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  “What’s all this shouting about?” Mom came into the room.

  “No one’s shouting,” Dad told her. “I was only reminding Curt that he needs to work hard if he’s going to be the best.”

  “The best what?”

  “Pitcher!” he shouted. “He’s got a real shot at it.”

  “The important thing is that Curt enjoys the game.” She turned to me. “Did you and Leah have a good time tonight?”

  Before I could answer, my father interrupted. “Don’t you get it, Sarah? He shouldn’t be out half the night before an important game!”

  Mom ignored him. “Are you ready for your math test tomorrow?”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  “That’s good. I know you’ll do well. You can’t afford to get a bad mark.”

  This was supposed to make me feel better?

  I got up from the couch. “I’m going to bed,” I said.

  Chapter Four

  I sat at my desk and tried to concentrate. The numbers on the page swam in front of my eyes. None of it made any sense. School used to be easy. What happened?

  My math final was in the morning, but my mind refused to work. I had a baseball game in the afternoon and everyone was counting on me. My head was crammed so full of stuff it started to hurt. I wanted to phone Leah but didn’t dare call her at this hour because her dad would probably freak out. I went to bed.

  I lay there, in the dark, and tried to relax. Tried not to think. And then the headache hit, a sharp pain on both sides of my head, like pieces of steel pushing into my skull. My whole body felt tense, as if something terrible was about to happen.

  Two hours went by and my headache got worse. I thought about those little pills. They fixed my shoulder. They should work on a headache. They were on the shelf, behind my baseball glove. Just one of them would help me relax and take all the pain away.

  I switched on the light and slid out of bed. I swallowed one pill and put the bottle on the bedside table next to my water bottle. I fell asleep right after that, but woke up an hour later. My head still hurt and my nerves were shot. I needed sleep. I took another pill, put the bottle down and stared at it. Should I take one more? No. Two was enough. I tried to go back to sleep, but my mind was too busy pitching curveballs and solving equations. I worried about Leah too. I took another pill.

  The next thing I knew, Mom was pounding on my bedroom door. “Curt! Curt! Are you all right? It’s time to get up!”

  I felt so far away I couldn’t answer. My tongue was heavy, too heavy to speak. My eyelids felt like they were glued shut. I was too dizzy to move.

  “Curt?”

  I forced myself to concentrate. “I’m fine, Mom.” My feet crashed to the floor. I dragged my head up from the pillow. The room spun and my stomach lurched. I thought I was going to throw up.

  I breathed deeply, sat very still and stared at the floor until the dizziness passed.

  I don’t want to think about that math test. It was like two hours of staring at a foreign language. I still felt sick, but forced myself to read the multiple-choice questions and check off my best guesses. I was thirsty and kept drinking from my water bottle. After a while I felt a little better, so I read the problems and worked out the ones that made any sense at all. But I didn’t get anywhere near finished.

  That was it. Done. Forget about it.

  Like always, Stuart and I tossed the ball around before the game.

  “Where’s your girlfriend?” he asked. Leah always showed up early so we could talk.

  “I don’t know.”

  Coach put me in first. I stood on the pitcher’s mound and glanced towards the stands. Where was Leah? The sun was too bright and dust clogged my throat. I started to feel dizzy again.

  Okay. I had to focus on throwing that stupid little ball. I tried, but a headache started to nibble at the edges of my brain. My hand shook and my whole body trembled a little. The shaking was just enough to put me off, but not so much that anyone else would notice. Maybe I was sick. Could be the flu.

  “Ball One.”

  Stay cool. You can handle this. I blinked, took a quick breath and focused on home plate. Wound up. Threw the ball. Fast. Perfect. Too low.

  “Ball Two.”

  My nerves were getting to me. I took a deep breath. Tried to relax. Caught a glimpse of my dad standing behind the coach, arms folded across his belly. Don’t look at him.

  Can’t help it. Dad shook his head and pulled his eyebrows together. I knew that look. That look sucked all the confidence right out of me.

