The Distance to Home (2 page)

“Only a few left now, and you'll all be on your way.” Mr. Miller flips to the next page.

“Brandon Williams?”

The annoying blond guy who let me in raises his hand.

Not us. Not us,
I chant in my head.

“You'll be staying with the Donnelly family.”

Dad waves his hand and catches Brandon's eye.

Oh, great.

“Are you tired?” I ask Hector while Mr. Miller finishes reading off the last few names.

“Sí,”
he replies. “Very tired.”

“Long flight?”

He nods.

“Where did you come from?” I ask.

“Dominican Republic.”

I've looked it up on the map before, since so many good baseball players come from there. “That's really far away.” No wonder he's so sleepy.

“Hey, man.” I look up and see Brandon walking right toward us. “Hey, little lady. Guess we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

I slump on the piano bench. “Yeah.”

David Hernandez comes over and says something to Hector in Spanish. Hector stands up. “Are you coming to Opening Day?”

“Always,” I say. “See you there. Bye, Hector.”

“Good-bye, Quinnen. Maybe sometime I can show you how to throw a slider.” He points at my glove. “You're a pitcher, no?”

How does he know?

Something flutters deep inside me, like a knuckleball, but by the time I open my mouth to respond, Hector and David are walking over to their host families and I'm alone with Brandon.

“What position do you play?” I ask Brandon.

“Pitcher.”

I cringe as he cracks his knuckles. I hate when boys do that. “How fast's your fastball?”

“Ninety-six. How fast is yours? Like, twenty?” He laughs at his own joke.

I roll my eyes. Katie has her back turned to me, but I can tell she's talking to David. Probably telling him all about her team.
Her team.
It sounds wrong, even when I just say it in my head. Are they undefeated, like last year? I'd ask Casey, but he didn't make the cut this season.

Dad places his hand on my shoulder. “Ready to go?”

Brandon looks down at him. “Mr. Donnelly?”

“That's me.” Dad stretches out his hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Brandon. Glad to have you around for the summer.”

I hate to admit it, but Brandon's arm looks way strong.

Dad has to shake his hand out a little after Brandon lets go. “Let's grab your bags and hit the road. What do you say?”

Dad and I follow Brandon over to a big pile of duffel bags and suitcases. Dad gives me a little smile while Brandon digs through to find his bags. It turns out he packs even more than Mom: three duffels and a wheelie. Does he think he's moving in with us?

Well, he sort of is.

“Do you need some help?” I start to grab one of the bigger duffel bags.

“Hold up.” Brandon takes the bag from my hand. “I don't want these dragging on the ground and getting all scraped up.”

“I wasn't going to drag it,” I mumble. I wait for Dad to step in. He knows I'm strong enough to carry it. But he doesn't say anything.

With my hand buried deep in my too-small glove, I trail behind Dad and Brandon as we head out to the truck.

They toss Brandon's bags into the back, and I squeeze into the middle seat. I wish my leg wasn't touching Brandon's hairy one, but nobody asked my opinion on the seating arrangement.

“So, Brandon,” Dad says, starting up the truck. “What's your story?”

“Where do I start? Well, I grew up in California, north of San Francisco. Marin? Maybe you've heard of it?” He doesn't wait for Dad to say yes or no, just keeps on talking. “Anyway, I was kind of a big deal—lettered in football, basketball, and baseball all four years in high school. I actually got drafted out of high school, but I figured I couldn't pass up a free ride at Stanford.”

My favorite third baseman played at Stanford, too. I wonder if he was there at the same time as Brandon. “Hey, do you know—” I try to pipe up.

But Brandon talks right over me. The whole ride home is the life story of Brandon stinking Williams. And the worst part is that Dad's falling for it, smiling and nodding like Brandon is the most fascinating person he's ever met. After Brandon tells us about how he's pretty much the best baseball player ever to play at Stanford—which I seriously doubt—he starts bragging about his girlfriend, Amy, who's in vet school. He even stops to tell me what a vet is—“it's an animal doctor”—like I didn't already know that.

“Honestly, Mr. Donnelly, I appreciate you putting me up and all, but I don't think I'll be here the whole summer. It won't be long until they need me up at Double-A, you know?”

“We'll see,” Dad says. “It's pretty stiff competition.”

