“Yum,” I said, digging in.
“Ditto,” said Vicki.
“This is good,” said Mr. Sahadevan. “But it’s nothing compared to the cakes Vicki makes for all our family holidays. She took a special baking course. Vicki is a true culinary artist!” He beamed at his daughter.
Vicki looked as if she wanted to slide under the table. “Dad,” she said pleadingly. “Come on.”
“What?” he asked innocently. “I can’t boast about my multitalented daughter? I haven’t even started in on your musical skills. Did you all know my daughter is a piano prodigy? She also happens to be editor of her school newspaper. And —”
Watson interrupted. “And she has a very proud dad. Rightfully so. But I think he’s embarrassing her a little right now.”
Yay, Watson! Vicki gave him a grateful look.
Mr. Sahadevan blushed. “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know I get a little carried away sometimes.” He turned to Vicki. “Sorry, honey,” he said.
“That’s okay,” she mumbled.
Matt stood up then to make some announcements. “I hope you campers had a terrific day today,” he began. “I know our group is doing great. I’m seeing some real progress. In fact, I think our Blue Batters are going to give the Red Devils a run for their money on Saturday!”
He was talking about the big game on the last day of camp. The staff would join the campers as the groups met on the field to see which team had learned the most at camp. I was half dreading, half looking forward to the showdown. It would be my last chance to show that I really could play this game well.
Matt made a few more announcements, ending with one about that evening’s special program, a slide show about the golden days of baseball. It was due to start in the lounge after dinner.
Watson and Mr. Sahadevan wanted to find good seats for the show, so we finished off our cake and headed for the lounge. “Let’s sit in the back,” Vicki whispered to me as we walked in. That was fine with me, so we let our dads go up front while we sat near the exit.
The show was perfect for Watson and Mr. Sahadevan. They both eat up that old-timey stuff. I liked it too, but about fifteen minutes into it I could tell that Vicki was bored and restless.
“Want to go?” I whispered.
She looked at me and nodded. We slipped out without anyone noticing.
It was a beautiful, warm night. “How about taking a walk?” I suggested.
“Sure,” she said.
We walked around the hotel grounds until we ended up by the pool. It was peaceful there at night, with nobody splashing around. We pulled two lounge chairs up to the quiet water and relaxed.
Or, at least, I relaxed. I could sense that Vicki was upset about something. “Are you okay, Vicki?” I asked gently. “You don’t seem to be having a great time at camp.”
“I’m not.” She sighed. “Does it really show that much? I don’t want my dad to feel bad.”
“I don’t think he’s noticed,” I said honestly. It was true. Mr. Sahadevan was so swept up in his own camp experience that he hadn’t noticed Vicki’s reaction.
“Good,” she said. “I mean, I know he means well. And I like to make him happy. That’s why I do all the stuff he pushes me to do, like take piano lessons and cooking classes and edit the school newspaper. All of that is his idea. He wants me to be the best. But it’s too much! It’s as if he’s trying to program my life. And now I’m supposed to share his baseball fever too. He thinks we’re having this great ‘bonding’ time at camp. But I can’t stand it!”
Vicki fell silent. I think she’d surprised herself with that outburst. She’d certainly surprised me with the strength of her feelings.
“Wow,” I said. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“It’s driving me nuts. But I don’t know what to do about it. My dad doesn’t have a clue how I feel.”
“Maybe you have to give him one,” I said slowly. She looked at me. “Really, Vicki, I mean it. I certainly didn’t know how you were feeling. I bet he doesn’t either. You have to tell him.”
“Tell him?”
“Yes. Talk to him. Tell him everything. How you feel about the way he’s planning your life. How you feel about baseball. Everything. Be polite — but be forceful.”
I had a feeling that Vicki’s dad wasn’t going to hear what she was saying unless she really laid it on the line.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll try, but I’m not like you. You wouldn’t have any trouble doing something like that. You’re so strong and sure of yourself.”
Ha. “Sometimes I am, but not always.” I certainly hadn’t acted strong and sure of myself the day of softball tryouts. If I had, Coach Wu might have made me a first-string player.
“Really! You remind me of Gloria,” said Vicki. “You’re just like her. I admire both of you a lot.”
Wow. Being compared to Gloria was high praise.
I just wished I deserved it.
The next morning, after breakfast, Matt let our group know that practice would start a little later than usual, because he and Gloria needed some extra time to plan our strategy for the game on Saturday. Naturally, I couldn’t help thinking that if they’d been more organized they could have done the planning at another time. But I didn’t really mind. Dream Camp had been a whirlwind of activity, and an hour of free time sounded good. Maybe I’d go for a swim or take a walk, or maybe read for a while.
Or maybe not.
Just as I was leaving the dining room, Vicki caught up to me. “Kristy,” she whispered urgently. “I need your help.”
“With what?”
“I want to talk to my dad. The way you said I should.”
“That’s great! But I can’t help you with that. You have to do it yourself.” Poor Vicki. Her face was pale and her voice was shaky.
“I will,” she said. “I’ll do all the talking, I promise. But couldn’t you just be there with me? For moral support?”