  “Ball Three.” I could not remember throwing it.

  One more chance. I can do this. The batter grinned: so smug, so ready to walk. I glared at him. No way would I let him walk.

  I stepped back, wound up, rolled forward, shifted my weight onto my left leg. The ball rocketed out of my hand. At the last second it curved. The batter jumped back, a narrow miss.

  My father groaned.

  We won that game — but only just, and no thanks to me. Coach pulled me after three innings. “Sorry,” I told him, “I’m real tired. I was up all night studying.” Slight exaggeration, but basically the truth. I put my hand over my eyes. “And I’ve got this killer headache.” Whole truth.

  “Curt,” he said, “I know you like to tough it out and not take anything for pain, but trust me, if you took one of those pills I gave you, it would have helped you sleep last night.”

  If only it were that simple. Suddenly I was afraid all the pills would be gone and I couldn’t get any more. “Well, Coach, you know me, I kind of — lost them.”

  “What?” he looked suspicious.

  “Sorry, I don’t know how it happened. But, listen, Coach, if you give me some more, I promise to be more careful.” I was amazed at the way the lie slipped out of my mouth. And even more amazed that he believed me.

  Coach reached into his pocket. “Go home,” he said. “Get to bed early. And don’t you dare get sick on me! We need you tomorrow.” He put another little plastic bottle into my hand. “Rest that shoulder of yours, take it easy. You’re up- tight, Curt. Remember, one of those pills is plenty, and only when you really need it.”

  “Thanks, Coach.” I walked away. No sign of my father. I figured he didn’t want to stick around and be embarrassed by a loser son like me. I glanced at the stands one more time. No sign of Leah either.

  I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. I wouldn’t take three pills in one night. I patted my glove and smiled. Now I had a good supply.

  Chapter Five

  When I came around the corner of the house, Dad was waiting with a baseball and glove. “You need to practice,” he said.

  I nodded. He was right.

  He grinned and lightly punched my shoulder. “Come on, Curt.”

  Then I remembered the pill bottle, inside my glove, and knew he would never approve. “Dad, I need sleep. I’m going to lie down.”

  His smile vanished. “What? Don’t you get it, Curt? You’re so goddamn lucky — you’ve got the build, you’ve got the talent, but you’re going to waste it all because you’re so bloody lazy!”

  “Sure, Dad.” I brushed past him into the house.

  “Get back out here! Don’t you dare walk away when I’m talking to you!”

  I stopped. “Dad, I’m tired, okay? Coach Watson told me to get some sleep. I stayed up the last couple of nights studying.”

  “Why didn’t you keep up with your work? If you study all term you don’t need to cram the night before.”

  “I tried, I just — I don’t get math! And I don’t feel so good. I’m going to lie down.”

  I headed for the stairs. He thudded down the hall into his den and slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

  “Hi, Mom.” I walked into her office upstairs.

  “Hi!” She leaned back from the computer. “How was the exam?”

  “Brutal.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. Do you think you passed?”

  “I don’t know, Mom, it was
hard. I just don’t understand math.”

  “I know. I never liked it either, but if you’re going to university…”

  “Yeah, I need math. Even if I’ll never use it again.”

  “What do you want to take?”

  How many times had she asked me that lately? I almost told her then, almost said, Nothing! I’m not going!

  “I don’t know, Mom. I’ve got a headache, I’m gonna lie down.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “You get a lot of headaches these days. Maybe you should see the doctor.”

  “I’m fine, Mom, I’m just stressed out, with exams and all.”

  “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

  “Sure, Mom, thanks.”

  I took a pill and lay down.

  My head still hurt at dinner, but not so bad. If I sat really still I could hardly feel the pain. My stomach churned and I didn’t think I’d be able to eat, but the chicken stir-fry Mom made was great. It slid down smoothly. My father didn’t look up or speak, just ate, as if he was in a major hurry to get out the door.

