Coming Up Short , livre ebook

PUBLISHER S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Morrison, Laurie, author.
Title: Coming up short / Laurie Morrison.
Description: New York : Amulet Books, 2022. | Audience: Ages 10 to 14. | Summary: Seventh-grader Bea is the star short stop on her softball team, which is going to the league championship, but her world has just been turned upside down by the news that her father has been suspended from his law practice because he used some of his clients money to pay bills; worse the news has been spread by another lawyer online, and that lawyer happens to be the father of Bea s almost boyfriend, Xander; now her fielding skills are slipping, and Bea does not know which is more difficult-dealing with either pity or snickering from her schoolmates, learning to throw again, or forgiving her father.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021037663 | ISBN 9781419755583 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781647003678 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Softball-Juvenile fiction. | Embezzlement-Juvenile fiction. | Fathers and daughters-Juvenile fiction. | Families-Juvenile fiction. | Friendship-Juvenile fiction. | Forgiveness-Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Softball-Fiction. | Stealing-Fiction. | Fathers and daughters-Fiction. | Family problems-Fiction. | Friendship-Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Family / Parents | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Themes / Emotions Feelings
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.M673 Co 2022 | DDC 813.6 [Fic]-dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021037663
Text 2022 Laurie Morrison
Baseball image courtesy Antonov Maxim/Shutterstock.com
This page - this page and back jacket flap: image courtesy NTL studio/Shutterstock.com
This page : image courtesy natsa/Shutterstock.com
Book design by Deena Fleming and Chelsea Hunter
Published in 2022 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
Amulet Books is a registered trademark of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
ABRAMS The Art of Books 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007 abramsbooks.com
For my team: Mike, Cora, and Sam. And for Myles and Clint, my first (and forever) teammates.
I pound my fist into the worn pocket of my glove and crouch into fielding position.
This-right now-is what I live for. It s the softball league semifinals, and we re up 5-4 with one out in the last inning. The other team s center fielder just slapped a perfect bunt down the third base line, so she s the tying run, standing on first base and ready to take off. But there s no way she s crossing home plate. There s no way we re giving up this lead.
One down, Falcons! I shout. Play s to first or second!
The cack-cack cheer starts up on our bench and spreads through the bleachers. Cack! Cack! Cack! Faster and faster, louder and louder, with more and more people joining in.
That s the sound actual falcons make when they re protecting their nests, so it s a Butler Middle School thing, to yell Cack! Cack! when our teams are protecting a lead. I ve never heard the chant get anywhere near this loud at a softball game, though, and I freaking love it.
Adrenaline courses through my body. All these people are watching us. Parents. Teachers. The whole baseball team. Even Tyson Carter, who hates me because I got him in trouble for not doing any work on our science project, and his friends who groan when I talk too much in class. They re all here, cheering for my teammates and me.
I glance at Emilia, who s playing second base, and wiggle two fingers in the air. She nods and flashes two fingers back.
A double play ends the game right here. If there s any way Emilia and I can turn two, we will.
Let s go, Falcons! Coach Yang yells. Stay focused now. Play smart!
The other team s batter gets into her stance, bending her knees and wiggling the bat over her back shoulder.
Right here , I will her. Hit the ball to me.
There are two kinds of fielders-that s what Dad says. The ones who want to make the play with the game on the line, and the ones who hope the ball goes somewhere else because they re scared of messing up.
I never play scared. I always want to make the play.
Our pitcher, Monique, whips the ball over the inside corner of the plate, jamming the batter. The ball pops off the skinny part of the bat and bounces past Monique s outstretched glove, toward me.
Yes.
I charge.
First! First! Coach yells.
That s the safe play: tossing the ball to first base to get one out. But the other team s best hitter is in the on-deck circle, up next, and Emilia s ready at second base. I pull my arm back and throw as hard as I can.
Smack.
The ball hits the webbing of Emilia s glove and beats the lead runner by a full step. Emilia pivots and launches the ball to first base, just in time.
Out! Out! the umpire shouts, pointing to second base and then to first, and I leap into the air and scream my lungs out.
