An Accidental Fastball to the Heart

By G.S. Berger

Rebecca always hurts the ones she loves. Except, okay, she didn't even like Emily and she only broke the other girl's nose twice, but, still. Eager—nay, desperate—to make amends for these accidental injuries, she reluctantly agreed to drive her victim on a road trip over an extended weekend, shortly before they both graduate from high school. All she wanted was forgiveness, an easing of her troubled conscience. Never could she have guessed that her tall, quiet classmate was into women - or that she's exactly Emily's type...

An Accidental Fastball to the Heart is a 200-page or 60,000-word novel about life, love, and acceptance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Usual Suspects Publishing Co. Ltd. GmbH
• Release date: Apr 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781497792678

Book preview

Part One

April brought sunshine and warmth, and, for some, a sense of impending dread. Finals were little over two months away, followed by graduation, for the seniors, or at least they hoped. Before that for the socially inclined was prom, a source of no small amount of stress and consternation. Before all of that, however, Beaner experienced what was the most terrifying and embarrassing gym class, even for her.

For a year, she'd managed to avoid Emily as much as possible, so that, even though they shared a gym class, they never actually spoke to one another. She thought about what she'd done to Emily, long ago, and wanted to say something—many things, actually— but could never bring herself to actually approach the other girl. So Beaner's questions, apologies, and doubts remained unvoiced... until April.

For two weeks, gym class would be covering dancing, as being able to do the Lindy and the Charleston was apparently considered vital components of a complete modern education. In a long stream of useless pieces of education these were hardly among the most challenging or annoying, so this wasn't viewed as a particular burden by most.

Beaner was afraid of what was going to happen as soon as the class split into two random halves. When she found out they'd be switching partners randomly every few minutes, she knew she was doomed, but put on a brave face and tried to hide her panic.

They were practicing the Waltz, and when about two-thirds of the way through the period Beaner discovered her next partner was Emily, she bravely submitted to fate, accepting that she would either have to interact with the tall, quiet girl, or cause some sort of huge scene by fleeing or fainting or vomiting blood.

So, she smiled in terror, took Emily's hand, slipped one hand around the girl's waist, and began leading her through the steps of the dance.

You're Rebecca, right? Emily asked.

Yes.

You're a friend of Wendy's.

Yeah, Beaner said. Um, look, I know we've never talked or anything, but I'd like to apologize-

Me, too, Emily said, interrupting.

Beaner faltered for a moment, and they stumbled. What?

I said some things to Wendy that I shouldn't have, a while ago. I know it upset her, but I was just kind of-

She understands. She didn't mean to upset you, or anything like that. I didn't either, I mean-

You didn't what? Emily asked, and Beaner stumbled again. Wait, why are you leading this dance, anyway? I'm taller.

Beaner  mechanically went through the motions of the dance, leading Emily, and Emily tried to switch positions to lead her, and they crashed into one another. Their legs became entwined and they stumbled and tripped. She didn't let go of Emily's hand, and the taller girl went face-first onto the wooden floor of the gym, hard.

Emily pushed herself off the floor, and sat up, cupping her nose gingerly with one hand. It's broken, isn't it?

She withdrew her hand, revealing a very misaligned nose.

Oh, crap. Not again.

I'll take that as a yes.

I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to. Honest! It was an accident.

I know. So was last time.

Look, I'm sorry, Beaner repeated, nearly crying. "I'll make it up to you, I'll pay for the bills, I'll do anything you want. Just don't do anything... drastic, okay?"

Emily just shook her head, climbed to her feet, and—watched by the rest of the class, who'd stopped to stare and whisper—walked off toward, Beaner assumed, the nurse's office.

Beaner started to follow her, but two other girls stepped in front of her, blocking her way. I just want to help her, Beaner explained.

Leave her alone, one of them said. Don't you think you've done enough already?

Beaner, misunderstood and positive that Emily—possibly everybody, come to think of it—must absolutely hate her, wound up making a scene after all, by running off to the locker room in tears.

