Curveball : The Year I Lost My Grip (9780545393119)

Curveball : The Year I Lost My Grip (9780545393119) by Jordan Sonnenblick

Book: Curveball : The Year I Lost My Grip (9780545393119) by Jordan Sonnenblick Read Free Book Online
Authors: Jordan Sonnenblick
the photo gets used? I mean, what if that kid who got his shoulder banged into is embarrassed about it? Or what if one of those people from the front steps has, like, a religious objection to being photographed? Is everything and everyone fair game?”
    Don’t you hate it when teachers act like they’re talking about one thing, but really they’re twisting the direction of the conversation so they can make a point about something totally different? Mr. Marsh said, “That’s debatable in a public place like a school, where the subjects haven’t consented to having their pictures taken. But I think there’s an implied contract when someone agrees to pose for a portrait — like in the case of Peter and Angelika. Don’t’cha agree, Angelika?”
    Wow, the only thing worse than the conversation-twisting gambit is when the teacher completely puts a student on the spot. Angelika kind of squirmed, picked a hangnail, and said, “I don’t know. I guess … I mean, I kind of ambushed Peter with … um … an object so I could get his reaction on film. And he didn’t agree to that in advance, because he didn’t know I was going to do it. Obviously. So I think it should be up to him.”
    Mr. Marsh said, “Well, Peetuh?”
    I generally try to be patient with people, but this was starting to get me mad. “Do we really have todiscuss this in the middle of class? Now even if I don’t say yes, I’ve already been dragged over the coals in front of everybody.”
    Mr. Marsh said, “Sorry, Peetuh. Yer right. I just got all excited to have a real-life example of an ethical argument popping up right before my eyes. You can totally do whatever ya need to do with the pictures.” Then he winked. He actually freaking winked. Ugh. “And who knows what might, uh, come up if you two have another session together?”
    Angelika said, “I’m sorry, too, Pete. I wasn’t trying to … uh, well … Look, I’ll destroy the prints and delete the files, OK? It’s not worth all this.”
    I looked at the prints that were still on the table between Angelika and me. They were really good. Then I looked at Angelika. She was looking right back at me, and her eyes just seemed so sad all of a sudden. I sighed, and slid the portraits across the table into her hand. “Hand ’em in,” I said. I still wasn’t too sure I wanted the whole world to see them, but on the other hand, they definitely captured some kind of moment of truth. And if the truth was goodenough for Henri Cartier-Bresson, I supposed it was good enough for me.
    San stopped on the way back to his seat and patted me on the shoulder. Mr. Marsh smiled, and swept the photos out of Angelika’s hand. The class burst into semi-mocking applause. And my ears turned really, really red.
    But on the way out of class, Angelika bumped her hip against mine and smiled.

For a while there, you’d almost think I’d totally adjusted to my new life as a nonathlete whose childhood idol was slipping down the tubes. I mean, for a couple of weeks, life almost rocked: Angelika and I were bonding — and not just flirty-bonding, but really talking about life stuff. I was still clueless about how to make a move with her, but I figured if I just stood close enough to her, for long enough, eventually we’d accidentally stumble into an empty Hebrew school classroom or something. I talked with Grampa on the phone a couple of times, plus I stopped by his house one day unannounced, and each time, he seemed to be on topic and focused. Plus, I was even getting semi-popular at school.
    With my new sports-photographer gig, whenever a new biweekly issue of the school newspaper came out, at least one person would always come up tome and compliment me on my work. Then this one issue came out with two of my shots on the back page: one was AJ poised in the air for a slam dunk, and

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