“Yeah,” I say. “And do you know how many minor leaguers actually make it to the majors?” I know the answer, but I wonder if Brandon does, or if he's too full of himself and thinks he's a future Cy Young candidate.

“I know the odds; I majored in statistics at Stanford. But those numbers don't matter when you've got the goods.”

I grumble and tighten the laces on my glove.

Dad parks the truck in our driveway.

“Your house is huge,” Brandon says to me as I hop out of the truck on his side. “Is it just you or— You don't happen to have an older sister, do you?” He raises his eyebrows like a total creep.

I want to smack him with my glove. Dad stands quietly with one of Brandon's bags as my heart beats real loud in my chest.

Dad and I look at each other. Like it's some kind of contest: who will break first?

I know I'll have to tell Brandon, but I don't want to. Why can't Dad be the one to tell someone for once? Why does it always have to be me? Nine months have passed since that day, and Dad can still barely say the words.

“I had an older sister,” I tell Brandon. “She passed away.”

That's what everyone says, that she “passed away.” But it doesn't feel like what happened. It feels like there's this new hole inside of me, and no matter what I do, no matter what anybody says, it'll never be filled.

Brandon's face falls, and for that one second I stop hating him. “I'm sorry,” he says, looking me right in the eye. “That stinks.”

“Yeah,” I say, chewing on my upper lip. “It does.”

I help Dad and Brandon carry his luggage up to the guest bedroom, across the hall from mine. Mom put clean sheets on the bed and laid out towels and a fresh toothbrush for Brandon.

“Looks like you're all set,” I say. I show him where the bathroom is and where my room is.

He gestures to the closed door in between mine and the guest room. “And that one?”

“That's Haley's room.”

He doesn't say anything at first, just looks at me like he's thinking of what he can possibly say. “See you in the morning?”

“Right.” I step back into my room and close the door behind me.

I hear Brandon washing up in the bathroom as I crawl back into bed. I open up
Tuck Everlasting,
our sixth-grade summer reading book, but all I want is for my eyes to droop. I want to fall asleep and step into a world like the one in the book, where people can live forever.

But I'm wide-awake, and now I can hear stupid Brandon talking quietly on his stupid cell phone.

I toss my book onto the floor and reach my hand up to tap the wall behind my headboard. Haley and I used to do this every night when I was little, tapping back and forth long after we were supposed to be asleep.

The tune Hector played on the piano is still in my head. I tap it on the wall.

I wait for the tap back. But it never comes.

“Y
ou've got this, Quinnbear,” Haley yelled from the sidelines. I didn't have to turn to look at her. She always sat in that rainbow-striped folding chair down the first-base line, past the bleachers.

I locked eyes with Katie Miller as she made the sign for the next pitch.
Paint the corners, Quinnen. Paint the corners.
Coach Napoli didn't have to say it out loud for me to hear him in my head.

I glanced over to check on the runner on third. He'd better not be thinking about going anywhere. I stared him down, gripping the ball tight in my hand, and focused on the batter.

Wound up and threw.

The batter swung and missed.

“Strike three!” yelled the umpire.

“Panthers advance!” Mr. Miller shouted from the sidelines.

Katie jumped up from her spot behind home plate, ran out toward me, and slapped my outstretched hand hard. “Way to go, QD!”

“Right back atcha, KM!” I'd started calling her KM because there were so many Katies, but also because she had it monogrammed on her backpack. She called me QD, even though I'd never met another Quinnen in my whole life. You had to do something to stick together when you were the only two girls on your Little League team.

Coach had our whole team line up for high fives with the Cardinals. “Good game…Good game…Good game,” we all said to the other team's players. Nobody on the Cardinals was smiling, and we were supposed to keep it under control. Coach said no smiling and celebrating until after they'd left. Can't forget good sportsmanship! After the last high fives, we went back to the Panthers dugout.

“Nice work, everybody,” Coach said, scratching his beard. He'd promised he'd keep growing it as long as we kept winning. Pretty soon he'd look like Santa. “Who's up for some ice cream at Gracie's?”

Everyone started yelling and high-fiving each other.

“See you there in fifteen.”

I was taking off my cleats when Haley came over. “Awesome job!” She grabbed my bat and slid it into my bag.