Unlike the first time that Beaner broke her nose, Emily not only returned to class the next day, but did so dressed pretty much as she always did—in jeans and a polo shirt. That was a source of great relief to Beaner, who'd barely slept the night before, afraid that her classmate would arrive with her already dramatically short hair shaved completely off, or sporting some other change that a hyperactive, guilt-wracked mind could interpret as self-destructive. Emily's nose was swollen, and she seemed to be in pain, understandably, but otherwise, outwardly, the same person she'd been the day before.

Maybe it was the limited sleep she'd gotten, or the guilt she felt, or the way she'd finally managed to have a conversation with Emily only for it to be interrupted before she could say all that she wanted, but something made Beaner corner Emily in the locker room before gym class.

Look, Beaner said, just hear me out. I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what happened, but it was an accident. Honestly, I wasn't trying to hurt you, and I feel terrible about what's happened. I've felt horrible for the last year, so if there's anything I can do-

You can let me get dressed.

If there's anything I can do for you, anything at all, to make you forgive me, just let me know.

There's nothing to forgive, Emily said. It was an accident.

I know, Beaner said, flustered, but that's not... I mean... I'm not talking about-

Hurry up and change, already, or you're going to be late for class.

Unable to understand why talking with Emily was so difficult, and too upset to think about it clearly, Beaner threw her hands in the air in disgust, and stomped off to change. That done, she kicked her locker shut, yelled What are you looking at! to nobody in particular, and ran off to class, which was—mercifully—line dancing, something that provided precious little opportunity to either carry out conversations or inflict injuries upon anyone.

After that, she decided to stop trying to talk to Emily, since, however badly she wanted to, it just seemed to wind up making things worse. Two days later Beaner found herself eating lunch with Clarissa, a weird blue-haired girl who was one of Emily's few friends.

So, what's your beef with Emily? Clarissa wanted to know.

I don't know. It's not a beef... it's just... I don't want her to hate me, or blame me.

"She doesn't. For the last year, she's thought you hated her."

What? Why would I hate her? I'm the one who-

I'm just saying what she told me, Clarissa said. She said sometimes you look at her funny, like you're angry or something.

What? No I don't. Do I? I don't mean to!

Well, you should tell her that, then.

I tried, but it never comes out right. I just can't really talk to her, for some reason.

Have you thought about email, or texting, or something? Clarissa asked.

That seems cowardly, Beaner said. What I want to say to her should be said in person, not written.

C'mon. You're trying to apologize, not ask her out. Right?

No! I mean, right! Yeah!

So... Clarissa said, playing with a cafeteria spork.

Beaner paused for a moment. Why are you telling me this?

Because she's my friend, and I don't like to see her upset.

She's upset? Shit, will you tell her-

She's not upset. That's not... she's... confused, okay? And I'm not going to tell her anything for you. You should talk to her yourself.

But she's never tried to talk to me! Beaner exclaimed, with incomprehensible teenage logic. And when I did try to talk to her, she didn't want to.

Clarissa rolled her eyes. Look, you two are a lot alike, in more ways than you realize. Just fricking talk to her, would you? Like, after school, or something? It's for the best, for both of you.

More confused than usual, Beaner watched Clarissa walk away, then pushed what was left of her lunch away, no longer hungry.

Part Two

––––––––

She didn't hate Emily. On the contrary, if she hated anyone, it was herself, for what she'd caused the girl to do.

Almost exactly a year earlier, in the spring of their junior year, she and Emily had met for the first time in gym class, first period in the morning on a beautiful sunny day. Playing softball, Beaner—who hadn't acquired that nickname yet—had jockeyed hard to become one of the pitchers, that being one of the few things she at which was better than average. She'd held the other half of the class to two hits through three quick innings, until just before the end of class.

