Game Changer (10 page)

KT silently trailed Mom and Dad into what should have been the gym. Now it looked more like the library.

A library with rows and rows of tall bleachers overshadowing the bookshelves.

And, facing the bleachers, ten velvet chairs
clustered in two groups.

And, above the chairs, huge screens—gigantic SMART boards, maybe?

“Max is bound to get the most playing time of any of the sixth graders,” Dad told Mom quietly as they sat down near the front of the bleachers. “If he doesn’t, I think we should complain to the coach.”

KT glanced around quickly, hoping nobody would see her going to a math competition or—even worse—sitting with her parents. But it looked like practically every kid in the school was there.

Somehow KT couldn’t find the courage to go over and sit with any of her friends.

Not after what had happened with Molly and Lex at lunch.

And not when her friends all seemed to be carefully looking away from her.

KT turned around and faced the velvet chairs and pretended she hadn’t seen any of her friends, either.

Another couple came in and sat in front of KT’s parents. They looked vaguely familiar.

“Eugenia! Morris!” Mom greeted them, pasting on a too-wide smile. “Look, honey, the Bashkovs are here!”

Oh, yeah,
KT thought.
Ben’s parents.

Ben Bashkov had been Max’s best friend since kindergarten. He was a scrawny little kid who always asked goofy questions like “What if a ghost and a werewolf got into a fight? Who do you think would win?” And “Which do you think has more bacteria in it? Spit or blood?”

Dad clapped Mr. Bashkov on the shoulder and said, “Who’s going to be the high scorer on the team today—your son or ours?”

“It does not matter. They are on the same
team,” Mr. Bashkov said in his slightly accented English. KT could never be bothered to remember where the Bashkovs had come from—Russia, maybe?

Dad punched Mr. Bashkov on the arm.

“Yeah, I want my son to be the best too!” he said and laughed.

Geez, Dad,
KT thought.
Are you this obnoxious at my softball games too?

Just thinking the word “softball”
made KT’s heart ache. She half rose, thinking that at least she could look out a window and see if her team was anywhere in sight. But Mom clamped her hand on KT’s leg.

“Sit,” she hissed.

“You are still doing so well in all your classes, no?” Mrs. Bashkov asked KT. Her tone reminded KT of something. Oh, yeah: Vanessa’s mom trying to talk to Max at softball games. The tone said,
I know you’re a pathetic loser, but I’m a nice person, so I will at least pretend to be interested.

Mom squeezed KT’s knee, a clear warning:
Don’t you dare say anything to embarrass me!

“Oh, yes,” Mom answered before KT had a chance to. “We don’t like to brag, of course, but KT has the highest grade point average in eighth grade.”

“No, I don’t!” KT started to protest, but just then the Brecksville North math team came jogging into the library. Everyone else in the stands rose in one motion and began to cheer: “Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate? Our scholars! Our scholars! Our scholars!”

The sound was deafening.

Mom grabbed KT’s arm and yanked her into a standing
position too.

“Show some respect!” Mom hissed in KT’s ear.

Dazed, KT looked around. The stands were completely packed, everyone screaming at the top of their lungs. Some girls were even shaking pom-poms. Others were shrieking like they’d just glimpsed the hottest guys in the school. It was like this was football or basketball—the school sports everyone cared about the most.

And I have the highest grade point average in my class?
KT thought scornfully.
Yeah, right.

The chills from before came back. KT’s ears buzzed; her vision went in and out. For a moment she thought she might faint. But her brain kept churning out thoughts, trying to make sense out of insanity.

It all fit. Suddenly KT saw exactly
what
had happened, even though she was still clueless as to how or why.

Last week people had acted like the football and basketball players were gods.

This week it was the math team.

Yesterday she’d been a talented athlete—the star of her team. Today she still had the talent, but where was her team? Suddenly it seemed like the only thing she’d ever accomplished was good grades.

School turned into sports,
KT thought.
And sports turned into school.

How could she possibly change
it back?

KT swayed. Mom yanked on her arm, pulling her down to the bleacher seat once again. Evidently everyone was sitting down.

Mrs. Bashkov peered at KT.

“Oh, I get so nervous at these things too,” she said, patting KT’s leg. “But—are you sure you’re all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“KT’s fine,” Mom said through gritted teeth. She elbowed KT, a subtle reminder that KT was supposed to be acting fine.

Oh, right, the star of the math team couldn’t have a difficult sister, could he?
KT thought bitterly.

Her head swam. Mrs. Bashkov’s patting continued.

“Have you ever played any acs, KT?” Mrs. Bashkov asked. “Have you ever experienced this for yourself?”

“KT prefers to focus on her studies,” Mom said. Her elbow seemed to be on the verge of drilling a hole between KT’s ribs.

Mom, could you stop acting like I’m your puppet? I can speak for myself! I can sit and stand and sit again all on my own!
KT thought.

But—could she? Was it possible that in this version of the world, KT was as spineless as a rag doll?

No. I’m still a pitcher,
KT thought.

Wasn’t she?

“KT is in the sports club,” Mom said. “But that just meets, like, once a month, and they sit around answering questions about fitness.”

Sports club? Never heard of it,
KT thought.
Sounds boring. But—softball, Mom.
Say I do softball. Please.

Mom didn’t say that. Instead she frowned.

“We’ve told KT that she’s really going to need to step up her involvement in high school,” Mom said.

“Yes,” Mrs. Bashkov agreed. “I’ve heard that, even with top grades and test scores, anyone wanting to get into a really good college has to excel at acs, too. But, oh, it would be so hard to get up to speed, picking up a new ac at the high-school level! My Ben’s been on one math team or another ever since first grade!”

