Upstander by James Preller (free ereaders .TXT) 📕

and basketballs and Frisbees and whatever.”

“Yeah, you’re right, that’s technically called a contraption,” Eric said.

Mary skipped off and returned with a bright green softball and two gloves. She flipped a glove to Eric, who snared it midair.

They began tossing the ball back and forth. Finally Eric said, “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

“I’m out of practice,” Mary said, somewhat doubtfully. But almost in contradiction, she expertly paced off the distance, turned, and with a flattened hand gestured for Eric to squat in the catcher’s position.

“Ready?”

Eric nodded. “Try not to hurt me.”

Mary raised her glove just below her eyes, right hand on the ball. Her face was composed, relaxed, intent. She breathed in and the machinery started: her arms swung up and back, her hips came forward, her left leg pointed straight out, and everything leaped forward as the ball zipped from beside her right thigh, fast and true.

A perfect strike.

Mary couldn’t keep the big smile off her face. It was, she decided right then and there, maybe the most beautiful pitch she’d thrown in her life.

“Nasty!” Eric took off the glove and blew on his hand, flexing his fingers. “I’m pretty sure it’s broken,” he joked, and tossed the ball back to Mary.

Mary snatched it with casual grace. “Now I’ll show you my drop pitch. When it’s on, I’m unhittable.”

32[apology]

Days passed. Mary didn’t go to Chrissie’s house or get involved in their plot against Chantel. She didn’t do a thing. Lift a finger. Or say a word. Just stood by and let it happen.

Hoping, maybe, it would play itself out.

Not bad if you can live with yourself.

There’s a tipping point in friendships, Mary had learned. It begins with a twilight stage, an in-between. During these past few weeks, Mary belonged and yet didn’t belong. Her grip was slipping. She felt it in different ways, a million subtle signs: an expert eye roll, a whisper, a comment, a “like” on social media or not, a stinging insult accompanied with an insincere smile. It came down to inclusion and its opposite, exclusion. One example: everybody signs up for a club meeting after school on Tuesday, but Mary is the last to know. She can join the group—it’s a free country, after all—but no one made the plan with Mary in mind. Come, don’t come, whatever.

Mary was like a plane that was steadily losing altitude—engine two was malfunctioning and leaking gas. Still aloft, technically, but it wouldn’t last. Only a matter of time before she hit the ground and burst into flames.

Mary could especially sense it regarding Chantel. Suddenly the hot topic wasn’t discussed anymore. Or, at least, not when Mary was around. Maybe Alexis and Chrissie didn’t trust her anymore. The hive brain understood before any individual person could articulate it: Mary still had a seat at the table, but she was out.

Summers never last.

And for Mary, the truth was, it felt fine.

Mary was ready to be her own person, no matter the cost. She also sensed trouble brewing for Eric. Something was going on between him and Griffin. Mary didn’t trust Griff, and now, for good reason, neither did Eric. She remembered what Griff said that day behind the middle school: “I told him that I was a good guy to be friends with, and a lousy enemy.”

Even worse, she heard Sinjay and Pat goading on Cody the other day, saying he should take care of business with Eric. “We’ve got your back,” Sinjay said. Mary made a decision to warn Eric to watch out. Don’t trust any of those guys. Griff was a master manipulator. When he was pulling the strings, bad things were bound to happen.

Then last night the messages went out. Texts and emails and links, the whole social media onslaught—snarky, supposedly funny, pure nastiness directed at Chantel Williams. There was even a website dedicated to it. The source of the attacks was nameless, faceless. They’d done a good job covering their tracks. Tamara must have helped; she was smart that way.

Mary didn’t sleep well that night, staring blindly into the darkness, and in the morning she stood before the bathroom mirror, facing the disapproval of her identical twin. Mary’s face frowned at her reflection, visibly unimpressed—and, yes, she could see that by the fold of her arms and the cock of a hip. Mary turned to the smaller makeup mirror on the shelf. She leaned in close, flipped it for the intense, giant close-up. What was happening to her skin? Blotches, dry patches, blackheads. Stress, probably. She applied benzoyl peroxide to her face, washed and rinsed and dried, then rubbed in an oil-free moisturizer her mom had purchased. She scowled again at her twin’s disapproving expression. If you don’t like it, do better, the face in the mirror told her. Mary nodded at the message of her wiser twin. Do better, yeah, she’d give it a whirl.

In home base, third period, Mary overheard a couple of girls laughing about Chantel. It was all over school. The big joke. Mary fumed, her face contorted in anger. Tamara snapped back, “Like you’re the innocent one. Keep your mouth shut.”

Mary had to get out of there. She literally wanted to climb out the window. Fortunately, Mr. Scofield gave her a pass. Walking down the halls, Mary felt her whole body vibrate with anger and frustration.

By lunchtime, Mary had been ostracized. Dead girl walking. She’d lost her seat at the table. Not that Mary cared anymore. Being alone felt better than sitting with the wrong people. Not that it felt good. Her thoughts flashed on Jonny. Did he ever feel like this? So sad and empty, like a plastic bag blowing in an alley, that he needed something to fill him up again? Was that why he did it? Mary gave sidelong glances at Chantel, who sat huddled with two friends. The way she sat, the expression on her face, everything about Chantel spoke of misery. She was hurting. Embarrassed and in pain.

Mary waited until lunch was over to