Heroine(47)

So stupid, when you’re pitching to someone who catches for Carolina Galarza.

I can judge a fastball better than anyone, and there’s the perfect moment when I’m dissecting the trajectory, the speed, the shift of my hips, the angle of my bat, the dip of my shoulder. My muscles take over and a million calculations are made in a nanosecond, right before I loosen my grip on the bat ever so slightly, then clutch down harder than before and fucking smash it.

The first thing my grandpa taught me was not to watch your shot. You put your head down and run, looking to the base coach for signals, and that’s it. It doesn’t matter if the ball’s in the dirt or on the grass, because if you’re doing it right you won’t even know. You just run. That’s your job, and you do it or you get your ass reamed.

I run. Stretching out my legs so that they eat distance, clipping the corner of first base with my spikes when I get the signal to keep going and focus on rounding second to see Coach pinwheeling her arms, telling me to go.

So I go.

I go all the way home, crashing into Carolina and Lydia, who are waiting for me, the other team’s catcher standing three feet out in front of it with her helmet in the dirt beside her and her glove at her side, useless. That ball isn’t coming back in anytime soon.

“You’re my hero, Mickey Catalan,” Lydia says into my ear, over the roar of the crowd.

“Heroine,” I correct her.

“Hoo—fucking—ray!” Bella Right screams at me when I get into the dugout.

Everyone is yelling my name.

Right now, everyone loves me.

Right now, I even love myself.





Chapter Thirty-One


intravenous: entering by way of a vein

“How many RBIs, Catalan?” Luther asks me on Friday.

“Five,” I say, peeling the wrapper back from the warm cupcake Edith offered me when I got in the door.

“Dang. Your stats should be looking pretty sweet.”

“Yep,” I agree.

“Sports. Hooray, go team. Can we talk about something else?” Josie asks, from where she sits cross-legged on the floor, running her fingernail under a piece of enamel that is splintering from Edith’s coffee table.

“I thought Betsy’s service was nice,” Edith says, from her recliner.

“Yeah, really not what I was going for, Grandma,” Josie says. Edith frowns and changes the channel, switching it from QVC, which makes Josie’s mouth go into a flat line. Without the boost of Betsy’s prescription, we’re all a little on edge.

Josie had texted me earlier to say that even though she had a wad of cash, Edith wasn’t selling.

Fucking selfish, Josie texted, and I answered with an agreement, highly aware that Ronald Wagner’s last 80 was dissipating in my bloodstream even though I’d stretched them as long as I could.

Josie had hoped that the arrival of Luther, Derrick, and me would make Edith crack, but instead she made us cupcakes. The only pills she had on hand were her own, and they weren’t for sale. Apparently her deep love for her granddaughter-of-her-heart didn’t dip past her Oxy supply, and this revelation had put Josie in a foul mood.

“Hey.” She slaps Derrick’s knee, and he glances up from his phone. “You know anybody?”

“Uh . . .” He shares a glance with Luther, who shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.

“What? What!” Josie hits Derrick’s knee again, harder this time.

“Okay, so . . . I do know where we could probably get it, but he’s not exactly the kind of guy I want to buy from, know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I do know what you mean,” Josie says. “You’re a pussy.”

Derrick’s face falls and I want to call her out on it, tell her to stop being rude to him and to Edith. But I don’t, because there isn’t enough Oxy in my bloodstream to make the words come up. Luther has no problem with it, though.

“Back off,” he says. “Derrick’s right. If we go around buying from him it’s not like it is here at Edith’s. We get spotted, people know what’s up. I’m not losing my spot on a college team next year because of a felony. You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you.” Josie rolls her eyes. “Blah, blah, blah. Sports.”

“Whatever,” Luther shoots back, then nudges Derrick. “Wanna bounce?”

“Yep,” Derrick says, putting his phone away and not looking at Josie.

“What? Hey . . . guys!” Josie is up in a second. “You don’t have to . . .” Her voice fades as she follows them through the house. Edith sighs deeply, changing the channel again.

“Goddammit!” I hear Josie yell as the back door swings. “Fuck them,” she says, coming back into the room. “Just fuck those guys.”

“Language,” Edith says, sounding bored.

“And f—” Josie barely catches herself from telling Edith to fuck off as well. Her hands tremor as she brushes her hair off her shoulder, the tears standing in her eyes. I know where she’s at. I didn’t like being there, and I don’t want to be around someone else going through it either. My phone goes off with a text from Luther.

Come outside

I glance between Josie and Edith, both pouting. It’s not a hard call.

Luther is leaning against his car when I go out, Derrick in the passenger seat scrolling through his phone.