his own advice and deleted most of the drama in favor of more scenes with Willow, and in my opinion, he was turning it into a boring spectacle.
But as I watched the opposing fans from my position at second base, I could see the hate in their eyes, and it always saddened me that adults would behave this way. Word around all these small, hardscrabble Maine towns must have gotten out that Willow lived in a massive home on Harper’s Point. Not all the adults acted this way, but enough of them did that their antics stayed with me. I felt for her. It wasn’t her fault she came from wealth and hadn’t grown up in Maine. Softball seemed like a stupid game, anyway, and one that most of us would never play after high school. I would have quit then and there had it not been so much fun watching the opposing teams suffer defeat after defeat. Then watching as the other teams’ players were forced to line up in humiliation and shake Willow’s hand. One team even refused to shake hands with us afterward, protesting that Willow was not a legal Maine resident.
We were a team in name only. Or a team splintered into three parts and playing under the umbrella of Shepherd’s Bay High School. There was Willow, and there was the rest of us. Then there was Willow and me pitted against the rest of the team. Bad enough that the opposing teams talked smack about Willow, but to hear her own teammates say nasty things about her made me furious. It brought me even closer to her and cemented our friendship. It felt like us against them—our own teammates, as well as the opposing teams.
And yet I kept a psychic distance from her so as to preserve my sanity. She knew how to push my buttons. It was the only thing that kept me from worshipping at her feet. I never forgot watching her get into Dakota’s Jeep that day. Whether I was right or wrong about their intentions, perception fueled my reality. The more I got to know Willow, the more I came to realize that she used people for the things she wanted. Coach Hicks, for example, despite his harsh discipline, appeared enamored with her after those first few practices. His infatuation didn’t bother me, because for whatever reason, it didn’t strike me as creepy. I think he felt the way I did: fortunate just to be in her orbit. As far as coaching went, I overheard him tell a parent one day that a player like Willow came around only once in a lifetime.
His partiality didn’t bother me, obvious as it was. In most of her classes, she earned average grades, although everyone knew she could earn all As if she applied herself. We all knew that Willow was smart and articulate and would go on to do great things in life. To get into an argument with her on any subject was an invitation to be humiliated. I wouldn’t deem it bullying, but I wouldn’t not call it that, either.
The spring went by in a blur, especially after Dakota went missing. Thinking back, I can’t quite remember my state of mind when I heard about it. Maybe I was so busy with school and softball, and trying to appease Drew, that it never fully registered. Maybe I really didn’t believe he was gone, or maybe I thought that he would soon return home. I never once believed that someone had killed Dakota. Dakota wrestled and played football; he was clearly a boy who could take care of himself. He constantly talked to me about moving away and seemed eager for the day to come. He couldn’t wait to get away from this town and his overbearing mother.
Wherever we went as a team, Gil followed. He interviewed team members separately and together and filmed them when they didn’t realize they were being filmed. Some girls played up to the camera, while others ignored it. I guess I leaned toward ignoring it most of the time. I didn’t mug or act any different when he pointed that weapon at me. I tried to blend into the background, similar to how I went about things in my everyday life. Besides, I knew that we wouldn’t play prominently in the show and that most of the juicy scenes would be cut.
That’s because Gil loved filming his daughter the most. On the field, dressed in her