Kate Kellner Throws a Wicked Changeup

By Mindy Killgrove

Farrington High School Junior, Kate Kellner, has her whole future planned and a list of high-priority goals aligned. This season, she's going to lead the Fighting Falcons to their first ever Midlands Conference title, break all the school pitching records, and impress a boatload of college recruiters so she can pick where she wants to go after s

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mindy Killgrove
• Release date: Mar 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869283801

Mindy Killgrove

Mindy Killgrove is the author of the Kate Kellner Trilogy, the Missy Lawrence Trilogy, the Kanedy Productions Trilogy, and is the creator of the Riley Roundtree Social Story Learning Adventures Series. In 2013, shortly after its publication, MEET ME AT THE POND, the first book in the Missy Lawrence trilogy, was selected as the Reader's Choice Award winner for "Chick Lit./ Romance" by the Blogger Book Fair group. Most notably, Killgrove is a professional ghostwriter. She has penned one play, forty-one short stories, and thirty-six novels all while working as a freelance author.​In addition to crafting romance stories, Killgrove has devoted decades to creating classroom resources that can be used in grades K-12. More than 250 educational resources are available through her TeachersPayTeachers Store. Her work with the RILEY ROUNDTREE SOCIAL STORY LEARNING ADVENTURE SERIES is currently featured on her popular YouTube channel under the heading: THAT'S ALL SHE WROTE PRODUCTIONS.​Her past writing credits include working for the New London Record as a sports reporter and the Heidelberg University newspaper, the Kilikilik. Her work was also published in Heidelberg University's Morpheus Literary Magazine.​She passed on her love of literature and athletics to her students for more than fifteen years as a teacher. In that time, she served as the advisor for a high school newsmagazine, the drama director, and the coach of various sports teams, including softball, girls basketball, dance, and cross country.​She has a bachelor's degree from Heidelberg University and a master's degree from Bowling Green State University. Killgrove is a member of the Autism Society of Greater Orlando (ASGO), the Philalethean Society, and the Jane Austen Society of North America (JASNA). She lives in Orlando, Florida with her supportive husband and three rambunctious, but beautiful children. When she's not writing or reading, she's exploring local theme parks, lounging on the beach, or aiming to bake the very best chocolate chip cookies in the world.

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Chapter Two

Special K? Ty asked a few minutes later leading the way as we jogged slowly to get our momentum going. We coasted right out of the parking lot and rounded the corner, making a big sweeping right hand turn to avoid colliding with the snow piles which were mounded near the edge of the high school.

What? As soon as we’d left the cozy warmth of the building, I’d pulled my woolly black snow cap over top of my head, and it was covering my ears making everything he said into a muffled garble.

Special K? he repeated as I lifted the left side of my hat and tucked it around the curve of my ear so I could hear him better. Who’s that?

I laughed roughly, still trying to get my bearings, including managing my breathing and keeping my footing sure on the slick pavement. I guess that’s me.

Another nickname? Ty groaned slightly.

All athletes have them, ya know, I returned, pumping my arms exuberantly, trying to force myself to move a little faster so I could keep pace with him.

But you’ve already got dozens, he said.

I snorted. Not dozens.

Kay-Kay, Kate the Great, K8, Lady Katherine, Lady K, Killa K, Backwards K, Katie…

All right, I get it, I interrupted. I’ve got enough nicknames as is, but I kind of like Special K.

It’s breakfast food, Ty said grumpily, and I twisted my neck so I could look at his silhouette. The moon was out in full force and its glow illuminated most of my best friend’s features. I couldn’t tell if his cheeks were still as red as they’d been indoors, but now, I could see the grim set of his pillowy lips and the way his slender nostrils flared slightly as he breathed deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth.

What’s wrong with breakfast food? I countered. Aren’t you always touting the belief that pancakes are suitable any time of day?

"People should be able to eat pancakes any time they feel like it, Ty snapped, and we jogged on for another few seconds in silence before he added, but I think you just like the new name because that guy Gravy gave it to you."

Gravy? I giggled. His name is Grady, and you know it.

How would I know that? Ty pulled ahead a little further, making me really stretch my legs to match his stride. I only just met him.

So did I, I gasped, panting because it was taking a lot of effort to carry my bags and run by his side while keeping up with this meandering and slightly confusing conversation. But even if I’d forgotten his name entirely, I’d have known he wasn’t called Gravy.

Gravy… Grady… Ty grumbled moodily. Same difference. He paused and gave me a quizzical look. Why do you care what I call him anyway?

