Thrown a Curve by Sara Griffiths Page A

back up onto the seat and thought about what Justin had just said. He slid back up next to me. “You’re crazy,” I said. “And why do we keep ending up holding hands?”
    “’cause it makes you smile,” he answered. And then it happened—practically in slow motion. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek, and then slowly moved his mouth to kiss mine. And I kissed him back.
    It wasn’t like striking out a batter, but it was pretty darn close.

C HAPTER 12

    W hen I got home that evening, I started thinking about what Justin had said about my dad. Why was Dad so involved with my older brother all the time and totally annoyed and disgusted with me? He wasn’t home from work yet, so I snuck into his room and started poking around. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but I needed something to keep the whole Stacy Downbaer incident off my mind. I was sure Dad had gotten a phone call from the school, and I was in deep trouble with him already, so getting caught going through his stuff couldn’t make my situation much worse.
    I didn’t know much about my mom or why she’d left. Dad never talked about it. Brian always said she was never happy, and he figured she’d found something to make her happy, so she left. It was funny. I’d been so mad at my dad for hating me that I wasn’t mad at my mother for leaving. I was happy she’d been able to get away from this miserable place. Someday, I’d get away, too.
    Digging around in the back of Dad’s closet, I came across a photo album I’d never seen before. The only picture I had of my mother was their wedding photo, and in that picture, she was all made-up like a doll, so it was hard to see what she really looked like. I’d always assumed Dad had thrown away all otherpictures of her.
    I flipped open the album. It seemed to be full of pictures of my mom when she was younger. In many of the photos, she had long, stringy brown hair, just like mine. I knew her parents had died before I was born, and she was an only child. I continued looking at the different shots of her—in a school uniform, blowing out birthday candles . . . and then, I found it—just as my father walked into the room.
    “What are you doing in here, young lady?” he demanded.
    Stuffing the album under my shirt, I ran to my room and slammed the door, locking it behind me.
    He followed me. “Taylor Dresden, open this door! And what is this I hear about a fight at school? Do you know I have to meet with the principal at 7:30 Monday morning about this? Young lady, if you do not open this door, you’ll have bigger problems than suspensions.”
    I opened the door. He was standing there, red in the face, with his hands on his hips. “So what do you have to say about all this?” he said.
    “I hit some girl,” I answered, looking at the floor.
    “Yeah, I heard that part,” he said, obviously upset. “For any particular reason?”
    All of a sudden, I didn’t care any more about making him mad. I wasn’t afraid of him. “For the particular reason that she’s a bitch.” I began to laugh.
    He paused, unamused, and took a breath. “Two weeks, no TV, no visits to Justin’s. Be waiting in the car at 7:00 Mondaymorning. Good night.” He went into his room and closed the door.
    I sat on my bed and pulled out the picture. It was a shot of my mother in a softball uniform. She looked about fifteen years old, and her jersey said “Lowell High School.” I turned the picture over. Someone had scribbled “Ellen’s first win.”

C HAPTER 13

    M onday morning was as bad as I had expected. Dad didn’t say a word to me on the ride to school. When we got to the vice-principal’s office, we had to wait twenty minutes before he called us in—it seemed like years.
    “Mr. Dresden?” I finally heard as the vice-principal came out. I watched my father shake his hand. “You and your daughter can step inside now.”
    I walked into the office and sat in the first empty chair I saw. Sacamore was already