said as he wiped his forehead on the bottom of his shirt. “It might be kind of weird having a girl on the team. I mean, what about the locker room?”
Several of the other Hawks snickered and started to pick up their bikes.
“At my old school, I used the girls’ locker room,” Joelle said, shrugging. “It was no big deal.”
“Yeah, but there’s a lot of important stuff that goes on in a locker room. Team building stuff,” Hughes said. “You’d miss all that.”
“Hey, I’ve hung out with guys all my life,” Joelle said. “And I’ve always been a team player.”
“Well, you can hang with us here,” Hughes said as heswung his leg over the back of his bike. “But at school, forget it, okay?”
Joelle just sighed. This was totally hopeless.
“Ready to go, Carlyle?” another boy said over his shoulder.
“I’m heading the other way today,” Ryan replied. “Go on without me.”
“Okay.” His friend shrugged. “Later, then.” He pedaled off with the rest of the guys.
Ryan walked his bike over to Joelle. “So do you live around here?” he asked.
Joelle blinked in surprise. “I live on Morgan Road.”
Ryan nodded. “We’re on Hodges.”
Joelle had no idea where Hodges was. But it must have been near Morgan because Ryan started walking his bike beside her.
It was kind of strange, really. Joelle tried to seem casual, but she wasn’t sure how to act around Ryan. Was it because Ryan seemed to like her? Or because his dad coached the Hawks?
Either way, she felt totally nervous.
Ryan didn’t seem all that comfortable either.
So why is he walking with me, then?
Joelle wondered.
When they walked up the hill toward Morgan Road, Ryan said finally, “Just for the record, I think my dad should let you play.”
“Really?” Joelle glanced sideways at him.
“I told him I thought so, too.”
“You did?” That was before he had even seen her play.
“Yeah. It didn’t do any good, though,” Ryan said, kicking at a stick. “My dad’s kind of …”
Sexist?
Joelle offered silently.
“I don’t know … kind of set in his ways, I guess,” Ryan went on. “He’s really big on rules, too. But I think that deal about girls playing softball and boys playing baseball is stupid.”
Joelle raised her eyebrows. “You do?”
Ryan just nodded.
Hmm
, Joelle thought.
Ryan Carlyle isn’t anything like his dad.
They stopped at the corner. “I go this way now,” Ryan said, pointing toward the other street. He adjusted the visor of his cap and added, “We play ball at the park pretty much every Saturday. You can come next week if you want.”
“Okay,” Joelle said as Ryan hopped onto his bike and took off. “Thanks.”
She just might show up.
Chapter Eight
J oelle was dreading her clarinet audition during study hall on Tuesday. Chair tryouts included both scales and sight-reading, the same as in Minneapolis.
She never minded the sight-reading part. It was the scales that always killed her. Probably because she never practiced. “That was fine, Joelle,” Mr. Corcoran said after she played her A-flat scale. “Let’s do the chromatic scale now.”
Joelle took a big breath, then started to play. The first few notes usually gave her trouble, but today her pinky rolled right over the keys. She continued on up into the middle register, slowing down when she reached the upper range. Her high notes were pretty screechy, but at least she’d hit them. She snuck in another breath, then started back down.
Mr. Corcoran wrote something on his clipboard. “Okay, good,” he said when she reached the end.
Good? Joelle wouldn’t have gone that far. But Mr. Corcoran was that kind of teacher. He reminded Joelle of her coach back in Minneapolis. Coach Perry made everyone feel good, whether they were decent players or not.
“So, now that you’ve been here a couple weeks, how are you settling in at Hoover?” Mr. Corcoran asked as Joelle swabbed out her clarinet.
“I’m doing fine,
Several of the other Hawks snickered and started to pick up their bikes.
“At my old school, I used the girls’ locker room,” Joelle said, shrugging. “It was no big deal.”
“Yeah, but there’s a lot of important stuff that goes on in a locker room. Team building stuff,” Hughes said. “You’d miss all that.”
“Hey, I’ve hung out with guys all my life,” Joelle said. “And I’ve always been a team player.”
“Well, you can hang with us here,” Hughes said as heswung his leg over the back of his bike. “But at school, forget it, okay?”
Joelle just sighed. This was totally hopeless.
“Ready to go, Carlyle?” another boy said over his shoulder.
“I’m heading the other way today,” Ryan replied. “Go on without me.”
“Okay.” His friend shrugged. “Later, then.” He pedaled off with the rest of the guys.
Ryan walked his bike over to Joelle. “So do you live around here?” he asked.
Joelle blinked in surprise. “I live on Morgan Road.”
Ryan nodded. “We’re on Hodges.”
Joelle had no idea where Hodges was. But it must have been near Morgan because Ryan started walking his bike beside her.
It was kind of strange, really. Joelle tried to seem casual, but she wasn’t sure how to act around Ryan. Was it because Ryan seemed to like her? Or because his dad coached the Hawks?
Either way, she felt totally nervous.
Ryan didn’t seem all that comfortable either.
So why is he walking with me, then?
Joelle wondered.
When they walked up the hill toward Morgan Road, Ryan said finally, “Just for the record, I think my dad should let you play.”
“Really?” Joelle glanced sideways at him.
“I told him I thought so, too.”
“You did?” That was before he had even seen her play.
“Yeah. It didn’t do any good, though,” Ryan said, kicking at a stick. “My dad’s kind of …”
Sexist?
Joelle offered silently.
“I don’t know … kind of set in his ways, I guess,” Ryan went on. “He’s really big on rules, too. But I think that deal about girls playing softball and boys playing baseball is stupid.”
Joelle raised her eyebrows. “You do?”
Ryan just nodded.
Hmm
, Joelle thought.
Ryan Carlyle isn’t anything like his dad.
They stopped at the corner. “I go this way now,” Ryan said, pointing toward the other street. He adjusted the visor of his cap and added, “We play ball at the park pretty much every Saturday. You can come next week if you want.”
“Okay,” Joelle said as Ryan hopped onto his bike and took off. “Thanks.”
She just might show up.
Chapter Eight
J oelle was dreading her clarinet audition during study hall on Tuesday. Chair tryouts included both scales and sight-reading, the same as in Minneapolis.
She never minded the sight-reading part. It was the scales that always killed her. Probably because she never practiced. “That was fine, Joelle,” Mr. Corcoran said after she played her A-flat scale. “Let’s do the chromatic scale now.”
Joelle took a big breath, then started to play. The first few notes usually gave her trouble, but today her pinky rolled right over the keys. She continued on up into the middle register, slowing down when she reached the upper range. Her high notes were pretty screechy, but at least she’d hit them. She snuck in another breath, then started back down.
Mr. Corcoran wrote something on his clipboard. “Okay, good,” he said when she reached the end.
Good? Joelle wouldn’t have gone that far. But Mr. Corcoran was that kind of teacher. He reminded Joelle of her coach back in Minneapolis. Coach Perry made everyone feel good, whether they were decent players or not.
“So, now that you’ve been here a couple weeks, how are you settling in at Hoover?” Mr. Corcoran asked as Joelle swabbed out her clarinet.
“I’m doing fine,
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