I don’t know, I answered, mulling over the matter before continuing. But he seemed nice enough and it must be tough being new in town, especially a small town like this one, where everybody already knows everybody else. I hummed pensively. He’s got to be a junior, like us, or maybe he’s even a senior, but I guess I could be wrong about that. All I can say for sure is that it’d be terrible to move to a new place halfway through senior year. I sighed. But he didn’t tell me a whole lot so…

"What did he tell you?" Ty asked in a clipped manner.

I shrugged. Not much. Just that his family moved to town around Christmastime, but I’d never seen him before he walked into the gym tonight.

And what was he doing there? He slowed up a touch and I was appreciative of that, so I sucked in a huge gulp of air gratefully before answering.

Watching me pitch, I replied, but then quickly amended my statement. Or maybe not watching but commenting on my pitching.

Commenting? Ty turned to look at me and his green eyes narrowed as splashes of moonlight filtered through the snow-laden tree branches overhead. What does that guy know about pitching?

I shrugged, which was an achievement, considering the packs I had on my back. He says he’s trying out for the baseball team. Wants to be the catcher. So, he probably knows a little about pitching, too.

He scoffed, clearly unimpressed by these meager credentials. What did he…?

Ty, I interrupted, tell me about indoor track practice. I didn’t know much more about Grady than I’d already shared with my best friend but each time I said Grady’s name, I felt that warm tingle jolting up my spine, so I wanted to try and steer the conversation toward safer, less blush-inducing territory.

What do you want to know? he said slowly.

Everything, I demanded. What’d you do? Who was there? What did Coach Armstrong say about Danny missing the last meet?

For the next several minutes, Ty talked endlessly about the drama that enveloped the Farrington Falcons indoor track team. They’d had a stellar start to their season, but as it was coming to a close and the participants were supposed to be gearing up to transition into the normal, outdoor track and field competitions, a few of the seniors had decided they wanted to take a break. Danny Williams, one such senior, had gone so far as to skip an entire meet last Saturday and everyone, including Ty and me, had wondered what his punishment might be for such a flagrant disregard of the rules, regulations, and fidelity that was supposed to bind him to his teammates.

Coach wasn’t sure what to do, Ty answered. If he suspended Danny for the next two meets, that would’ve made sense, maybe. But wouldn’t he just be giving Danny what he wanted? A little time off?

Maybe, I replied.

But if he made Danny stay and participate, then what good would that do? Ty barked crisply in a rather demanding voice. I could tell he was perturbed because Danny hadn’t only been a friend to Ty, but also had served as the team’s captain. And if Danny Williams wasn’t taking the season seriously anymore, then other members of the squad might follow his lead.

I felt sorry for my best bud because while he ran most of the events on his own, he did participate in two relays, and needed his teammates to be fully present to win those races. So, what did Coach decide?

He didn’t, Ty said, allowing bitterness to seep into his words. Coach Armstrong just acted like nothing ever happened. He gave us our assignments for the day and that was that.

I shook my head, feeling indignant on behalf of my friend. I wanted to tell him some of my woes to try and commiserate. It’s not the same at all, I realize that, but at softball practice today, Coach and the others were all prepared to put in a good, solid thirty minutes, and as soon as that was over, everybody was ready to go home. I breathed deeply, relishing the bite of the cold evening air as it stung the back of my throat and down into my lungs. How do any of them expect to win this season if they’re all taking off as soon as they get tired or feel like doing something else?

Right? Ty agreed. It’s like, I’m exhausted too, but you don’t see me quitting practice early or staying home on Saturday morning just so I can catch a little shut eye. He usually ran with his hands in loose fists, but I watched as his fingers tightened and he began squeezing his hands, clenching, and unclenching them quickly. You get it, Kay-Kay. So, why can’t other people understand, too? If you make a commitment, you’ve got to be willing to go all in on it.

I know, I murmured. Grady and I were having a similar conversation. He wanted to know why I was the only one left in the multipurpose room and…what? I stopped talking because Ty had slowed his pace drastically and was looking at me squarely.

Grady again? he asked with a touch of annoyance.

Yeah. So?

I thought you wanted to talk about track practice, he pointed out.

"We were talking about track, but I wanted to tell you about the first day of pitchers and catchers, too."

Ty’s brows furrowed. Then tell me about softball.

I was, I retorted.

No, he countered. You were talking about Grady.

Fine, I huffed. I won’t mention his name again.

Thanks, he grumbled.

