Danny feels the girls’ eyes on his back as he climbs over the seat and slips out of the Festiva. He walks toward the far snack stand wondering what his cousin’s up to. He saw the way she looked at Carmen. It doesn’t take long to find out. He spots Liberty getting out of an old Camry, heading for the same line.
Danny turns right back around, toward the Festiva, but then he stops himself. He stands frozen for a second, fingering Sofia’s money in his pocket. He should just go back to the car, he thinks. Or maybe he should suck it up and talk to her, like his uncle Ray would. But how’s he gonna talk to a girl who only speaks Spanish? Besides, every guy she meets probably wants to talk to her. She’s probably tired of guys coming up to her.
Come on, he thinks. She’s just a girl. A person like anybody else. Go talk to her. His dad would just go talk to her. He spins around, marches right up to the far snack stand and joins the line, one person behind Liberty.
When he looks at her long black hair, a knot rises in his stomach. What the heck is he gonna say to this girl? He doesn’t even know what to say to girls who speak English. He only knows how to play baseball. He notices she’s wearing cool-looking overalls and a white tank top. There’s a black hair thing around her left wrist, and she’s playing with a button above her back pocket. Even her thin little elbows look pretty.
Danny feels something happening inside his head. Almost like when he sat too close to his dad when he was smoking. That’s exactly what it’s like, he thinks. The magic carpet. He takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself down.
Liberty looks back at him, smiles, quickly cuts away.
Danny’s chest fills with her smile. He breathes it in. Feels it spreading into his shoulders, his arms, his fingertips. He just has to come up with something to say. But what? Maybe he could compliment her clothes. Or her shiny silver earrings. Or he could make a joke about the movie. Maybe he could ask her a question about school or Mexico. Or maybe he could ask her if she wants popcorn, too.
The older couple in front of Liberty get back their change and leave with two big pretzels. Liberty steps up to the cashier, points to the popcorn machine.
Uncle Ray would probably compliment her clothes, Danny thinks. He hears his uncle’s voice in his head: “Hey, girl, that’s a nice blouse you got on.” “Girl, I could sit here and watch you walk in that skirt all day.” That’s probably the best thing, he thinks. A compliment. He rehearses the line in his head. Hey, I really like your overalls. Your overalls are really nice. You look pretty in those overalls. I like to watch you walk in those overalls. Does he know how to say it in Spanish? He digs his nails into the inside of his arm until the pain shoots up into his brain, looks at the marks he’s left.
Liberty gets back her change and turns around with two things of popcorn and a giant Coke. She gives him another smile, one that slices up all the organs in his stomach. He looks right in her eyes and feels a sharp pain in his middle, like when you look in the eyes of a little baby. He looks down at his Vans. Back up at her. But as she walks past he can’t seem to pull the overalls line out of his throat. He doesn’t have it in Spanish or English. All he can manage is a shy little wave.
She waves back at him and hurries off.
The person in front of Danny leaves with her food and the cashier asks him what he wants. He orders popcorn and watches the girl fill his tub. He turns around, watches Liberty climb back into the old Camry, out of sight.
When he gets back his change and his tub of popcorn, he heads back to Carmen’s Festiva.
Sofia’s leaning against the car with her arms crossed when Danny returns. Carmen sticks her head out of the passenger-side window. “Well?” she says.
Danny shrugs.
“You at least talk to her?”
“Not really,” Danny mumbles.
“What?” Sofia says, opening the door and pulling up the seat. “We had it all set up, cuz.”
Carmen laughs, says: “You cute as hell, honey, but you ain’t got no game.”
Sofia laughs. “Not even a little bit.”
Danny hands the tub of popcorn to his cousin and climbs into the backseat.
“You got negative game,” Carmen says.
“Don’t worry, though,” Sofia says, still laughing, “we’ll work on it. Trust me, by the end of the summer you gonna know how to talk to girls.”
Danny Overhears Sofia and Uncle Tommy
1
A couple nights later, just before bed, Danny overhears Sofia asking Uncle Tommy: “Did he always have such a bad temper?”
