by Tim Green
His mom turned her attention to Martin and that was the end of the conversation. Joey wasn’t going to go there again if he could help it. He’d taken his shot, and it hadn’t worked out. He wasn’t going to keep pressing it. Maybe she’d wait, after all. Sometimes she did things like that—made you think she wasn’t going to do what you wanted, but then really did it to surprise everyone and make you happy.
Joey helped clean up, then got his things together for practice. His mom changed her mind for the moment, anyway, saying nothing about the Barretts, only that she wanted to give Martin a bath. Joey’s dad drove him to practice and stayed to watch.
Joey lit up the diamond. He sparkled on defense and pounded the ball at the plate. He felt the way he did when he was riding his bike down a hill, going faster and faster with the thrill of knowing nothing could slow him down.
After practice, Zach put an arm around his shoulders. “Bro, I don’t know if you even need Brian Van Duyn.”
Joey beamed at him. “You’re looking good, too.”
“But not like you. Smack. Bang. Outta the park.”
“I’m pumped up about Coach Van Duyn,” Joey said.
“He’s staying at my house.” Zach straightened his back and patted his chest. “My dad and him are pretty tight. He gets in late or I’d say come over and meet him. We’ll get going first thing in the morning, though. He’s flying back tomorrow afternoon.”
“That quick?”
“Hey, all he has to do is watch you swing at a couple of pitches, and he can tell you exactly what you need to do. This guy is the best, bro, and you and me have him for a private session.”
“Nice.” Joey bumped fists with his friend, then joined his dad and headed for home. On the drive, he told his dad about Brian Van Duyn.
“Never heard of him,” Joey’s dad said, “but if he was with the Mariners, he must be amazing. Is there a cost I should be helping with?”
“Cost?”
“Usually to get someone like that to work with you isn’t free, Joey. The man is a professional batting coach.”
“I don’t know, Dad. They’re friends.”
“Well, it’s very nice. I’ll give Zach’s dad a call and thank him anyway.” Joey’s dad shook his head and laughed. “How about your mother? First she thinks it’s Zach’s dad who put the clamp on that science teacher’s gas line, now it’s the Barretts. How funny is that? I swear, I love her with all my heart, but the crazy things she comes up with. Don’t ever marry a cop, Joey. Date a schoolteacher or a doctor.”
Joey blushed because the word “dating” made him think of Leah. He looked out the window, barely seeing the houses and trees they passed by. He wished the whole thing with Mr. Kratz would just go away. It was like gum on the bottom of his shoe: he just couldn’t seem to get rid of it.
“Speaking of the science teacher’s case.” Joey’s dad looked over at him for a moment before setting his eyes back on the road. “There’s something I meant to ask you about that.”
Joey couldn’t help letting go with a sigh.
That didn’t slow his father down. “Remember that ‘thing’ you asked me about? The ‘thing’ where no one got hurt?”
Joey clenched his teeth and hung on again.
“Yeah, Dad. I remember.”
“Right, so, you know that I know, right?”
Joey felt like a trapdoor had just opened under his feet. “What do you know?”
His father frowned at the road. “I know who that person on your all-star team is, and I know what he did.”
58
“Come on, did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Joey’s dad asked.
“I—I don’t know.”
“I’m just surprised no one has talked about it.” Joey’s father turned into their driveway, shut off the Jeep’s engine, and lowered his voice. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell your mother. I told you I don’t think anyone needs to be punished. No one got hurt and I’d hate to see Butch Barrett kicked off the team right before the tournament.”
“Butch?”
Joey’s father looked at him with a crafty smile. “A ‘guy on the team’? I should have known when you didn’t say a ‘friend.’ I’m proud that you tried to help get advice for a teammate, even though he’s not a friend.”
His father shook his head. “Pretty gutsy for that kid to sneak out, drug the guy’s dog, and clamp the fuel line, all so he could bring home a hunk of metal.”
Joey knew his dad was talking about the league’s championship trophy.