I saw Jaden whisper something into Andrew's ear while Andrew stared at me. Not that dumb stuff again about why I'm playing baseball instead of softball, I hoped. I thought they'd gotten over that by now. And anyway, did it really matter? It wasn't like I was exactly stinking up the joint.

I turned back toward Haley. “Mom couldn't make it?”

Haley shook her head. “She sent me a text: last-minute meeting with the head of the English department. But I'm sure she'll be able to come to your next one.”

I kicked off my other shoe, and it banged against the metal fence. Mom always managed to get out of meetings for Haley's recitals. Why couldn't she get out of one for my baseball game?

Casey tapped me on the shoulder. “You want a ride in my car?”

“You mean your mom's car?”

“Right. Her car.”

“I'm all set. Haley's giving me a ride. See you at Gracie's.”

I slid my bare feet into my flip-flops and followed Haley over to the car.

She turned down the music once we were on the road. “Casey sure seemed anxious to offer you a ride.”

“Huh?” I rolled down the window and let the wind move my hand. Mom never let us do this when she was driving. She'd say, “What if a bird swooped in and chomped on your hand?” Haley always laughed and did it anyway.

“Just saying…” Haley laughed a little under her breath.

“What? Come on, Hales.”

“I'm just saying, maybe Casey…Whatever. Like I'm an expert on these things. Only that maybe Casey really wanted you to ride in his car. Next to him. You know?”

“Wait—you think Casey likes me? Gross.” I did a real great fake-barf sound.

“Okay, maybe not yet. But someday it's going to be different with you and Casey. You can't be friends with boys forever without it being a little weird.”

“But he's Casey!” Casey, who had drawn a beard on his face with marker when Coach started growing his beard. Casey, who wore the same purple sweatshirt almost every day. Casey and I had been friends for as long as I could remember. But I didn't
like
Casey.

“Fine, fine,” Haley said. “I'm just trying to share some sisterly wisdom with you. I've got six years on you. That's a lot of wisdom.”

I rolled my eyes. “If you have so much wisdom, how come it took you two tries to get your driver's license?”

Haley made a funny sad face back at me. “Wisdom doesn't guide you through three-point turns. And hey, who are you to dig on your personal chauffeur? You want to walk to Gracie's?”

She said that last bit as we were pulling into the parking lot.

I hopped out of the car and pretended to examine the bumper. “Hales, you dinged it again.”

“What?” She walked around the car.

“Made you look!”

“I hope you enjoy the walk home.”

I skipped over to the entrance and held the door open for her. “I like the fresh air.” That's what Dad always said.

The whole team was spread out over three of the biggest booths inside. Katie waved me over.

“Don't worry about me,” Haley said. “I'll grab a cone and sit over in the park across the street until you're done.”

“No way. You can sit with the team. You're an honorary Panther.”

Haley pulled a stray chair over while Katie and I looked at a menu together. “You want to share a banana split?” Katie asked.

I shook my head. “Fruit doesn't belong with ice cream. Sorry, but no way.”

“Quinnen!” Casey shouted from the other side of the table. “I'm going to do it. I'm getting the Grand Slam.” The Grand Slam was the biggest sundae Gracie's offered. Six different flavors of ice cream, plus a brownie, a banana, whipped cream, marshmallow, peanut butter topping, and a cherry on top. If you ate the whole thing, they took your picture and put it up on the wall.

“Eww!” Katie whispered. “I saw someone try that before. It didn't end pretty.” She shrank inside her jersey. “I hate it when people barf. If Casey gets a Grand Slam, I can't watch.”

“I don't think Coach will let him get it. It's expensive,” I said.

Casey pulled out his wallet. It didn't look like the price was going to matter.

The waitress came over and took our orders. Haley and I ordered the Princess Peanut Butter Cup sundae to share. Coach said he'd help Casey out with the Grand Slam, but Casey insisted he could handle it himself. All I could think about was the time Casey ate way too many snacks at the Bandits game last summer and got sick all over Banjo, the mascot. Poor Banjo ended up missing a couple games, and they had to use a squirrel costume while the raccoon one was being cleaned.

Coach went over the plan for our next game. “Now, we can't rely on Quinnen since she pitched the entire game today.” He gave me a double thumbs-up, and I returned the favor. “Jordan's got the ball to start. Who remembers who we need to watch out for on the Ravens?”

