Max Swings for the Fences Read Online Free Page B

it—
    â€œThis is your son !” she proclaimed.
    Silence, all around. And stares, from every direction. The usher stood dumbly, as if none of his usher training had prepared him for this.
    Molly straightened and looked around. “That’s right,” she said to the crowd loudly. “This is his son, Maximilian Funk from New Hartford, NY. His mom raised him all by herself. And Beau Fletcher won’t even acknowledge him.”
    And then two security guards appeared next to them and grabbed both their arms. And then they were being hauled out of the room. Max caught one last glance at Beau Fletcher, who was watching them go.
    Then they were outside of the hotel; the security guards yelled at them for a while. Molly’s big green eyes looked so confused, and Max wanted to help her, protect her; but he could not because this was all his fault.
    And then they were alone, and silence settled around them like dust. And tears rolled down Max’s cheeks. And he turned to Molly and began to speak.
    â€œMolly, Molly, look. I’m sorry. I can’t take it anymore. I lied. I lied about the whole thing. I just wanted to impress you. I wanted you to like me. It got out of hand. I’m so sorry. You’re so tough and brave and amazing and—”
    He couldn’t go on. Molly was staring at him coolly. Her Catwoman eyes looked suddenly as if they might be capable of terrible things.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” he said again.
    And then one corner of Molly’s mouth drew up. “Oh, Max,” she said, her voice suddenly feline. “I knew you were lying the whole time.”
    â€œWha—?”
    â€œIt’s the stupidest story I’ve ever heard.”
    â€œThen what …?”
    â€œBecause you expected me to believe it. I wanted to see how far you’d go. How stupid you thought I really was. Turns out pretty stupid. Why, because I’m a girl? Or because I’m good at baseball? Or both?”
    â€œNo, I—”
    She tossed her red hair, and it looked like fire. “You’re just like everyone else. All you care about is being cool. Nobody cares what a person’s really like.”
    â€œNo, no, that’s not—”
    â€œAnd besides”—Molly took a step closer. She stared him down. Max could not move—“now you’ll never ever say you throw like a girl again.” Her eyes narrowed. She leaned in and hissed, “You wish you threw like a girl.”
    Max stared. His mouth hung open. Molly seemed six feet tall all of a sudden, and her eyes took your secrets from you. And Max felt what it was like to step into the batter’s box and see her staring at you, to look into those eyes as she probed you for your weaknesses. And he knew without a doubt that he, like every sixth grader in the city who would face her that season, had just struck out.

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Copyright
    â€œMax Swings For the Fences” © 2012 by Anne Ursu
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