They’re both in the kitchen. Tommy’s fumbling with his lunch box, and Sofia’s mixing tap water into a pitcher with concentrated frozen orange juice. Danny stops cold when he sees them. He backs out of the kitchen, out of sight, and listens at the door.
“I guess,” Tommy says. “He and Ray both got in a lot of trouble when we were kids. Some pretty violent stuff. Fights and assaults. Definitely wasn’t the first time.”
There’s a short pause and then Sofia says: “You think he’d ever do it again?”
“I don’t think so,” Tommy says. “We talked about it last time I went to see him. He seems changed. But you never know, I guess.”
Sofia says: “You think Danny will be like that, too? When he gets married?”
“I don’t think so,” Tommy says. “Nah, Danny’s got a different way about him. He takes after Wendy.”
“They say when you’re exposed to it, though, it’s more likely.”
“Guess you never know for sure.”
There’s a little pause and then Danny hears Sofia say:
“For some reason I was thinkin’ about it. I was remembering how scared Aunt Wendy looked when she came to stay with us that weekend. The way her face was. And how she acted.”
“It was a bad time, Sofe. Real bad. Much as I love my big brother, I can’t say he didn’t deserve this.”
When they don’t say any more about the subject, Danny sneaks away from the door and lies on his cot in Sofia’s room. When she peeks her head in a couple minutes later, he pretends he’s already asleep.
Morse High Hustle
1
Carmelo Esposito is tall and lean, with extremely broad shoulders. Easily as broad as Danny’s. He has green eyes and light skin, a swing so sweet that every time he makes contact off Danny during warm-ups his boys in foul territory yell out: “Butter!”
Danny looks in at Uno’s thinly padded target and goes into his windup. He throws a fastball that bounces in the dirt. Shakes his head as he gets the toss back from Uno.
He looks in again, spins a soft curve toward home plate and Carmelo jumps on it, lines the pitch into deep right. The ball one-hops the fence and caroms back toward the infield. One of Carmelo’s teammates hustles after it.
Danny gets a new baseball from Uno, toes the rubber. He eyes his target again, goes into his windup and flings a fastball that’s way too high. But Carmelo takes a powerful cut anyway, launches Danny’s pitch over the centerfield fence.
Again the cries from foul territory: “Butter!”
One of Carmelo’s teammates starts laughing and goes down on one knee.
Danny glances at him, then shifts his attention back to the rubber. Uno wanted him to take it easy while they warmed up so the hits don’t bother him. What bothers him is his lack of location. He feels incredibly wild. Has no idea where any of his pitches are going. It’s the exact same feeling he had during tryouts, and he doesn’t understand what’s going on. He’s throwing with the exact same mechanics he does every day with Uno. The same leg kick, same release point, same follow-through. It doesn’t make sense.
“Come on, Melo,” a guy sitting on the dugout says, “leave the poor kid alone. Let’s go eat.”
Uno stands up, shouts toward the mound: “Yo, you gotta keep the ball down, D. What I tell you yesterday ’bout keepin’ your pitches down?”
He winks at Danny.
Danny nods, toes the dirt in front of the rubber again. Digs in.
Uno flips up the mask he borrowed from Morse High’s catcher and takes a couple steps toward the hill. “What’s wrong with the mound? You makin’ excuses, man? Don’t make excuses, just keep the ball down. It ain’t like you goin’ against some great hitter.”
“Say what?” Carmelo says, stepping out of the batter’s box.
Uno continues staring out at Danny. “It’s not the mound, D. Listen to what I’m tellin’ you, it’s your mechanics.”
Carmelo lowers his bat, says: “Right, I’m not a great hitter. I’ve only crushed three out of the last four over the fence. One-hopped the other. Yeah, dude, I totally suck.”
Uno turns to Carmelo. “Money, I ain’t tryin’ to disrespect you or nothin’. I’m just sayin’. I bet my boy D keeps the ball down he’d probably strike your ass out.”
Carmelo laughs, says: “Oh, okay, dude.” He rips apart the Velcro on his batting glove, pulls it tighter. “You’re a funny guy, man. How much you willin’ to put down?”