We talked about the Ravens' best hitters until the waitress came with our sundaes. Casey's Grand Slam was so big it didn't even fit in their biggest bowl. It was on a plate, overflowing onto a tray like they have in the cafeteria at school.

“I can't watch.” Katie covered her eyes.

Casey picked up his spoon and dug into the scoop of chocolate ice cream. All the boys near him took out their phones to take “before” pictures.

Haley dangled the cherry from our sundae in front of me, and I grabbed it with my mouth, like a little bird. We always did that—as long as Mom wasn't watching. Mom always said that you're not supposed to play with your food. Me and Haley didn't agree.

I glanced over at Casey. He was halfway through the sundae and he hadn't shared any with Coach. Coach must have gotten up to get his own cone, and based on the bit dribbling down his beard, it looked like he'd gone with strawberry.

“Do you think we should tell him?” I asked Katie, pointing to Coach's ice-cream beard.

“Let's not,” she said. I agreed.

I munched on a chunk of peanut butter cup in my ice cream and said to Haley, “Maybe Casey wanted me to ride in his car so he could puke on me.”

Haley rolled her eyes.

Katie stuck her fingers in her ears. “Are you guys done talking about puke yet?”

“I hope so.” Haley shook her head and pushed the sundae over to me so I could have the last bite.

A few days later, I was up in my room after dinner, lying belly-down on my bed with the summer reading list. I was trying for the billionth time to decide which two books to read, when there was a knock on the door.

I was about to say “Yeah” when Haley bounded in. She kicked off her flip-flops by the foot of my bed, flung herself against my pile of pillows, and let out a huge sigh.

“It was that bad?” Today had been her first day working at the summer camp. Her first day working, period.

“Not bad,” she said. “But exhausting.” She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear as a tiny smile began to spread across her face. She stared past me, at some spot on my wall. “Exhausting
and
amazing.”

“Amazing?” I folded up the summer reading sheet and let it fall to the floor. “Amazing how?”

“Just the people, you know? The other counselors. Nobody from school is working there, so everyone's brand-new. All these other people my age from schools around Chicago.”

“Nobody you know? That sounds awkward, like being the new kid at school.”

“Like
you
know what it's like to be the new kid at school,” Haley replied. “We've been here forever. Always in classes with the same people, year after year. When's the last time I met someone new? I can't even remember.”

“What about Randol St. Clair? He was new last year.”

“Not Randol!” Haley laughed. She'd gotten stuck on a group project with Randol, so he came over to our house a few times in the spring. All he wanted to talk about was Star Wars, even with Mom and Dad. “It's nice to meet people who are…different. You know?”

“Like ‘Casey' different or like ‘Mrs. Wendell' different?” The art teacher Mrs. Wendell had blue hair and every day wore something that had to do with outer space. Planet earrings, night-sky leggings—you name it.

“More ‘different' like…their very own person. Not like anybody else.” The weird smile was back again. “Anyway…” She cleared her throat, and just like that the smile disappeared and she looked like normal Haley again. “Did you decide which books you want to read?”

I reached down to the floor for the sheet and handed it to her. I'd put stars next to the ones that sounded interesting, but it wasn't like I was sure. I had a hard time telling if a book was going to be good or not until I actually read it. Those little one-liners could make any book sound exciting.

“Hmm…,” Haley said.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Haley got up and grabbed a pen off my desk. She scribbled something down the side of the paper.

“Come on! Let me see.” I tried to peek over her shoulder, but she shooed me away. “Hales!”

“Hold on, Q. Sheesh.”

I grumbled at her while she kept writing.

Finally she handed the sheet back to me.
Haley's Top Five Books of Fifth Grade.
Beneath her heading, she'd written down five book titles and authors. I compared them to the list the librarian had made.

“None of these are on the list.”

“Really? You don't say….” She laughed. “That's why I wrote them down, silly. It's not like your librarian has read all the books in the world. She missed some good ones.”

“But I won't get credit for reading those books. It says I have to read two books
from the list.
”

“Whose list?” Haley smiled like she'd won.

“You know which list.”

“To be fair, it just says
‘the list.'
Kind of vague, don't you think?”