Emily came up to bat for the first time. Beaner didn't know the girl's name, and barely recognized her. Back then, Emily was a quiet, kind of shy girl who slavishly followed current fashion trends, for better or worse, and whose curly shoulder-length hair didn't really suit her. She was tall and lanky, and got decent grades, but was a loner with no close friends, and just generally forgettable, one of a sea of roughly average girls.

To get the batting helmet to fit, she'd tied her unruly mass of curls back in a ponytail, and that one change made a world of difference, though she was probably unaware of it.

Beaner watched Emily step up to the plate, and felt her heart skip a beat. She felt flushed, light-headed and a little confused, and had no idea why. Ignoring the tightness in her chest, she wound up and delivered the first pitch. The ball was outside, and Emily watched it speed past her for ball one. The second pitch was high and outside, and Emily watched that one speed past as well, for ball two.

The third pitch was high, and Emily almost swung, but checked in time. Ball three. As the ball was thrown back to Beaner, Emily smiled shyly from under the brim of the helmet.

Beaner saw the quirky smile that only used half of the other girl's face, and her blood raced. With a count of three balls and no strikes, the next pitch would have to be in the strike zone. There was no getting around it, but that was fine, because Beaner knew something that Emily didn't: Beaner had been holding back, not really exerting herself with pitches hovering, probably, around forty miles an hour.

After almost a decade of practice with her older sister, who went to college on a full softball scholarship, Beaner could add another fifteen miles an hour to that, and she could throw both a slider and a rising fastball, neither of which Emily had faced yet.

Smirk all you want, that's fine, but you're going to swing at this next pitch, Beaner thought as she wound up, and that's perfectly fine, too, because you haven't really seen anything yet.

She released the ball, and somehow blanked out the next several moments. When her awareness returned, she was confused. Lots of people were screaming, the plastic batting helmet lay in the dirt, and Emily was crumpled in a heap across home plate, blood dribbling between the fingers clenched over her face.

Emily was rushed off to the nurse's office, gym class adjourned early, and Rebecca almost immediately acquired the unfortunate nickname Beaner.

She felt terrible, of course. She had a pretty good idea what had happened, but how she'd lost control and hit Emily in the head was still a mystery She could only guess how much that had to hurt. She fully intended to apologize to Emily for the accident at the first opportunity.

Rumors swirled around the school about the incident, which didn't make her feel any better. Students said she'd done it on purpose, that she and Emily were fighting over a boy, or that the pitch was payback for some slight Emily had done Beaner years earlier. Beaner tried to argue, to explain, but there was no stopping high-school gossip.

It really didn't matter to her what people thought. She planned to apologize the next morning, and figured that would be that.

Emily didn't come to school the next day, though. Nor the day after that. She didn't return to school until five days later, counting the weekend, and when she did, Beaner barely recognized her.

At least she was pretty sure the student with the splint on the nose, the puffy face, and the absolutely terrifying black eye, gone by that point a dozen shades of blue, purple, and brown, pretty much had to be Emily. That was obvious, yet it still took Beaner a long moment to believe it because in those five days, everything about the girl had changed.

Gone were the trendy clothes, replaced by worn blue jeans, a ratty black T-shirt, and a pair of scuffed boots that had been in fashion a few seasons earlier. Beaner could accept that; her mind provided ready excuses—she might be prone to nosebleeds, and didn't want to stain nice clothes, perhaps. The clothes were a shock, but understandable.

Gone too, however, was the giant unruly mass of gorgeous curly hair, replaced by an extremely short pixie cut. It actually suited Emily's face much better than the shoulder-length cut had, but all Beaner could do was stare in terrified silence. She'd meant to approach Emily and apologize, but something about the haircut upset her terribly, for reasons she couldn't put words to, and so her courage disappeared and the planned apology remained unsaid.

Beaner didn't forget about it, though; on the contrary, every time she saw Emily after that, she wanted desperately to apologize for the accident, yet every time she thought about that, she felt like she was somehow responsible for Emily's abrupt makeover from an unremarkable but fashionable young woman into a slightly punk, slightly androgynous delinquent, feelings which never failed to confuse , upset, and distract her.

