Thrown a Curve by Sara Griffiths

as she said, “If you knew whatwas good for you, you’d stay out of my face.”
    “Get your hands off me,” I growled, pushing her arm away from my shoulder.
    “Or what? You’re going to hit—”
    Before she could finish, I swung a hard right toward her made-up face. My fist hit her perfect cheekbone with a loud smack. She screamed and fell to the floor, sniffling and grabbing her face.
    “Excuse me,” I said calmly, my hands trembling. I grabbed my book bag and darted out the door.

    I found refuge on the bleachers at the Little League park. No one else was there, so I sat and stared at the empty field. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting there, when I turned to see Justin climbing the bleachers. He sat down beside me and took off his hat.
    “Hey,” he said.
    “Hey.”
    “Tough day at the office, huh?” he said seriously.
    “I guess you heard.”
    “Oh, everybody heard. What in the world happened, T?”
    I sighed deeply. “I just couldn’t take it any more. Why does that bitch torture me?” I began to get choked up.
    Justin moved closer to me and bumped me with his shoulder. “Don’t let her bug you. She’s just jealous.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “She is. You have the guts to do things she wouldn’t do because it doesn’t fit into her girlie social world. It’s easier to make fun of someone for being different than to be different yourself.”
    I didn’t say anything. He kind of sounded like Sacamore. I knew Justin was trying to make me feel better, and it was sort of working.
    “Can I ask you a question, Justin?” I glanced over at him.
    “What?”
    “Why do you hang out with me?”
    “Taylor, what kind of question is that?”
    I stared out into the empty field. “Seriously. I mean, I’m a freakin’ disaster. I’m not fun to be around. I’m miserable all the time. And all I do is complain. Why would anyone want to be friends with me?”
    “You have your happy moments,” he said.
    “I can’t remember the last one. Can you? I think you must enjoy torture or something, spending all this time with me.”
    I slid back onto the bleachers so my butt was on the footrest. I felt defeated.
    Justin slid back to match my posture. “I’ll tell you why I hang out with you, T, but I don’t want you to think it’s pity, ’cause it’s not.”
    “What?” I said. What did he mean by pity ?
    “Well, I don’t think you were old enough to remember this,” he said, “but I guess I was about seven, and you were aboutfive at the time.”
    I sat and listened, confused.
    Justin continued his story. “We were at one of those block party picnics with all the neighborhood families. It was probably pretty soon after your mom left. Your dad was throwing a baseball with your brother, Brian, and you were watching, waiting for your turn. After a long time waiting, you ran over and picked up the ball they were using. You had the biggest smile on your face, and you were about to throw the ball when your dad stormed over and grabbed it from your hand. He said, ‘Taylor, Daddy and Brian are playing.’ You were so hurt, you went and sat behind a tree and cried. I remember thinking how messed up that was, even though I was only seven. I felt really bad for you. I walked over and asked if you wanted me to push you on the swings. I put you on a swing and pushed you until you laughed so hard you got the hiccups.”
    “I don’t remember that,” I said.
    “I do,” he said softly.
    “So, the reason you’re my friend is you feel bad for me ’cause my dad’s a jerk?”
    “No, that’s not why. I knew you’d misunderstand,” he said, shaking his head. He took a deep breath. “Listen, the reason I hang out with you is because that day, when I made you laugh, I felt really happy. And I guess I like that feeling. Making you happy makes me feel like I’m on top of the world. I know it’s weird, but it’s true. I want you to be happy.” He reached for my hand. “Can’t you be happy, T?”
    I sat