  “So, Curt,” Mom said, trying to fill the silence, “are you ready for the game tomorrow?”

  My father grunted. We ignored him. Sometimes I wonder how he manages at school. I mean, you’d think a teacher should be able to communicate better. How do his students figure out what the heck he’s trying to say?

  “Sure am. All I need is a good night’s sleep. I’m looking forward to it — the game I mean, not the sleep.” I ate some garlic toast. “Come to think of it, I’m looking forward to the sleep too. I’m real tired, Mom.”

  My father made a pained sound in his throat. He hates it when I rant on like that, which is the main reason I do it. That and because Mom and I can always catch a laugh. She likes to play with words and the sounds of them, like I do. Don’t know why it bothers my dad so much, but I figure it’s because he’s no good at junk like that. Who knows?

  I wish he’d lighten up.

  Up in my room, I dialed Leah’s number.

  She answered on the first ring, her voice so low I could hardly hear.

  “Leah? That you?”

  “Curt! Yes! It’s me…my dad’s asleep.”

  “Where were you today?”

  “Today?”

  She sounded puzzled, as if she had forgotten all about it.

  “Yes, today. The baseball game, remember? Seems to me you said something like, uh, now what was it? Oh yeah! I wouldn’t miss it!”

  “Oh! Curt! Listen, I’m so sorry but I couldn’t make it because, well, it’s because my, uh…”

  She was obviously trying to think up a good excuse. I decided to help her out. “Because you had a headache, right?”

  “Curt…”

  “Well now, isn’t that just too bad? Do you think you’ll be well enough to show up tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know. And right now I don’t much care!” She slammed the phone so hard it hurt my ear.

  I lay on the bed with my biology book open on my chest. Why the heck did I take biology anyhow? Not that I hate it. I mean, it’s not totally boring. The thing is, I had to take a science in grade eleven and my other choice was chemistry. Dad teaches chemistry. If I messed up in chemistry I’d never hear the end of it. Even worse, he would probably want to help with my homework. So, I took biology.

  I tried to study. The more I read, the more I realized that I’d never get through this book in one night. My head was already crammed so full of stuff, none of it made any sense. Another test. Another game. Another day.

  My eyes shifted to the baseball glove sitting so innocently on top of my bookcase. Waiting. Holding a special promise in its fat, curled fingers. One pill would help me relax. I needed to relax. But I had taken too many the night before, and that morning I felt so sick it scared me.

  I tried to focus on my textbook. Tried to stay awake, just for a couple more hours. My eyes closed, my book dropped. I picked it up. I stared at the small print. This was not working. So I went downstairs to make some coffee. I could stay awake until after midnight with a cup of strong coffee in me.

  It worked. I studied until 1:00 and think I learned some. Then I crashed on the bed and fell asleep right away.

  Chapter Six

  I jerked awake. Glanced at the clock: 3:24. So late! So early! I lay there in the dark with my eyes squeezed shut, trying to sleep. Wide awake. If only my stupid brain would slow down.

  I needed to be in good shape for the game. I loved baseball, I really did. Ever since I was a little kid, I practiced pitching by the hour. And I was good. I’m not bragging, simply stating a fact. I was good and I knew it. No question I was the best pitcher in our league. Except when I was tired. That’s why I needed to fall asleep. Now. Had to. Couldn’t.

  Sometimes I got real scared.

  What if I lost it? Couldn’t pitch another ball? They were all counting on me. The team, Coach Watson, my father. Dad only loves the hero — he’s ashamed of the screwup. I want him to be proud of me.

  Okay. Push those thoughts away. Think about something nice, think about Leah. She forgot about the game. Did she meet someone else? Is she going to dump me?

  It’s not easy to relax simply because you want to.

  Just one pill then. Just to help me sleep. Or not. I needed to cut back on them. Okay, but Coach gave me them to take when necessary, in an emergency.

  Wasn’t this an emergency? I glanced at those big red numbers again. 3:47. The big test. The big game. Tomorrow. I got out of bed and stumbled across the dark room to my bookcase. Picked up my baseball glove.