She patted KT’s leg again, but her tone said,
You really are pitiful, aren’t you? I’m glad I don’t have a kid like you!

“It’s sports,” KT muttered. It was sports that kids had to excel at in high school, along with getting good grades and test scores, in order to get into a good college. Everybody knew that.

But this was backward world. Sports had turned into something called “acs.”

Oh—academics,
KT figured out.

“Did you say something, dear?” Mrs. Bashkov asked,
leaning in close.

But she didn’t wait for an answer, because an announcer—or was he an umpire? A referee?—had stepped up to a podium located between the two clusters of velvet chairs. That set off another round of cheering from the crowd, and Mrs. Bashkov lapsed into screaming, “Ben! Ben! Ben! Ben!”

The announcer smiled.

“Enthusiastic crowd,” he commented. “You’d think this was the biggest rivalry in the entire league. Oh, that’s right—it is!”

The crowd roared again.

“I’ll introduce the visiting team first,” the announcer said. “Starting for the Winchester Wits, Gertrude Iris Collins, Harvey Frederick Gustafson, Emma Marie Valero . . .”

Five kids jumped up from benches at the back of the room and, pumping their arms, raced toward one cluster of velvet chairs. The girls were wearing matching plaid jumpers and knee-high socks; the boys were in khakis, blue blazers, and plaid ties.

“Nerd city,” KT muttered to herself. Even a math team should be able to come up with better uniforms. Something that looked more . . . athletic, maybe?

But behind her she could hear girls crying out, “Oh, he’s hot!” and “I’d so go out with him!”

As soon as the Winchester team sat down, a crew of helpers carried out five desks and positioned them in front of the velvet chairs. There seemed to be a great deal of deliberation about placing the desks at the exact right angle for each team member, and the exact location of pencils and spare pencils and stacks of paper on the desks.

The screen above the chairs lit up, showing an enlarged view of the surface of
each desk.

The crowd in the bleachers let out a collective “ahhh!”

Like that’s exciting?
KT thought.

“And now, for our home team, the Brecksville North Scholars . . . ,” the announcer began.

We’re not the Scholars!
KT thought indignantly.
We’re the Chieftains!

But she could barely hear herself think in the roar of approval that came from the crowd behind her. Mom was tugging on her arm again, to get her to stand.

“Evangeline Marietta Rangel!” the announcer screamed.

Of course,
KT thought.

Evangeline trotted toward the nearest desk. She was wearing shiny black little-girl shoes—were they called Mary Janes?—and argyle socks and a khaki skirt and an argyle vest.

Hideous,
KT thought.

“Ebenezer Joseph Bashkov!” the announcer screamed.

Ebenezer?
KT thought.
It’s not Benjamin? Has that always been that poor kid’s name?

Ben stumbled out to his desk, his knobby knees revealed for all the world to see because the Brecksville North uniform for guys was khaki shorts and argyle socks and a blazer and argyle tie. But he was pumping his scrawny arms and beaming—like a football player after scoring the winning touchdown, like a basketball player after making an amazing slam dunk, like a baseball or softball player after batting in a four-run homer.

In the midst of all the cheering, Mom leaned forward and said to Mrs. Bashkov, “You must be so proud.”

“Oh, we are,” Mrs. Bashkov said reverently.
“We are.”

“Molly Isabel O’Toole!” the announcer called. “Alexandra Suzanne DeVries!”

Traitors,
KT thought.

Molly and Lex strutted to their desks with the same easy confidence they showed walking up to bat in softball. They high-fived each other, then high-fived Ben and Evangeline. The crowd cheered louder.

“What if Max isn’t starting?” KT heard Mom hiss frantically to Dad. “What if the coach doesn’t give him the playing time he deserves?”

“He’ll start. He’ll start,” Dad hissed back.

“And, finally, Maxwell Charles Sutton!” the announcer screamed.

“Ooh, baby!” some girl behind KT shrieked in the midst of all the other cheers.

Sick,
KT thought.

Max walked away from his second-string teammates, who were resignedly sitting down on a bench at the other side of the room. He wobbled slightly, and KT had an odd flashback, remembering video of him as a baby learning how to walk. He moved just as tentatively now. His face looked pale and clammy, and he had his lips pinched tightly together, as if he was telling himself,
Don’t vomit. Whatever you do, don’t vomit.
He managed only the feeblest of waves at the crowd.

It figures,
KT thought.
The world reverses, nerds are suddenly cool, and my
brother still looks and acts pathetic.

“All rise for the singing of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’” the announcer said.

Both math teams sprang to their feet. The crowd in the bleachers was already standing, but everyone straightened
up, snapping to respectful attention. Hundreds of hands pressed solemnly and patriotically against hundreds of chests.

The announcer must have pressed a button somewhere, because the first strains of the national anthem rolled out of the speakers: “O-oh, say, can you see? By the dawn’s early light . . .”

It was this, finally, that was too much for KT to bear.

In her mind, “The Star-spangled Banner” properly belonged to sporting events, and the last lines—“ . . . o’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave”—absolutely, positively had
to be followed by the words “Play ball!”

What was the announcer going to say now? “Do math!”?

“No,” KT moaned. “No, that’s . . .”

Mr. and Mrs. Bashkov both turned around and peered at her with a mix of worry and annoyance. Several other people down the row turned and looked too. Mom’s hand clamped down on KT’s arm once again.

But KT yanked her arm away. She shoved her way through the crowd in front of her.

“I’ve got to go,” she said over her shoulder, in the vague direction of Mom and Dad. “I’m . . . sick. I can’t stay here.”

She hit the floor and took off running. She smashed through the doors from the library into the empty hallway outside. She stood against the wall, panting hard.