”

He has the decency to look embarrassed for keeping this important detail from me. “Best track program in the state, Ann.”

“Oh, I’m sure that was your main focus.” I succeed in shoving him the rest of the way out of the room and close and lock the door before turning back to Savannah. “Okay, so, Jason Brody…killer abs, let me tell you. He wears a towel very well.”

She covers her face with her hands, laughing. “Your dad’s going to ban you from the locker room now, isn’t he?”

“Oh yeah, no doubt.” I flop onto the bed again, already bored with unpacking. “The track is like inside and heated, right? It’s gotta be against the law to make kids run in the cold.”

She shakes her head. “I’m pretty sure they practice outside.”

I groan. “Great.”

I may have survived my first Jason Brody encounter, but it’s quite possible I’ll die trying to run outside tomorrow.

RIP, Annie Lucas. The girl who may have been the fastest runner in the state. Now we’ll never know…

Chapter 3

Annie Lucas:
Can someone PLEASE tell me why Jesus is hanging on the cross? I just need the condensed SparkNotes version, like in the next 5 minutes. Oh! And what’s up with the Holy Ghost thing? Google isn’t explaining it very well.

4 hours ago

Annie Lucas:
Disregard my earlier question. Apparently I just need to say, “Holy Ghost.” I don’t need to know what it is.

20 minutes ago

“I’ve got two classes with you and lunch,” Lenny London tells me after we’ve been introduced by the school counselor and I’ve shared my schedule with her. Only minutes of observation, and it’s obvious that Lenny has the air of being the daughter of a major league baseball player. She doesn’t seem spoiled or anything, just important. Her tall, dark-skinned, thin, and gorgeous figure stands out among the crowd of red plaid. She makes the uniform skirt look trendy, and somehow the polo enhances her boob size. She’s got at least two cups on my almost-Bs that seem to look more A- in this school-issued top. “What do you think so far?”

“Well, you don’t have boys,” I say. “And I can’t decide if that’s good or bad.”

“Honestly, I’m all about the boys, but not at school,” Lenny says. “I like them at the weekend parties, but here it’s nice to just focus on schoolwork and clubs.”

“I went to public school in Arizona, so this is a bit different.”

She leads me down a hallway toward the cafeteria. “Well, I’ve never been to public school, so I can’t compare. And there’s always some catty fighting going on between various girls, but everyone here is at least capable of being nice even if they don’t choose to do so all the time.”

“Good to know.” I tug at my skirt, trying to keep the waistband from twisting.

“And next year, we’ll be seniors together, and that’s even more fun. Junior year is rough.”

“No kidding,” I say. “I’ve only been to three classes so far, and I can already tell my school was way behind St. Teresa’s.”

“Yeah, don’t let the Catholic label fool you.” Lenny opens the door to the cafeteria. “They are hard-core about academics here. That’s why there’re tons of kids that aren’t religious.”

“Me included.” I’m relieved not to be the only one. I freaked out a little in homeroom when everyone started reciting prayers from memory. “So do you, like, go to all the games and stuff? The Royals’ games, I mean.”

She shrugs, heading toward the hot-lunch line. “Mostly. If I feel like it. Sometimes we have to do these lame family promos for people who want pictures of wealthy athletes who go to church and spend time at home. My brother Carl and I…we’re apparently perfect teen role models—well, Carl is twenty-one so not a teen anymore.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s all bullshit, but whatever. It’s paying for my college and funding my parties and nightlife.” Her face lights up. “Speaking of nightlife, I’ve appointed myself head of the Annie Lucas welcoming committee, and we are totally going out tonight. And you’re totally coming to my party next weekend. You should be in boy withdrawal by then.”

“Cool.” Will I be in boy withdrawal? I’m not really sure.

“And I bet you won’t have to be subjected to the cheesy family promos since your dad’s not the only pitching coach.” She spins to face me. “Oh! Guess who is staying in our guesthouse?”

I’m still trying to process the fact that Dad’s not the only pitching coach, so it takes me a few seconds to respond to Lenny. “Who?”

“Jason Brody,” she says. “He’s the new—”

“I know who he is.” I could totally do some bragging about seeing the guy in a towel, but I decide spilling this to Savannah was probably enough. I’d hate for Jason Brody to think I spent all my time daydreaming about him in a towel. “My dad’s talked about him a lot.”

“He’s going to be hanging out in my guesthouse at least until Opening Day, probably overflowing the place with easy women,” she says. “Then I imagine he’ll get shipped back to Triple-A. I don’t know enough about it to guess, but he’s so young, right?”

