Read Everybody's Daughter for Free Online

believe it. His lips touched hers.”
    “He must have forgotten his vows,” said Tyler.
    “Saint Andrew is a mere mortal,” said Wendy. “I’ve always suspected as much.”
    During the first week of school Andy had said in a senior seminar on personal relationships that he thought waiting for marriage to have sex wasn’t such a bad idea. The statement had quickly become school myth, and because of the ensuing teasing Andy had long since regretted his words.
    Beamer threw a sharp look at Sarah. She could almost feel Andy’s tension, and she knew he was having murderous thoughts about narrow-minded North Woods idiots. The second warning bell rang, and the others left. “I want to hear the whole bomb story at lunch,” said Sarah over her shoulder.
    “Softball game,” said Beamer. “Besides, haven’t you read the papers? It’s all there.” She waved to her friends as they moved away, then turned and reached into her locker. Andy stroked her back as she leaned over.
    “You sure sounded beat last night.”
    “It was a terrible day. Thanks for not calling. The phone never stopped ringing. Even my mother almost lost her cool a few times.” They walked quickly toward their classrooms. The halls were nearly deserted, and Beamer paused outside her room to return his kiss. “I’ll tell you everything later.” They parted just as the final bell rang.
    Beamer was a good student. School was easy and too often became boring. The tedium of daily attendance was relieved by seeing friends during the five-minute breaks between classes and, in winter, playing softball during the lunch period.
    “Winter softball is not a game for wimps,” she had said to Andy after the season’s first game. That day she had grazed her cheek by sliding across the icy outfield on her face and belly after successfully fielding a long ball.
    “No wimps, only fools,” he had replied. “Why don’t you at least wear cleats? There must have been over twenty collisions out there today.”
    “Not allowed. Definitely not allowed. Slipping is half the fun, and sliding is a real skill.”
    He had touched her cheek gently. “Your skills are a little rusty, aren’t they?”
    The softball diamond was laid out on a large frozen pond on county property adjacent to the school parking lot. The games were only loosely organized and not an official school activity; the students who played were responsible for maintaining the field.
    Every lunch hour, unless the temperature failed to rise above zero, Beamer and twenty others played ball. The games were restricted to upperclassmen. There was no league, and there were no games with other teams until WinterFest, in late February, when the regular players voted for the fifteen best to compete in a season-ending tournament with other teams from the area. Beamer’s batting average was high, her fielding was impeccable, and her ability to throw a ball to home plate while skidding across glaring ice was unmatched. She was a shoo-in for the tournament team.
    The games were the lunch period social center. A regular crowd of spectators congregated around a bonfire a short distance behind home plate, roasting hot dogs, heating carafes of cocoa, toasting marshmallows, and cheering the antics and heroics on the playing field.
    Softball would be an especially welcome diversion today, Beamer thought as she left her fourth-period classroom and headed toward the locker room. The questioning about the bombing had persisted all morning. Mr. Macauley had even suggested postponing a history quiz for a discussion of “this most reprehensible act.”
    “Don’t expect me to contribute anything,” Beamer had promptly said. They took the quiz.
    She quickly changed into her sweatsuit. As she jogged out to the diamond, she glanced down at her gray, formless body. “That’s why I like this sport,” she said to two other players as she sprinted past them. “With baggy uniforms like this, you can run and no one notices your