Part Three

––––––––

That Beaner managed to break Emily's nose again had reawakened those old, barely-suppressed feelings of guilt, and she spent the better over a week brooding and moping and wondering what on earth Clarissa had meant when she'd said they were like one another. Beaner was only broken out of her funk when the other girl again joined her at lunch one day.

It's called a conversation, Clarissa said, apropos of nothing. It requires the active participation of more than one individual. It'll require maybe five minutes of your busy life. What's the delay?

Beaner shrugged helplessly. I... don't know.

Well, Emily's going through a rough time right now, and I think it'd really help her if you told her whatever it is you want to say.

What's wrong? Is she upset about me?

Clarissa shook her head. No. Don't tell anyone, but... her dicktard of a boyfriend dumped her. With a text message, the little shithead.

Oh. That sucks. Then, a moment later, with badly-feigned nonchalance, Beaner added I didn't know she was dating anyone. Do I know the jerk?

He goes to school in one of the suburbs. I doubt you'd know him.

Oh. Well, I'll try to talk to her, then.

Yeah, Clarissa said, standing and shaking her head. You do that.

I wonder how long she's had a boyfriend, Beaner thought. Not that she really cared or had any interest, or anything. She wondered very briefly why she was surprised, and thought about that past winter.

Things had reached their climax in December, the last day of school for the year, but it had probably all started on Halloween. In the first semester Beaner had lunch with Wendy, who oh-so-casually, in retrospect, mentioned Emily that day.

Have you run into Emily yet today? Wendy asked, out of the blue.

No. Why?

She's got the most amazing costume. You should see it.

Oh? Beaner asked, not particularly interested.

She's wearing some old military dress uniform, with the hat and the shoes and everything. A guy's uniform, and I swear to God you'd never know she was a girl until she spoke.

I don't have any classes with her this semester, so I probably won't run into her.

Well, keep an eye out for her in the hallway. She's the ridiculously tall person in the uniform, Wendy added, unhelpfully.

As fate would have it, Beaner wound up passing her in the hall later in the day, and couldn't help but do a double-take. Wendy had been right, and then some. With the cap on, covering her still-short hair, Emily looked for all the world like a fresh-faced young soldier out of some old recruiting poster. She made, Beaner couldn't help but admit, a shockingly handsome guy, when she put the effort into it. Beaner's heart fluttered with panic as she watched Emily walk away, confused admiration warring with, and losing to, pangs of guilt that Beaner was at fault for, well, pretty much everything Emily-related.

Beaner wasn't the only one who spent a lot of time thinking about Emily, it turned out, though Wendy was quietly pursuing some slightly different ideas about the girl.

It all came to a surprise head on a snowy day in late December. Beaner was sitting in her car in the parking lot after school, waiting desperately for the heater to warm up and, less desperately, for Wendy to show up so she could give her a ride home. Chill aside, she was in high spirits, as classes were out for the year, end-of-semester tests were behind her, and she had Christmas and New Year's to look forward to.

Wendy came slipping and sliding across the parking lot, piled into Beaner's car, and slumped in the passenger seat, her hat-covered head resting on the dashboard.

Are you okay? Beaner asked.

No, Wendy said in something close to a sob.

Do you want to talk about it?

Wendy shook her head and sniffled. Just drive.

Seatbelt.

Fuck the seatbelt.

Wendy...

I would really like nothing more in life right now than to just up and die. Please... just drive.

So Beaner had eased the car, an ancient station wagon her parents had bought her, out of the parking lot and driven. Instead of going to Wendy's house, she got on the freeway and headed out of town, winding up at a quiet, deserted park on the edge of the suburbs.

They sat in silence for a while until Wendy, slouched in her seat and staring out the window away from Beaner, cleared her throat.

So, I'm in love, Wendy said. Or... I was, I guess.

Oh,