Yes!
Emilia runs over to do our double play handshake, bumping shoulders and then hips and slapping our gloves together.
You ve got guts , Bea, she yells over all the noise. I can t believe you threw to second on a dribbler! It wasn t a dribbler , I protest, even though it kind of was.
Emilia whacks my arm with the outside of her glove. It was definitely a dribbler. Not that I m complaining!
Behind home plate, Coach Yang is talking to the umpire.
Try to turn two if the ball is hit hard, go straight to first if it s not. That s her rule, and I broke it.
But Dad s the one whose voice I hear in my head when I play softball. And Dad s rule is to trust your gut and never second-guess yourself. That s when errors happen, when you let doubt in. I believed I could make that throw, and I did.
My best friend, Jessi, sprints in from center field. That was clutch, Beasy! she yells. We re going to the finals!
On the sideline, everyone is chanting, Falcons! Falcons!
Xander Berg-Thomas is there in the front. I spotted him during warm-ups because I basically have Xander Radar, so I always spot him. I didn t let myself look back at him the whole game so I wouldn t lose my focus, but I look now, and my already-full heart swells.
The rest of our teammates pile on top of Emilia, Jessi, and me. I end up at the bottom of a mass of sweaty softball players and somebody spikes my toes, but I don t even care. There s nowhere else I d rather be.
Great game, Falcons! Coach Yang calls. Let s line up and show our opponents some respect.
The other team s waiting, tears streaming down their faces because their season is over. We head over to tell them all good game, and then I scan the crowd for my parents, but I don t see them.
They were here in the bottom of the fifth inning. I saw them cheering after I scored a run. But now, I see everybody else s families except mine, which makes zero sense. My parents wouldn t miss this for the world. Literally.
There s a hand on my shoulder-Coach Yang, leading me away from the rest of my team. That was a risky play, Bea.
And, okay. There. I see Mom s reddish-brown hair and big sunglasses and Dad s red Falcons hat, white shirt, and softball tie. They re standing way far away, closer to the other team s fans than ours. They ve folded up their chairs and packed up all their stuff as if they re in a hurry to take off, which is bizarre, but they re here, waving at me. Dad pulls on his earlobe three times.
One. Two. Three.
I. Love. You.
I do it back fast and then focus on Coach.
I need you to play smart, she s telling me.
I nod, but I m not going to say sorry. That s a Mom thing: not saying you re sorry when you haven t done anything wrong. Mom says apologies should be reserved for expressing remorse when you ve done something you regret, but girls are conditioned to apologize whenever anyone else is the tiniest bit unhappy and it strips away our power, apologizing so much.
I know the safe play was throwing to first, I say. But I didn t want to give their best hitter a chance to beat us.
Coach Yang shakes her head. If one thing had gone wrong, though. If your throw had been a few inches off, or if Emilia hadn t been ready for the ball, we would have given away an out. That could have cost us the game.
I take a breath before I speak so I won t sound like I m talking back. I did check that Emilia was ready. I wouldn t have thrown to second if she wasn t.
Coach sighs and finally cracks a smile. It was an impressive play, Bea. Most high school varsity shortstops can t make a throw like that, and you re in seventh grade.
I grin back. Thanks, Coach. I m practically bursting with pride as I follow her back to the bench, where she congratulates the whole team.
We ve got a championship game in two short days, she tells us. But we ll talk more about that at practice tomorrow. For now, get your stuff and grab your people. Let s head to Luigi s!
We all erupt in cheers, because Luigi s is where we go to celebrate our biggest wins. We sit together at the long tables in front and recap the best moments of the game while we stuff our faces with extra-cheese pizza. And Coach names a player of the day, who gets the game ball as a souvenir and a Nutella-filled dessert calzone.
Everybody heads off to find their families, and Jessi adjusts the clips that hold back the front pieces of her long black hair. You think I can get a ride with you? My parents are probably going to want to take the goofballs home.
She points to the sideline, where her five-year-old brothers, Jack and Justin, are picking dandelions and shrieking as they rub the yellow part on each other s cheeks.
Of course. M