“And it turned out you guys didn’t win it anyway.” His father chuckled. “I’d almost admire the kid for being so ingenious about the whole thing if it wasn’t for the dog. That thing could bite your face off. Nope, doing something like that for a baseball trophy is nuts.”
Joey wondered if his dad would think doing all that to try to help your best friend make sure he could make the all-star team would be just as nuts, but of course he kept his mouth shut.
“I get it, you can’t talk. You made a promise.” Joey’s dad ruffled his hair. “Come on, Son. You’re a good kid.”
im a good kid
That’s what he messaged to Leah on Everloop at the computer when his parents were in the den, watching a movie.
???
lol that’s what my dad said 2 me 2nite
r u?
depends on who u ask
what do u think id say?
ud say im the best right?
right. gotta go. my mom shuts me down at 10. cu xoxo
A shiver went up Joey’s spine. Xoxo. Kisses and hugs.
Zach wasn’t online. Joey suspected that was because of the Mariners’ batting coach. He took out his phone and texted Zach to call him if he could.
Joey’s mom came into the kitchen. Joey quickly shut down his page. His mom kept going right past him, digging into the fridge and rattling some bottles around. Joey brought up the ESPN website and did a search for Brian Van Duyn. When his mom emerged with two sparkling waters, she stopped to peer over his shoulder.
“What was that?”
“This is the batting coach Zach’s dad has coming in to help us tomorrow.” Joey scrolled down a bit.
“Not that,” she said. “The other screen. The one you were on when I came in and you quickly shut down.”
“Nothing, Mom. Just Everloop.”
“Everloop with who?”
“Everloop is with everyone. About three hundred people.”
“Put it up. Show me.”
“Mom, it’s my Everloop.”
“Don’t make me go into the history.” She scowled at him and he wanted to say he knew she’d do that anyway.
Joey brought up his Everloop page, hoping no one was saying anything crazy on his wall. Everything was pretty tame and he began to breathe easier.
She put both bottles in one hand and pointed to the screen. “What’s that? What is CRD?”
Joey’s skin felt tight. “Mom, can you, please?”
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“What is CRD? I will not have you on this computer if you or your friends are going to talk in some kind of obscene code. I warned you about this computer. That’s why it’s in the kitchen.”
“It’s nothing. Can’t you trust me?” Joey held out his empty hands.
“I can trust you to tell me if I ask you something, that much I know, because if I can’t, you’re going to regret ever getting onto that computer.”
“Fine. Fine. It’s Caucasian rhythmic disorder, CRD. It’s because I can’t dance. I was at the dance Saturday night and I looked like a two-by-four.”
She wrinkled her face.
“A stick of wood. My rhythm stinks. CRD. It’s not a big deal, Mom.”
“Don’t make generalizations about people because of their skin color, Joey. You know better.”
“But it’s making fun of my skin color. White people can’t dance, Mom . . . except Zach. It’s just a joke.”
“Just be careful. Do you understand?”
She nodded but remained unmoved and pointed again. “And this?”
“P-A-L? A pal, a friend.” No way was Joey giving away that code. PAL and POS were a kid’s only hope.
“Capitalized?”
“Anything capitalized is for emphasis, that’s all, a really good friend, that’s a PAL.”
His mom put her hand on his head. “You know I love you, Joey, but I’m not going to allow you to get off track.”
“I know, Mom. I love you too.” He watched her go, wondering what on earth she would have done if she’d seen Leah’s xoxo.
He deleted his messages and returned to Brian Van Duyn’s profile on ESPN. The Major-League batting coach had a big, long blond mustache. His blond hair was cut so close, Joey almost didn’t realize he was bald on top. His nose was a big part of his face, but you barely noticed because the blue of his eyes burned like fire. The coach’s intensity jumped right off the screen.
When his phone buzzed, Joey saw it was Zach and he picked up. “I’m looking at Coach Van Duyn’s picture online. Is he scary, or what?”
“Yeah, Coach V is here right now,” Zach said, smooth as always. “We just got him from the airport. He’s excited to work with us.”
