Page 6 of Curveball

We walk over toward her brother. My palms aresweating. I take deep breaths as I feel my heart racing. He gets cuter and cuter with every step we take.

Arizona punches him in the arm. “Hey, Q. This is my new best friend, Ripley. Ripley, this is my nose-picking, loud-farting brother, Quincy. You can call him Q if you want.”

Quincy is a dream name. I’d rather call him that.

He nods my way, unfazed by her digs. “What’s up, Shortcake?”

I pinch my eyebrows together. Shortcake? I’m not short. Just the opposite.

He motions his head toward my lunchbox. It has Strawberry Shortcake on it. My face flushes with embarrassment at my babyish lunchbox. “Oh. My mom got it for me. I hate it.”

He chuckles. “I think it’s perfect for you. Her red, curly hair matches yours.”

I touch my hair, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Does he like it? Does he hate it?

He answers with a smile. “I’ve never seen anyone with that color. It’s super cool.”

Phew.

He leans over and sniffs. “You smell like strawberries too.”

I did have some for lunch. I try to smell myself, but I don’t smell strawberries.

Arizona links her arm through mine. “Ripley is awesome at softball. She’s a pitcher like you, Q. Her mom pitched in the Olympics. Can she play with us after school? Please?” She turns to me. “Quincy lets me play with him and his friends at the park near our house.” She straightens her shoulders with pride. “I’m the only girl they allow on the field with them.”

He shrugs. “Can shereallythrow? You know how those guys are about new people joining us, especially a girl.”

Arizona nods enthusiastically “As good as me. Maybe better.”

I’m not sure that’s true, but it’s nice of her to say.

His eyes widen. “Z throws harder than most of my friends. If you’re as good as her, you can play with us.”

He smiles at me again, and my heart sputters. His smile is a little crooked, but it’s so darn perfect on him.

I stare at the emptying carpool line, still not seeing my mommy. “I think my mom forgot to pick me up.” I look down, embarrassed. “It happens a lot.” Usually the school has to call her.

Arizona points toward the school buses, which are lined up. “Our mom never picks us up. She works super late. Where do you live? I’m sure there’s a bus.”

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. We just moved here.”

“Do you know the street name?”

“Hmm, Maple-something.”

Quincy asks, “Maplewood?”

I nod. “Yes! That’s it.”

He points toward the bus right behind him. “You’re only two streets over from our house. You must be on our bus. If your mom won’t get mad, you should come with us.”

Mad? No.

“Okay.”

It turns out I do only live two streets from the Abbotts. Arizona said we can walk to each other’s houses. I tell them that I’ll walk to their house after I stop at mine, but Quincy insists that they get off at my stop. He said since it’s my first time on the bus, he wants to make sure I get home, and then they can show me the path to their house.

He’s so nice.

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