Page 72 of Convincing the Catcher

“It didn’t hurt the wall. It’s fine,” I mutter, not wanting to have this conversation—not even really wanting to be here.

I pop a few Skittles into my mouth, forcing myself to chew and swallow, even though they’re the last thing I want right now.

“That’s not the point,” she growls in a tone she’s used on others, but never on me. Then again, I’ve never given her a reason to.

“I’m trying to be patient with you, kid. I know you’ve been through a lot,” she says sharply, losing her tolerance for my shit. “But you’re not making it easy. When you’re here, you give maybe fifty percent. And your attitude? Well, it’s not the Harley⁠—”

“Maybe I’m not that Harley anymore!” I yell, shooting to my feet. “Maybe that Harley is gone!”

The vein in my forehead feels like it may blow, but I don’t know if it’s anger or sadness because I’ve never felt it bulge before. Normally, I keep my composure. Usually, I’m the one who’s reasonable. It’s something my dad always bragged about me.

I’m not being very reasonable right now, am I?

I’ve never talked back to a coach. Not in my entire softball career. And yet I just screamed at the best coach I have ever had.

“Go,” she says, keeping her composure. “Gather your things and leave. And when you return to practice tomorrow, know that you’re on thin ice.”

I look up at her, and even though I don’t recognize myself, I can’t seem to get it together.

“Whatever,” I utter sharply.

Shoving my stuff in my bag, I only half zip it before ripping off my turf shoes to trade for my Birkenstocks, and then I do another thing I’ve never done.

I leave practice.

I feel like I have no control over anything anymore.

Not over my temper.

Not over my diabetes.

Not over my feelings.

And not over my dad dying.

Every single thing feels like it’s falling apart, and all I can do is be angry, even though I don’t want to be. And now I’ve pissed my coach off and let my teammates down. If I don’t have them, what the hell else do I have?

Nothing.

For a while, I contemplate driving around, getting a coffee or something to try to feel normal. But I never put my car in drive. Instead, I just sit in the field house parking lot, not knowing what the hell to do. So, I sit. And I wait. I drove Haven here, and I’m not going to leave her.

I’m so angry right now, more so than I’ve ever been. I’ve always been able to look on the bright side of things. And when something doesn’t go my way, I usually just accept the challenge and move on with my life. Right now, I can’t do that. I can’t do it because everything in my body hurts, though I’m not injured. I feel lost, even though I’m at NEU, going about my day. Nothing feels normal, but everything is ordinary.

Besides the fact that my father is dead and I can’t call him to tell him anything. I can’t pick up my phone and dial his number and get off my chest how bad I feel for how I just treated my coach. And I can’t explain to him the horror in my teammates’ eyes as they watched me turn into a monster or wait for him to scold me and tell me I was raised better than that.

And I was raised better than that. I know I was.

Exhaling slowly, I open my console and take out the letter my mom gave me when I was home. Even now, over two weeks later, I still can’t bring myself to read it. I don’t know why. Most people would be thrilled to read one last thing from their dad if he died, but maybe that’s the point …

It’s one last thing. And after this, there will be nothing left from him.

My fingers trace around the edges, and I swallow back my tears. I thought about asking Cane to come over last night, just to be with me while I read it, but I decided not to. Not only is it not fair for me to lead him on, but it’s also ridiculous that I need to depend on someone else that way. I’m not that girl.

I’m not this girl.

My phone vibrates, and I look to where it sits inside my cupholder to see a text from my mom. Lifting it up, I open it, letting the words sink in.

Mom: Our insurance is all straightened out. I know you have another week or so before you refill your prescriptions, but when you do, it’ll be all set.