We ran on quietly for a few moments. It was sort of nice to listen to the crunching of our sneakers as they connected with the thin layer of snow. The soft rumble of car tires was also soothing in a way because it indicated that our friends and neighbors were also turning in for the day and heading home. But as the silence lengthened, an awkwardness wiped away all the contented feelings.

I don’t like this. Ty’s never this quiet. There must be something about Grady that’s bothering him. Maybe he knows more about him than he’s letting on and he’s just not willing to tell me.

But that didn’t seem like Ty’s personality, either. If he had something to say, he usually just came right out with it.

I’m going to have to take charge of the situation. If Ty’s stewing about something or even keeping a secret, I’d better start prying it out of him now.

I know we just agreed that I wouldn’t say Grady’s name again, I began slowly, not wanting to agitate Ty further, but I’ve got to know why he’s thrown you so off-balance.

I’m not off-balance, Ty grunted, skipping over a mound of snow lithely, as if to prove his agility.

You know what I mean, I said, adding some pleading undertones to my words. Something’s wrong. I can tell. And if you know something about Grady, I’d sure love to hear it.

You said you just met him tonight, but it seems like he made a pretty big impression on you, Ty commented dryly.

Are you purposely not answering the question? I snapped.

What question? he rejoined.

I groaned. What’s wrong?

Nothing, he said, turning so that I could no longer look at much more than the back of his head. For anybody else, it might’ve been uncomfortable to run in such a position, but we were both already slowing, decreasing our speed as we reached the corner of Parkland Street and our respective houses. Plus, Ty was better than the average runner anyway.

If… I ventured, there’s something you want to say…anything at all…I wish you’d tell me right now. If you think Grady’s bad news, you just say the words and I’ll…

What? Ty pulled up short. We were at the end of the gravel driveway that led toward my house, and it was an odd place to stop, so I had to skid to a halt to avoid bumping into him. You’ll stay away from him?

I stared at Ty in disbelief. "Do I need to stay away from him?"

He shook his head. Kay-Kay, if I asked you to forget all about this Grady guy, would you?

What’s to forget? I replied. I only just met him and…

Kate, he barked, you’re dodging. He reached up and jerked his hat off his head, revealing his mad cap of matted red hair. You were supposed to be focused on practice tonight. You have your list of goals and I thought…

I didn’t forget about my goals just because I happened to have a short conversation with a new guy, I muttered darkly, giving Ty my best annoyed look. And it’s not every day that we get new people in Farrington anyway. Is it now a crime to be interested when someone does turn up?

Just… Ty started, but then the porch light snapped on, the front door swung open, and my mom stood there, separated from us by only the screen door and a small stretch of front yard.

A lot of people liked to tell me that I looked like a younger version of my mom, but I didn’t see it. We had the same face shape, round, but lacking fullness, and our eyes were steely blue, but outside of that, we didn’t have much in common. Mom was on the short side, whereas I was considered tall for a girl, standing at five feet, seven inches. Her hair was brown and curly, but mine was long, stick straight, and so blonde that sometimes it looked as yellow as lemon zest. Even our taste in clothing was at odds with each other. I wore tightly fitted clothing in mostly neutral shades like black, white, and beige because I didn’t want anything to get in my way while I was working out. Even my overly large winter coat was snug fitting because I knew that I needed to preserve my freedom of movement and be capable of wearing it while I was running. But Mom tended to wear clothes that were roomy and attention grabbing. Case in point, tonight she had on a pair of comfy, black sweatpants that had a red racing stripe running up the sides of both legs. Her red and black sweatshirt with the words Farrington Falcons Rule scripted in stylized writing across the chest were outlined in sparkling silver glitter and the pair of square-cut, eggplant-colored glasses she wore on the bridge of her nose were rimmed with tiny glistening gemstones.

What’s going on out there? Mom asked, raising her voice a tad. Kate? Is that you?

Yeah, I grumbled, pausing to hitch up one of the straps of my backpack that was trying to slide its way down the length of my arm. And Ty’s here, too.

Come on inside, she offered. I made plenty of supper, but if we don’t eat now, it’ll get cold.

Can’t you just leave it in the oven? I replied and even though I couldn’t see my mother’s expression clearly, I knew from the way she cleared her throat sharply that she wasn’t about to hold dinner a minute longer.

Thanks, Mama Kellner, Ty called, waving his hand courteously, but I’d probably better go home and shower. I’ll just have some leftovers at my own house and…

Mom threw open the screen door and held it. You two get inside before you turn into popsicles, she scolded.

