River's Edge by Marie Bostwick Page A

beginning of the season. He’ll start clobbering ’em any day now. He’s just in a slump. Happens to all ball players.” He ruffled the hair on the top of his brother’s head, and Chip looked at him with half a smile, then shot a triumphant look at his sister.
    â€œWell,” said Cookie, trying to recover her command of the situation, “that’s no reason Elise shouldn’t play outfield. We could use the extra player.”
    Just as I opened my mouth to decline the offer, Junior interrupted. “She can’t play,” he said, shaking his head as though they were crazy even to think it.
    â€œWhy not?” Chip and Cookie asked simultaneously.
    â€œWell, just look at her!” Junior spat contemptuously. By now the other children had moved off the field and stood nearby, watching the conference. They all turned to look at me studiously, trying hard to catch a glimpse of whatever had made me defective in their brother’s eyes.
    â€œShe’s no ballplayer! She’s hardly even a kid. Never plays. Never runs. Never hollers. Just sits reading her book and thinking how much better she is than the rest of us. She thinks she’s too good to talk to us, never mind running after a ball. She might muss her dress or something. Isn’t that right, Fraulein Perfect?” he said, laying on a thick imitation of my German accent.
    Five sets of eyes bored into me, four of them questioning, one judging. I felt my cheeks go scarlet with embarrassment that quickly turned to irritation. “I should hope I’m not a ‘kid,’ as you call it. Isn’t that another name for a goat? That just about fits you! My parents brought me up to behave like a young lady, not a wild Indian. I am not perfect. I never said I was, but at least I know I’m a girl!”
    As soon as I spoke, I saw the wounded expression spread across Cookie’s face and I wished I could take back my words.
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?” asked Junior, his eyes narrowing.
    Searching for something to say and knowing that every answer was the wrong one, I opened and closed my mouth like a landed fish, gasping for air.
    â€œI know what she means,” Cookie said softly, her eyes filling with tears. “You mean me, don’t you, Elise? You think I don’t know I’m a girl.”
    Before I could protest or explain, she ran into the house, dropping her baseball glove on the ground. I felt awful.
    Chip, who had been ready to knock his sister into the dirt only a few minutes before, cast a look of pure hatred in my direction, picked up Cookie’s glove, and followed her into the house. The remaining Mullers trailed behind in a line of hostility with Junior taking up the rear.
    â€œA properly brought up young lady?” he sneered. “Yeah, and I’m sure your Herr Hitler is a real gentleman. Your father is an officer in the German army, isn’t he? I’m sure all those Austrians whose country you invaded think real highly of German manners.” He laughed derisively. “I’ve already seen enough of the manners of proper German young ladies to last me a lifetime. If that’s what you are, give me a plain old American girl any day of the week.” He marched off with the rest of his siblings and left me standing alone.
    I was furious with Junior for insulting Father and confused about his reference to Germany invading Austria. We’d freed the Austrians, not invaded them. At the school I’d attended after Mother died, I’d seen a film showing crowds of Austrians cheering the German troops and giving them flowers. I simply didn’t understand what Junior was talking about, and the more I thought about Junior’s cutting words, the angrier I became.
    But I was also genuinely and deeply ashamed of myself for hurting Cookie’s feelings. That was the last thing I wanted to do. Even though she was such an odd girl, she had never