“I know you can’t talk, but I had to tell you.” Joey lowered his voice and covered his mouth and the phone to tell Zach about Leah’s message.
Zach laughed. “Don’t worry about it. She does that all the time.”
“Does what?” Joey asked.
“You know, the xoxo thing. If your mom ever sees it, just say that’s how she is. So, it’s all good with you and her. I’m glad, bro. It’s just the beginning for you, trust me.”
“Thanks, bro,” Joey said, “for everything. You’re the best.”
“You are,” Zach said.
“See you tomorrow.”
“See you at eight. Don’t be late.”
Joey hung up and wondered if anyone else on earth had as good a friend as he did.
60
Joey’s mom made him go with her to the police station in the morning before taking him to the baseball field.
“Can’t Dad take me?” Joey asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes before he slurped down the last of his cereal straight from the bowl.
His mom was emptying the dishwasher as she spoke to him. “Martin is sleeping and I want to let your father sleep as long as he can. I’m up anyway, and it won’t hurt you.”
“It’s the first day of summer vacation.” Joey looked up at the clock. “And I’m up at six?”
“You’re the one with batting practice, not me.”
Joey rinsed his bowl and put it into the dishwasher before he watched his mom close it. “Can you believe Zach’s dad had this guy come in from Seattle?”
His mom shook her head and jingled her keys. “I always said that man is way too serious about Little League baseball.”
“Mom, it’s a good thing, a great thing.” Joey hoisted his bat bag over his shoulder and followed her out the door. “Coach Van Duyn worked with Ichiro Suzuki.”
“Suzuki? Like, the car?”
“Ichiro Suzuki. He has a three thirty-three batting average, Mom. Come on, the Seattle Mariners?”
“There was a police convention in Seattle once,” she said, sliding into her car. “I like the fish market. Remember that picture I took of a monkfish? Those teeth?”
“Pretty gross.”
The ball field was between their house and the police station, so Joey’s mom stopped there first. When they arrived, Joey’s mom told him to wait in the front while she changed into her uniform and checked out her patrol car. She came out of the back, fully transformed with her hair pulled up into her hat and a gun at her hip. Joey followed her out to the lot and got into the front seat of the patrol car beside her.
When they pulled into the ball field, she didn’t turn off the engine but leaned over and gave him a kiss. “You have fun. Oh, hey, what do we owe Zach’s dad for this?”
Joey held open the door. “Dad said the same thing. Why do you guys think that?”
“People don’t do this kind of thing for free, Joey. We’re not a charity case.”
“I think Coach Van Duyn is just doing it as a favor for Zach’s dad. They’re friends.”
“But someone had to fly him out here. Plane tickets cost money. I just don’t want them to think we’re not willing to help with the costs.”
“Well, I can offer.”
“You do that.” She smiled. “I got to get out to route eighty and catch some speeders. I’ll see you tonight at dinner. Have fun.”
Joey shut the door and watched her drive off. Zach, his dad, and the coach were already out on the field. Zach’s dad was on the mound with a basket of baseballs. Brian Van Duyn stood behind Zach at the plate without a catcher’s mitt. Balls were scattered around his feet. When Joey slipped past the dugout, they all stopped to greet him.
He shook hands with the batting coach and tried his best to match the iron grip. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Coach Van Duyn.”
“Call me Coach V.” The coach’s cheeks glowed cherry red around his smile, but the burning blue eyes still made Joey slightly nervous.
“Let’s go pick up the outfield and we’ll start again,” Zach’s dad said, turning toward the field.
Zach and Joey helped pick up about three dozen balls scattered all over the place. Everyone filled the basket on the mound.
“Did I get here late?” Joey asked his friend on their way to the plate.
“Naw. They wanted to start a little early, that’s all. You’re fine.”
“Zach, you take the first ten, then I’ll have a look at Joey.” Coach V then raised his voice. “Kurt! Throw the first couple to the inside of the plate. I want to make sure I’m seeing this right.”