“I don’t know …” I began. I’d feel weird standing there while Vicki confronted her father.
“Please?” she begged. “I don’t think I can do it without you.”
I relented. How could I resist? After all, the talk had been my idea. “Okay,” I said.
“Oh, thanks, Kristy.” Vicki threw her arms around me. “The thing is, my dad’s been this way my whole life. It’s a big deal for me to try to change things. A really big deal.”
“I’m beginning to understand that,” I said. I was also beginning to wonder if I’d given Vicki the wrong advice. It had seemed so obvious last night. If something was bothering her, she needed to talk it over with her dad. But maybe that was simplifying things too much. Maybe I’d shot my mouth off before I truly understood the situation. Maybe Vicki should think it over a little more. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked.
“Oh, definitely,” she said. “I thought about it all night. I know exactly what I want to say.”
Gulp. “Okay, then, let’s go find your dad.”
Fifteen minutes later, the three of us were sitting on a bench overlooking the hotel’s golf course. And Mr. Sahadevan was looking puzzled.
“But Vicki,” he said. “I thought you loved baseball.”
Vicki and I exchanged a quick glance and I gave her a tiny smile. Parents can be so dense sometimes! I mean, it was glaringly obvious to everyone but Mr. Sahadevan that Vicki was — at best — lukewarm about the sport.
“Dad, I love you,” Vicki said carefully. “But to be honest, I really don’t love baseball. In fact, I don’t even like it very much.”
Mr. Sahadevan was silent. I think maybe he was in shock.
“I wanted to love it,” Vicki continued, “because you wanted me to. I knew it would make you happy if I loved baseball as much as you do. And I tried, I really did. But it’s just not for me.”
“Maybe it’s because you don’t have good enough equipment,” Mr. Sahadevan mused. “I knew I should have splurged on that pro-model glove.”
“Dad, it’s not my glove. Or my cleats. Or the bat I use, or the field I play on, or anything like that. It’s the sport itself. It doesn’t do anything for me. I don’t like to practice, I don’t like to play, I don’t even like to watch it on TV. The only thing I like about baseball is that it’s something we do together. And I like spending time with you. But I hope we can find another way to spend time together.”
Yay, Vicki. Now she was really being forceful. And honest. And polite. (Way more polite than I could have been!)
“Wow,” said Mr. Sahadevan slowly. “I had no idea.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell you,” said Vicki. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. And I’m sorry if I’m doing that now. But it’s time to tell the truth.”
Mr. Sahadevan nodded slowly. He seemed intent on watching some golfers cross the path in front of us. “I’m glad you’re telling me, Vicki,” he said finally. “But I’m sad too. Here I thought I was giving you a great vacation at Dream Camp, and instead you’ve hated every minute of it.”
“That’s not true!” Vicki exclaimed. “I haven’t. I made a good friend here” — she smiled at me — “and I’ve met some really great people. And the food is awesome, and the pool is nice …” she trailed off.
“But we’ve been playing baseball all day, every day,” her dad said. “And that’s been miserable for you.”
“Not miserable,” said Vicki. “Boring, yes. But not miserable. Sometimes it’s even been fun, like when I finally learned how to catch grounders.”
“But you’d just as soon leave camp,” her dad said, looking pretty miserable himself. He was staring down at his hands.
“Leave?” repeated Vicki. “Who said anything about leaving?”
“I just assumed …”
“Oh, no,” said Vicki. “I don’t want to leave.”
“Really?” Her dad looked hopeful now.
“Not at all.” Vicki glanced at me, took a deep breath, and went on. “But what I do want is to quit the softball team when I go back home. And I want to have a say in deciding about other activities.”
Her dad nodded, smiling. “Fair enough,” he said. “It’s a deal.” He stuck out his hand, and the two of them shook on it. Then he opened his arms and gave Vicki a bear hug. “You know I’m proud of my girl no matter what.”
“I know,” said Vicki. Her eyes were full of tears.
That’s when I slipped away.
Vicki had done an incredible job, and I was proud of her. Also, I had to admit, I was relieved. What if the conversation had backfired? I would have felt so guilty.
It was just about time for practice, so I headed over to the field. Watson was already there, sitting by himself on the bleachers. He was tossing a ball from hand to hand and staring out into the distance.
Poor Watson.
Dream Camp had not turned out the way he’d hoped it would. Like Vicki, he wasn’t exactly miserable. But he wasn’t happy either. Bill Bain had been such a disappointment.
“Come on, Watson, let’s practice fielding grounders,” I called.
He smiled when he saw me and joined me on the field. We started tossing the ball back and forth, deliberately throwing it down so that it bounced and rolled to the other person.
Soon the rest of our group turned up. Matt and Gloria arrived, excited about their game plan for the next day. “We’re going to have to work hard today, team,” Matt said as he described the drills we’d be doing in practice.
Gloria asked me to be her assistant when we divided up into two groups. “Let’s do the baserunning drills first,” she said. “We want to practice some fancy stuff, like the run-down.”
That’s when a runner is caught between two bases, and the fielders play a little game of cat-and-mouse with him (or her, as the case may be). It’s also called a pickle.