I just shrug because the only thing I know is that both Dad and Frank want Jason Brody on the Royals’ roster, but that probably means dumping another player who’s been on the team for years. Either the other guy’s injury needs to get worse, or Brody needs to do something amazing in that first game. I glance around the cafeteria. “So who’s my track competition?”

“What’s your event?” Lenny asks.

“The mile.”

She scans the room and points to a tall, dark-haired girl. “Jackie Stonington. She’s a senior. Placed at state in your event the last two years.”

I placed at state last year, too, but that was Arizona, and Missouri might be more competitive. I already know this team is more competitive than my old school. “Are you on the team, too?”

“Oh no,” she says right away. “I don’t do sports at all. That would please my dad and I just can’t have that, can I?”

Since I don’t have a response to that obviously rhetorical question, I allow my brain to catch up on this conversation. “Wait…Did you say something about going out tonight?”

Lenny grins. “Yep. I’ll come by your house around eight. We’ll be back by eleven. School night and all that. There’s this band playing at a bar downtown, and I’m obsessed with the lead singer. And the bouncer is obsessed with me, so we won’t have any trouble getting in.”

Trouble getting in?

Lenny’s gaze moves over me. “Just don’t wear your uniform.”

Obviously.

Annie Lucas:
Under Armour? Why am I picturing thongs made of steel and bras that double as bulletproof vests? Also, it’s not actually possible for lungs to freeze while you’re still alive, is it? Never mind. Don’t answer that.

2 hours ago

Annie Lucas
is now friends with Lenny London and 14 other people

By the time track practice comes around, I’ve got a pounding headache thanks to St. Teresa’s academic excellence. A girl in the locker room before practice is nice enough to loan me some tights, a long-sleeve running shirt, and an ear band with the school logo embroidered on it. I stick close to Jackie Stonington during the four warm-up laps and then after stretching, Coach Kessler pulls me aside.

“Lucas, we’re really happy to have you on the team this year,” she says. “As you’ve probably heard, St. Teresa’s is currently number one in the state.”

I’m rubbing my chest. Is it supposed to hurt when I run? It’s only thirty-two degrees, maybe my lungs froze? “State champions, that’s awesome.”

“Here’s how I do things on my team,” Coach Kessler says. “It’s very simple, and I don’t deviate for any reason. The best times in the practice before the meet are in the event. No excuses, no questions. If you’re annoying and lazy, we’ll glare at you and imagine you falling on your face in front of hundreds of watching eyes, but if you’re the best, then you’re in. No favoritism, no politics, no parents persuading me, just time, distance, height—got it?”

I sigh with relief. I’d been worried that coming in junior year might not allow me to take someone else’s spot, but according to Coach Kessler’s plan, all I have to do is run faster than the other girls. “I think I can handle that.”

She claps me on the back a little too hard. “We’ll have our first time trials next week.”

Coach Kessler sends all the girls who run the 800 or longer distance out on a five-mile run, led by Jackie Stonington. I make sure to stay about two stride lengths behind her the whole time and when we get back to the school, I’m hating the cold temperature about 50 percent less than I had at the start of practice.

“Lucas!” Coach Kessler shouts after dismissing everyone to the locker room.

“Yeah?”

“You ever run the two mile?” she asks.

“Just once as a freshman. My mile time has always been better, and it was too much to do both in the same meet.”

Coach Kessler snorts back a laugh. “Says who?” She doesn’t wait for my answer. She pulls a sheet of paper from her clipboard and hands it to me. “All my long-distance runners do additional workouts. I’m here every morning before school, and you run on your own on the weekends.”

“Oh…” I glance at the paper and start calculating the additional miles for each week. “I didn’t realize there was extra—”

“I can’t require it, Annie,” she explains. “But I’m telling you now, if you follow my program, you’ll not only be competing both the mile and the two mile, you’ll win, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And remember to check out my training diet on the website,” she calls after me. “Very important that you load up on carbs.”

Annie Lucas:
If I knew how to say overwhelmed in Spanish that’s what I’d type for my status update. But then again, if I knew I might not be overwhelmed enough to need this update.

5 minutes ago

Lenny London:
Boys come and boys go, but learning to swear at them in multiple languages is a skill you can keep forever. Exactly why studying is a priority for me.

2 minutes ago

I’m standing outside the Royals’ locker room trying to decide if I want to take the chance of getting in trouble for walking into Dad’s office when Frank comes up behind me.