  Mom let me sleep until 8:30. My exam was at 10:00. When I first woke up I felt so totally out of it I could barely walk straight. I was dizzy and felt like I was sleepwalking. Did I take more than one pill the night before? I couldn’t remember.

  I guess not, because once I showered and ate some breakfast, I felt okay.

  The biology exam was grim, but I knew some of the answers. I might even have passed. Anyway, I was glad it was over. All I had left was English.

  Then came the game. I got some good pitches in. Not my best, but good enough to win and put our team one step closer to the finals. Good enough so my father didn’t walk away in disgust.

  Leah didn’t bother to show up.

  When I got home I went straight to my room and called Leah. I heard the first ring before I remembered I was mad at her. Or she was mad at me. Whatever. The phone rang again.

  I should hang up.

  Too late. Someone picked up. Before I could speak there was a loud clunk in my ear. “Leah?”

  Nothing.

  Then a grunt, followed by heavy breathing and a fumbling sound, as if someone was having trouble holding onto the receiver. Finally a man’s voice said, “Yeah?” Leah’s dad.

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Who is this?” he growled.

  What could I say? Quietly I hung up the phone.

  Stupid! Why did I do that?

  What now? What an idiot! I stared at the phone. I couldn’t call back now. I walked to the window and looked out. I remembered what I said before Leah hung up on me. Maybe it was kind of harsh, but she did miss the game and she didn’t have a good reason.

  I left my room, walked down the stairs and out of the house.

  Traffic roared past as I walked along Esquimalt Road. I turned up Leah’s street and stopped in front of her building. I stood there, looking up at the windows. What if she wasn’t home? What if I buzzed and her father answered?

  “What are you doing?”

  I swung around. “Leah!”

  She frowned at me over a bag of groceries. “Are you spying on me or something?”

  “Spying? Of course not! I was trying to work up the nerve to push the buzzer.”

  “Since when are you afraid of buzzers?”

  “It’s not the buzzer I’m scared of, it’s you!”

  “Oh, fine then. I’ll just go inside where you don’t have to look at me.” She stomped away.

&nbs
p; “Wait, Leah! I came over to tell you I’m sorry for being rude on the phone.”

  She reached the door and stopped to look for her key.

  “Leah, please. I phoned, but your dad answered and I hung up on him.”

  “Great!” she said. Still clutching the paper grocery bag, she tried to find her key in the pocket of her shorts.

  “Leah, please. I acted like a jerk. I do that sometimes. I don’t mean to, but it happens anyway. The thing is, I really like you and I miss you. Can’t we start again?”

  “No, we can’t start again!” she shouted. She shoved the grocery bag at me.

  I grabbed it and stood there like a big dope while she found her key and opened the door. She took the bag.

  “Leah, at least walk down to Tim Hortons with me. I’ll buy you a donut. We can talk.”

  “Sure.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Of course. I said we couldn’t start again. That doesn’t mean we can’t talk. Wait here. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  We sat at a table, eating donuts and drinking pop. “I miss you at the games,” I told her. “I messed up that first one when you didn’t show.”

  “Sorry, I wanted to come, but my dad, he…” she paused, “…he just needed some help.”

  “Oh?”

  She nodded, but changed the subject. “When’s your next game?”

  “Tomorrow at 5:00.”

  “I’ll be there, cheering for you. I promise.”

  Chapter Seven

  Stuart and I got to the field early. I was feeling pretty good; my shoulder didn’t hurt at all. The night before I had taken one pill, just to be sure.

  I threw a curveball to Stuart. He tried to catch it, missed and chased after it.

  I wanted to turn around and see if Leah was there yet, but I had this weird feeling someone was standing behind me. I could almost picture my dad there, scowling, making me nervous. So I didn’t look.

  To my surprise, Stuart didn’t throw the ball but walked up to me. “Did you see who’s standing behind you?” he whispered.