Gloria asked me to help organize our group so that each person would have a chance to play each part in the run-down. That was a snap. Soon we had the drill going full steam.
That’s when Bill Bain showed up. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him coming, but I tried to ignore him. It was more important to pay attention to the drill and keep it going smoothly.
But he wasn’t easy to ignore. He took a seat in the bleachers and settled in to watch us. The other campers kept sneaking glances at him, and it threw off the drill. Soon runners were bumping into fielders, and fielders were making wild throws.
Suddenly, Bill Bain stood up and stalked onto the field. He walked directly to Gloria. “What’s the problem here?” he demanded. “Can’t you run the simplest drill?”
Gloria gaped at him. It was the first time I had seen her speechless.
I stepped forward. “We were running it just fine until you showed up!” The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Bill Bain’s face turned red. He glared at me. “Who are you?”
“I’m Kristy Thomas, one of your campers,” I said. “And Gloria is just about the best coach I’ve ever worked with.”
“Thank you for your input,” he said sarcastically, turning away from me.
I looked at Gloria. She was still pale-faced and openmouthed. I thought of how Vicki had compared me to her. It was time for me to take my own advice and be forceful. Bill Bain needed to hear the truth.
“Mr. Bain,” I said quietly, “I think you should know that some people here are very disappointed with your camp. And it’s not because of the coaching. It’s because of you.”
He’d had his back to me, but now he turned around. “What are you saying?” he asked. His face was still red.
“I’m saying that people came here because the camp has your name on it. They didn’t pay all that money and drive all this way just because they wanted a nice uniform or a cool new baseball cap. They didn’t cart their memorabilia all the way here just to let it sit in their hotel rooms. They came to meet you, their hero. And you’ve ignored them and been rude to them and let them down. Big time.” I stopped for a breath.
Bill Bain stared at me.
For a moment, I didn’t know if he was going to laugh, or yell at me, or start crying.
He didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he turned to Gloria and mumbled a quick apology. Then he took off across the field toward the hotel.
Gloria shot me a grateful look. “Thanks!” she said.
I was shaken, but I felt proud of myself. I’d been forceful, and I hadn’t let Bill Bain scare me. I knew Watson would be proud too. After all, he was the one I’d been defending. But when I turned to look at him, he didn’t look a bit proud.
He looked furious.
“How could you?” he said quietly, before he stalked away from me. “How could you be so rude to a legend like Bill Bain?”
Abby had read the entries in the club notebook about David Michael and his baseball cards, and she was steamed up. She has always hated the idea of collecting and trading cards based only on their financial value. Especially when kids become so swept up in it that things go wrong, as they had for David Michael. So when she showed up to sit for him on Friday afternoon she was a girl with a mission.
My mom had taken Emily Michelle, Karen, and Andrew to the mall that day, so Abby had some one-on-one time with David Michael. She expected to hear about the baseball cards from him, but she didn’t expect that he would still be so upset about the trade he’d made with Barry.
“I just can’t believe it,” he said, over and over, as he showed Abby his value guide. “Look at this! He cheated me. That card I gave him was worth so much more than these two.” He picked up the two Charlie Lawson cards and glared at them. Then he threw them down in disgust.
“Hey, that’s no way to treat Charlie Lawson,” Abby said. She picked up the cards and without even glancing at them, began reeling off the statistics on the back. “Rookie of the Year when he started out. Golden Glove two years in a row. Batting average: three-eighty. Named Most Valuable Player in last year’s World Series.” She looked at the picture on
the card and smiled. “Plus, he’s a terrific guy. He donates a ton of money and time to his favorite charities, and he never refuses to sign an autograph, no matter how tired or busy he is.”
David Michael stared at her. “How do you know all that?”
Abby shrugged. “I read the sports pages every day.” She handed the cards to David Michael.
He carefully put them back into their sleeves. “Charlie Lawson is a pretty cool guy,” he admitted. “I heard he even went to visit a kid in the hospital last week.” He frowned. “But these cards still aren’t worth much. I want that Felipe Martinez card back!”
“You didn’t care anything about that card until you knew what it was worth,” said Abby. “Did you?”
David Michael shook his head. “Not really. I don’t know anything about Felipe Martinez. Or at least, I didn’t. Now I know one thing: His card is worth a lot!”
“But is it worth a lot to you?” Abby asked gently.
David Michael rolled his eyes. “Of course! That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Abby could see she wasn’t getting through to him. “So, is there a card swap today?” she asked.
David Michael nodded.
“Do you want to go?”
“Why, so Barry can cheat me again?”
“First of all,” said Abby, “Barry didn’t cheat you. He asked if you wanted to make a trade, and you agreed. It’s not his fault that you forgot your value guide.”
David Michael looked embarrassed. “How do you know about that?” he asked.
“Oh, we sitters have our ways. And second,” Abby went on, “going to the card swap is a fun way to see your friends and talk about your collections and about baseball. It’s not only about trading. You can decide before you go that you’re not going to make any trades at all. Just go to have fun. What do you say?”
David Michael shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Sure.” He looked down at his collector’s kit. “Should I bring my cards?”
Kristy at Bat Page 7