“Frank, take me to my father.” I slap a hand over my eyes and stick my other arm out for him.

“Oh Lord, this is gonna get real old,” he grumbles, dragging me along. He stops after only a short distance. “It’s all clear, kid.”

I uncover my eyes and follow Frank into the training room where Dad is working with the starting pitcher, going over video footage. He smiles when he sees me, tosses a PowerBar in my direction, and goes back to work

Dad wanted to drive me to school this morning, so I’m stuck waiting for him to be done. I hop up on one of the tables and spread my books out. It’s been a couple hours since my last academic headache, and I figure it’s time for another. I give half my attention to my history book and the other half to Dad’s coaching session. I can’t hear everything he’s saying, but from what I do pick up, Mr. Starting Pitcher, who has apparently been hot stuff around here for an entire decade, isn’t too keen on Dad’s advice. It’s like he’s half out of his seat already.

“Well, this just gets more and more interesting every day.” I glance over my shoulder and see Jason Brody, standing near one of the treadmills in workout clothes. His eyes travel up and down, taking in my school uniform. “Got my interview written up yet?”

I smirk at him and then retrieve a sheet of paper from my bag. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

He eyes me skeptically and walks over, plucking the paper from my hand. “
Jason Abraham Brody
—” He stops reading and looks up at me. “That’s not my middle name.”

“We didn’t get to finish the interview, so I improvised.”

He rolls his eyes. “
Stands five foot ten inches
…wrong again, I’m six feet.
His favorite food isn’t sushi. His best pitching advice for kids wanting to follow in his footsteps is to always throw toward home plate
.”

“Cute.” He shakes his head and folds the paper, tucking it into his gym shorts pocket. “Real cute.”

My homework speed gets cut in half watching Brody on the treadmill. He’s all muscle and hotness but at the same time I can’t help studying his stride and analyzing his technique. “You should really relax your shoulders more. You look better with a neck.”

He starts laughing, stumbles a little, and almost falls off the treadmill. Dad shoots a glare in my direction, and I decide to zip my lips and spend the next hour listening to the pounding feet against the treadmill while lying on my back and catching up on my American Lit class by reading
The
Great Gatsby
. Finally, Dad leans over me and kisses my forehead. “I’m all done.”

“Good because I’m going to throw a childish tantrum if I don’t get an entire large pizza all to myself in the next twenty minutes.” Pizza. That’s carbs, right? Coach Kessler told me to load up on carbs. I sit up again and begin tossing my books into my overflowing backpack.

“Nice work today, Brody,” Dad says, before turning back to me. “I hear the showers running. Better stay here for a minute, Ann.”

“Twenty minutes, Dad. Then it’s tantrum time.”

“I know, I know.” He walks off with his non-leg tapping against the floor.

Brody stops the treadmill and rolls off the end, bending over to catch his breath before grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat off his face. His T-shirt is soaked, front and back. He walks over and picks up my algebra book. “So you’re in high school?”

“Did the outfit give me away?”

He lifts his eyes to meet mine. “The outfit is…well…yeah, it gave you away.”

I’m trying not to laugh because he was totally about to say something else and then got all embarrassed. I might be bold, but I’m not quite bold enough to truly flirt with a guy like Jason Brody, so I quickly change the subject. “Please tell me you didn’t act all high and mighty and petulant, like Mr. Starting Pitcher during my dad’s coaching session?”

“No way,” he says. “I’m on trial so no boats will be rocked. Besides, I like your dad.” He hesitates and then asks, “What’s the deal with his leg?”

“His leg or his non-leg?” I can’t help being snappy and defensive about Dad. After years of questions from friends and random kids that I played with at the park, it gets old.

Brody keeps his eyes on my textbook and eventually he starts flipping through the pages. “His non-leg.”

“Have you ever heard of osteosarcoma?” Brody shakes his head. “It’s bone cancer.”

“Cancer?”

I nod. This is the hardest part for me to deal with, too, because his leg is gone, but the cancer can still come back. “Yep. When you get a tumor in your bone, they sometimes can’t remove it without taking the whole bone off.”

“But he was pitching already, right?”

I hold up my right index finger, imitating Frank’s response when I asked him this same question nearly ten years ago. I’d been curious, but too afraid to ask Dad. “One regular season game with the Yankees.”

“And then it was over?”

“Yep.”

“I wouldn’t have done it,” he says firmly. “I wouldn’t have stopped pitching. Wouldn’t have let them take my leg.”