Ty and I looked at each other and I shrugged. We were on uneven ground, venturing into territory we’d never traversed before. Ty and I rarely disagreed or argued about anything and I, for one, had wanted to see where our conversation was heading. But my mom wasn’t to be challenged. If we didn’t scoot inside within the next ten seconds, she might be tempted to march out here and shepherd us indoors, not caring at all that we’d been in the middle of something that I considered important.

But why is this so important?

I stared at Ty, waiting for him to make the first move and follow my mother’s orders.

If I like Grady, what’s that got to do with Ty? And wait…do I like Grady? I only just met him and…

Move, Mom hissed and without further ado, I hustled after Ty, running toward the warmth of the house and my mother’s invitation to have dinner. I’d have to sort out my feelings about Grady later, but perhaps that was a good thing. Putting a little space between myself and Ty might help me better understand what I was thinking about Grady.

Chapter Three

There they are! Dad greeted us as if we’d been gone for ages. He was still wearing the navy-blue suit jacket and crimson, charcoal, and blue checked tie he’d put on before going into the insurance sales office this morning, but he’d loosened the tie slightly and it sat askew. Dad’s brown hair, just a shade lighter than Mom’s chestnut-colored locks, was brushed slightly to the side and I could tell that any day now, he’d be heading into the salon so he could get it cut. He liked to keep those locks trimmed neatly and any little tendril out of place perturbed him tremendously.

You’re finally home, he continued, holding out both hands to help divest me of my backpacks and take Ty’s jacket from him. With his arms loaded down, Dad crossed the room, and plopped all our stuff onto the coat rack in the corner. He’d always treated Ty like he was one of the family and this wasn’t the first time that he’d joined us for dinner. Ty had six brothers and sisters. But I was an only child, so my folks waited around until I got home to eat supper every night. Mrs. Masterson served dinner when it made the most sense for everybody. If one of her kids wasn’t home when it was time to eat, she just wrapped up their portion and stuffed it in the fridge. I’m starving, kids. Dad turned back toward us and patted his small paunch. And you won’t believe what Mama’s made for dinner tonight.

I lifted my chin and sniffed the air, catching a whiff of something that was both beefy and spicy. Ty copied the motion and at the same time we turned to each other and whispered, Tacos?

Mom shrugged. I didn’t know what time you’d be home, so I wanted to make something that’d keep.

But out in the yard just now, you said… I started to point out what had just gone down a few minutes before, but Dad didn’t let me pursue that line of reasoning.

This way, he said, lifting both hands and waving them, shooing us into the kitchen. We’ve got no time to waste.

The living room, kitchen, and dining area were all part of one small, open floor plan in my house. There was a large archway that led from the living room, which was crammed with a couch, love seat, armchair, television, and the coat rack to the kitchen which contained the eat-in dining room set. Some people might have felt cramped or even claustrophobic in such a confined space, but I loved being able to move from one spot in my house to the next without fuss or trouble. Plus, with the kitchen so close to the living room, I didn’t have to go very far when it was time to join the family for our nightly meal together.

As Dad slid into his place at the head of the table and Ty took his spot in the vacant chair across from mine, I helped Mom get the food on the table. She piled each plate high with three tacos, featuring crispy, crunchy tortilla shells, generous scoops of ground beef, a bundle of shredded lettuce, and a sprinkling of Colby-jack cheese. My mouth started watering, just considering the prospect of finally having dinner after the long practice and running home. Once everyone was served, Dad said a quick blessing over the meal, and we dug in with gusto. Mom passed around a bag of tortilla chips and I tipped a heaping portion onto the side of my plate before reaching for the jar of salsa that was in the middle of the table. Ty was grasping for the plastic container at the same time and when both our hands clamped down on it, I laughed. But he didn’t. His eyes swiveled away from mine and quickly, as if the touch of my fingers against his own might have burned him, he dropped his hand away.

Ty, I said quietly, are you…?

I want to know all about your day, Mom jumped in, either because she had noticed the brief awkwardness and wanted to gloss right over it, or she hadn’t and just wished to get the conversational ball rolling. How was the first day of pitchers and catchers? Any one new show up?

Abs was there, I said, glancing toward my mom.

She snickered. "Naturally. Abigail isn’t just a catcher. She’s your catcher. Where else would she be after school today?"

I tipped my head back and forth, like the pendulum on a clock, indicating the matter could’ve gone one way or another. She actually wasn’t sure she was going to come, I replied. "There were some issues with her sneaking out of basketball practice and her coach didn’t love the idea of sharing her with the softball team just