Hardball

by Steven Barwin

  HARDBALL

  STEVEN BARWIN

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  Copyright © 2014 Steven Barwin

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Barwin, Steven, author

  Hardball / Steven Barwin.

  (Orca sports)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4598-0441-8 (pbk.).—ISBN 978-1-4598-0442-5 (pdf).—

  ISBN 978-1-4598-0443-2 (epub)

  I. Title. II. Series: Orca sports

  PS8553.A7836H37 2014 jc813’.54 c2014-901586-0

  c2014-901587-9

  First published in the United States, 2014

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014935389

  Summary: Griffin’s intent to win a baseball scholarship is put on hold when he must prove his cousin innocent of using steroids.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover photography by Corbis Images

  Author photo by Jenna Grossi

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO Box 5626, Stn. B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO Box 468

  Custer, WA USA

  98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  17 16 15 14 • 4 3 2 1

  To my students: continue to stand up

  for what you believe in…

  even if it goes against the grain.

  Table of Content

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  A bat hadn’t even cracked a ball and Wade was already talking stats, scouts and scholarships.

  “Griffin, being seniors means that we’re at the top of the food chain.” He tucked his black hair under his baseball hat. “This is our year to lead the Sharks to the playoffs.”

  No matter how many home runs and rbis I managed to get, he always seemed to find a way to double that. “Go Sharks.”

  He slapped my back and it stung. “You should be more pumped!”

  “I am. I just want to get out there and play shortstop.”

  “You’re the king at setting up double and triple plays.”

  We moved away from the locker room and onto the field behind the high school. “It’s good to be back out here,” I said. “This is our season!”

  Wade looked at me and smiled, exposing a pink wad of bubble gum. I could see my reflection in his dark sunglasses. “Yeah, it feels great to be back in the South Coast Sharks uniform. How do I look?”

  “Black and red are your colors.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. Man, I can’t believe we’re finally in charge.”

  “You mean, other than Coach.”

  Wade pumped his fist into his glove. “When Coach Brigman isn’t around, it’s my team—our team.”

  “Yeah, Coach expects us to step up.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “Hey, you remember how my cousin made the cut?”

  “I don’t care about freshmen. They’re expendable.”

  “His name is Carson. He might be a freshman, but do me a favor and don’t give him a hard time.”

  “You know me.” Wade smiled. “I don’t like to play favorites.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  We got to the diamond and tossed a ball around in the outfield until the rest of the Sharks showed. Being first sent a message to the others. Carson showed up next, a bundle of skinny energy under bright red hair.

  “Calm down,” I whispered to him. I had told him to play it cool and try not to speak for the first week or so. Listening is the best way to survive initiation.

  “Just excited to play ball!”

  I reluctantly introduced him to Wade, and Carson raised his hand for a high five. Wade left him hanging, but Carson took it in stride.

  “Nah, that’s cool, man.” Carson took a bottle of suntan lotion from his back pocket. “Anyone want?”

  Wade gave me a look while Carson rubbed lotion all over himself. “I thought this day would never come!” Carson said with a smile.

  Coach Brigman arrived with his two assistant coaches as the rest of the team poured onto the field. He examined the team from under the brim of his hat. “Look at the bunch of you,” he said in a way that could be taken as a compliment or an insult. He looked over us to the outfield. “Most of you were late. Give me ten laps.”

  I jumped to it while Carson kept a few strides behind me with the other new players. As I rounded center field, Wade tapped my shoulder.

  He pointed over the fence to a small swamp. “Lake Wade.”

  “Lake Wade,” which was home to a few alligators, was where Wade liked to send his homerun balls. Every couple of weeks he’d get a caretaker to try and scoop them up with a leaf skimmer. Assuming, of course, a gator hadn’t gotten to them first. As I entered my final lap, the coaches were just finishing setting up for practice.

  Coach Brigman called the team in for a huddle. I got down on one knee and coughed loudly to get Carson’s attention to do the same. It was a sign of respect.

  Brigman introduced McKay as the pitching coach and Santos as the hitting specialist.