Uno reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crisp twenty-dollar bill. “This twenty says my boy strikes you out before you can hit one out the infield.”
Carmelo laughs again, looks at the twenty Uno’s holding. He looks toward the mound, at Danny, then turns to one of his boys, shouts: “JJ, lemme get a twenty, man. These dudes want me to take their money.”
JJ approaches home plate pulling out his wallet. He hands a twenty to Carmelo, says: “This is highway robbery, Melo. Like taking candy from a baby.”
“Candy from a baby,” Carmelo repeats. “But if that’s how they wanna play it. Screw McDonald’s. Dude, we’ll go to a restaurant for lunch. What do you say, J?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Uno shoves both twenties into his hat, the way he would at a Potomac Street home run derby, and sets the hat a safe distance from the plate. He pulls his borrowed mask down and squats behind the plate.
2
Carmelo steps back into the batter’s box, takes a couple easy practice swings and looks to Danny.
Danny tucks his glove under his arm and rubs the ball in his hands. He’s gotta find his control. The fact that he can put a baseball anywhere he wants when he’s alone tells him the problem’s in his head. It’s psychological. But how would he know how to fix psychological?
He takes a couple deep breaths and looks around the field. It’s well-groomed but small. A hitter’s park. The day is clear and warm. In the distance, a guy in a red vest on a jack-hammer is breaking up a patch of street. A flock of pigeons floats over the outfield in the shape of an arrow. But not a perfect arrow, he thinks. More like a boomerang.
He digs at the dirt in front of the rubber some more with his Vans. He can’t let Uno down. He needs a strikeout. But not just any strikeout. Nobody’s out here calling balls and strikes. Nobody’s gonna ring the guy up if he paints the corners. He has to get him to swing and miss. Three times.
He glances down the left-field line, spots the Mexican scout with the Padres cap standing there with his arms crossed. He can’t believe it. The guy seems to know everywhere he’s gonna be at all times. More than half the days they’re working out at Las Palmas the scout shows up on the hill. Stays for a few minutes and then leaves. At first Danny wondered if Uno was right, that the guy was checking out his skills. But why would he leave so fast? Maybe that’s how some scouts work.
He turns back to the plate, grips the ball and looks in at Uno’s sign. Nods. He goes into his windup and fires a hard fastball. But the ball gets away from him and soars over Uno’s head, hits the backstop on the fly.
Uno hustles after it, tosses the ball back to Danny.
Carmelo shakes his head, watches Uno squat back down behind the plate with his thin fielder’s glove.
Danny circles the mound, his insides tensing up. That was the worst pitch he’s thrown all summer. Above the guy’s head. What the hell’s going on? He steps back up on the mound, shakes off the fastball, nods at the curve, goes into his windup and spins the ball toward the plate. But his curve breaks early and right into the dirt a foot in front of the plate.
Uno scoops it up after the second bounce. Tosses it back.
Danny shakes off another fastball and nods at the curve. He delivers again. This one breaks even earlier and Uno has to lunge to his right to snag it off the short hop.
“We’re gonna be here all day,” Carmelo’s boy yells from the side.
“He’s scared,” another guys shouts.
Uno hustles out to the mound, hand-delivers the ball back to Danny. “What’s wrong, D?”
Danny shrugs. He looks at Uno’s confused face, then looks down at the mound.
“What should we do?” Uno says. “You’re all over the place. Wanna stick with fastballs?”
Danny nods.
“You okay, man?”
Danny nods again, kicks his heel into the rubber. He looks at the scout. He’s totally blowing his chance.
Uno hustles back behind the plate and puts down the sign for a fastball.
Just put it over the plate, Danny tells himself as he goes back into his windup. Just put it over the plate. Doesn’t matter how fast, just put it over the plate. Just put it over the plate. He delivers a very average fastball, a good 15 MPH under his usual speed, but it’s in striking distance of the plate.
Carmelo steps forward and takes a quick swing. He lines the pitch into deep left field. The ball lands a few feet in front of the warning track, takes a couple bounces and caroms off the wall.
Danny looks down the left-field line for the scout, but he’s gone. He turns back to the plate but doesn’t look up.