Zach’s dad frowned from his spot on the mound. “You think we can fix it?”
Coach V nodded. “Relax. We’ve got time. He’s twelve, and no one’s going to know about it anyway. By the time anyone can use it against him, we’ll have it fixed.”
“What’s he talking about?” Joey whispered to Zach.
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“I don’t know. He’s calling it a hole in my swing or something.” Zach spoke from the corner of his mouth and stepped up to the plate.
Joey stayed back in the on-deck circle to watch. Mr. James wound up and threw a nice easy pitch right down the middle but a bit inside. Zach swung and missed, then grit his teeth and growled.
“Again. That’s the pitch I want, Kurt.” Coach V leaned against the backstop with his arms folded across his chest. His eyes looked like they could burn a hole in Zach’s bat. Mr. James threw another one, almost the same pitch. Zach missed again and thumped the plate with his bat.
“Okay, now put one on the outside,” Coach V said.
Mr. James nodded, wound up, and threw a nice pitch a bit to the outside. Zach hammered a line drive that landed out in right center field.
“Very nice,” Coach V said. “Keep them either like that, Kurt, or down the center.”
Zach started to tear it up, smacking the ball all over the field so that the crack of his bat echoed in Joey’s ears.
“Well,” Coach V said as he walked up to Zach and put a hand on his shoulder. “I was right. Now, don’t get down. I’ve got some drills we can do to work that out. Meantime, I don’t want you to even think about it. Really. Hitting is ninety percent mental and I don’t want you doubting yourself. Most pitchers at this level don’t throw to the inside of the plate anyway. They’re just trying to get it across.”
Coach V turned to Joey. “Okay, Joey. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Joey stepped up, and Coach V told Mr. James to put them right down the middle. Joey nicked the first two foul and laughed nervously.
“That’s okay. Settle into it.” Coach V seemed to know exactly what happened.
Joey reset his grip on the bat and hunkered down a bit more in his stance. The next pitch came an
d he blasted it right over the left field fence.
“Very nice,” Coach V said.
Hot pride flowed through Joey’s veins, and he kept it up. After a good twenty pitches, seven of which Joey sent over the fence, Coach V stepped up behind him.
“You’ve got a natural swing, Joey. I’m impressed. Now, you’re a big kid and you’ve got a lot of power, but you could have even more if you move that bat forward a little bit more right from the beginning. You’re cocked so far back in your stance that you don’t have that extra whip on your swing. Also, your hands are fast enough so you can afford to hold back on the pitch a split second longer. It’ll help you hit better all the way around.”
Coach V took Joey’s bat and showed him what he meant, getting in a stance, leaving his hands closer to his head, then rearing back before the swing. “You see?”
Joey nodded.
“Try it.”
He did, swinging on air.
“That’s it. Let’s see how it works on a pitch.” Coach V stepped back and shouted to Mr. James.
Joey tried the new technique, but couldn’t seem to connect as well.
“You’re thinking too much,” Coach V said. “Don’t think. Just start with the new stance and forget about it. Swing.”
Joey did as he was told.
SMACK.
The ball flew over the center field fence. Joey grinned back at Coach V.
“There you go. Take twenty more and we’ll re-rack.”
The more Joey hit, the more comfortable he got, and the better he felt. They picked up the balls, but before Coach V would let Zach hit some more, he brought him over to the backstop and had Zach face the chain-link fence.
“Here,” Coach V said, handing Zach his bat, “put the handle of your bat in your stomach and the end of the barrel against the fence.”
Zach did.
“Keep your feet right where they are. I want you to swing.”
“I can’t.” Zach wrinkled his brow. “I’m too close.”
“You’re not. You’re almost too close, but you can swing. You’ll have to keep your hands in tight and that’s what you need to do to get rid of that hole in your swing. Your arms are getting too much extension. Just like your buddy here, you’re a good hitter, but you can be better. Doing this drill will get you comfortable with your hands closer to your body. You won’t have that hole anymore. Go ahead, try it.”