3
Carmelo’s teammates laugh as he flips the bat over his shoulder and yells: “Let’s go eat, J.”
JJ pulls both twenties from Uno’s baseball cap and all the Morse High guys pack up their stuff and file out of the gate in waves, still laughing and making jokes. The catcher holds his hand out for his mask and Uno hands it over.
Danny and Uno stand together watching the guys flee the scene. Uno picks up his cap and pulls it low on his forehead. He sticks the remaining baseballs in Danny’s bucket, walks over to the gate and waits. When Danny catches up to him, he says: “What happened, man?”
Danny shakes his head. “Sorry.”
“You ain’t gotta be sorry,” Uno says. “Just tell me what happened.”
“I lost control.” He looks up at Uno.
“I know, but why?”
Danny shrugs.
“You throw ’em perfect every day at Las Palmas. Hardly ever throw a bad one.”
Danny looks at his feet.
Uno goes silent for a while, staring at Danny. Then he says: “Man, I ain’t never gonna make it to Oxnard. Shit ain’t meant to be.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, flips it open to check the time.
Danny looks up at Uno.
“Listen, we better go grab the bus.” He heads out the gate without another word.
Danny catches up, and the two of them walk in silence to the bus stop.
Don’t Worry, They’re Asleep
1
Danny hears the front door of the apartment creak open, watches Uncle Tommy and Cecilia stumble in reeking of cigarettes and tequila. Tommy’s long-sleeved flannel is untucked and wrinkled and he’s trying to press his puckered lips against Cecilia’s neck. “Come here, mi amor. One little kiss, baby.”
Cecilia, dressed in a low-cut red and blue sundress, is playfully pushing him away, whispering: “Tommy, the kids!”
Tommy looks toward the couch, where Danny and Sofia look asleep. Sofia really is, her body curled up at the far end of the couch, breaths slow and heavy. But Danny’s wide awake. Through half-closed eyes he’s watching Uncle Tommy and Cecilia’s drunk dance. The TV light flickering through the otherwise dark apartment. The sound of the late-night talk show host’s voice and the rise and fall of the show’s laugh track streaming over his and Sofia’s limp bodies.
Earlier tonight, the four of them sat at the di
nner table, ate homemade chicken enchiladas and rice and beans and talked about the big construction job Tommy’d just landed in Nevada for the fall. It would be two months on the road, but it was almost double the money Tommy was used to seeing for any San Diego job. He and Cecilia were so excited about the extra money they decided to go out dancing to celebrate.
Once they left, Sofia talked to Danny about everything from Tommy’s job to her strange love-hate relationship with Uno. But as soon as she fell asleep, Danny’s thoughts drifted to baseball. He obsessively reviewed his failure against Carmelo. Why did he always seem to mess up when the pressure was on? And in such a specific way. He lost his control. Not his speed or the movement on his breaking ball or the drop in his sinker. His control. What did that mean? Why couldn’t he just fire the ball over the plate, the way he did when it was only him and Uno?
He was deep in thought about his failures at Morse High until his uncle and Cecilia walked in.
Tommy reaches for his wife again. “But you smell so nice, mi amor. At least lemme smell you.”
Cecilia giggles, holding on to the door frame. She extends her neck, but when Tommy’s lips get close she pulls back, giggles some more.
Tommy pulls her toward him, bites her shoulder.
She lets out a little squeal and pushes his face away. “The kids,” she whispers again. “They’re right there.”
Tommy doesn’t even look this time. He stays with his lady, pulls her all the way into the apartment and shuts the door. “Mi amor,” he whines, leaning her against the end table, kissing her on the mouth this time. They hold their kiss for a few seconds, Cecilia running her fingers through Tommy’s thick brown hair.
When they separate, Tommy says, “I love you, baby.”
Cecilia sets down her handbag and pulls Tommy in close. “I love you, too,” she says. “And I’m gonna miss you when you’re gone.” She kisses Tommy’s forehead and nose, both cheeks.
“I’ll drive back every other weekend. And maybe you can visit me.” He kisses her neck, reaches a hand up for his wife’s chest.
Mexican WhiteBoy Page 11