  “The season doesn’t start with the first game. It starts now. Don’t wait to give your hundred and ten percent. Do it now. If you want to win, win now. Do you want to win?”

  I shouted back with everyone else, “Yes, Coach!”

  “Do you want the championship?”

  “Yes, Coach!”

  The coaches broke us into groups based on our positions. I stayed with Coach Brigman and the infielders. For a drill called the shuffle, Brigman had us drop our gloves and divided us into three lines. He tossed a baseball on the ground to my right, and I shuffled to grab it and toss it back to him. As I started moving back into position, he tossed another baseball to the far left. I scooped it up and returned it, heading right to grab the next one.

  “On the balls of your feet and hustle!” yelled Coach Brigman.

  After six back-and-forths, I stepped back in line. I did three rotations, enough to break a sweat, and then Brigman switched things up.

  “Everyone grab your gloves and team up with someone.”

  Wade snatched up Carson, so I paired with Darren. He was extremely serious about baseball. When he pulled a hamstring at the end of last season, he managed to memorize the starting lineups on every American League team during his recovery.

  “Those the new guys?” Darren asked, pointing at the three freshmen.

  “Yeah. The one on the left is my cousin.” We starte
d off in pairs, grabbing the ball out of the grass. Darren and I one-bounced the ball back and forth to each other. When we got into a rhythm, Coach mixed things up by getting us to go faster. Then he moved us farther apart. There were seventeen guys on the team, and everyone was assigned a backup position. I played shortstop, but there had been times where I was called in to cover outfield. These kinds of drills helped everybody, no matter what his position.

  After practice, with the coaches out of sight, Wade stood on the wooden bench in the dugout. He walked the length of it, nudging players off the edge with his feet. “This is going to be an awesome year!” He continued down the line. “Sharks are going all the way.” Wade got some cheers until he noticed one of the new guys talking to the guy beside him. He crouched down next to him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Don’t say anything,” I muttered to myself. Tim or Tom—it started with a T—smiled, thinking Wade was joking. But then Wade started really getting into his face. Everyone else took a step back. “I don’t know what’s so funny. What’s your name?” said Wade.

  “Tom. I’m sorry.”

  I knew where this was going, but I didn’t want to jump in unless I had to.

  “You’re a freshie,” Wade said. “You don’t talk while I’m talking.”

  Tom stepped back toward me and the rest of the team. Safety in numbers.

  “Don’t ever look me in the eye.” He pointed at Carson, Tom and the other new kid, Adrian. I recognized him from working at the golf club. “That goes for all three of you. If you want respect from your seniors, then you need to earn it.”

  Wade loved to show off his temper. I knew he was just blowing off steam because he could. I might not have agreed with what he was saying, but I understood how guys who had paid their dues wanted others to as well. No one was getting a free ride.

  Wade set some more ground rules. The boys weren’t allowed to speak until spoken to. They had to do what Wade said when he said it. And he was just getting started. “School rules are that you have to keep a B average if you want to stay on a team. So to help you out, you get to do math homework for me, Griffin and Darren.”

  I could see the boys stifle a moan. Under the brim of his hat, Carson looked at me.

  “Got a problem, redhead?” Wade snarled.

  Carson shook his head.

  “You can do my homework.” Wade looked for a reaction from me, but I wasn’t going to give him one. It wasn’t a battle worth fighting.

  “And if any of you squeal to the coach, well, all this will seem like a walk in the park.”

  I thought back to my first year with the Sharks. It hadn’t been easy being the new guy. I remembered being made fun of when I messed up. When I struck out with the go-ahead run on third, a senior had made me his personal butler. I’d had to get his lunch, wait for him to finish and then clean up after him. The guy ate like a pig on purpose. Three weeks later, at bat in the same situation, I’d made sure to lean into the pitch. Getting hit by the ball was a guaranteed walk, and I didn’t have to play butler again.

  “We good?” Wade asked Darren and me.

  We both nodded. I could live with what he was doing considering I’d expected a lot worse. Then again, the season was young. Who could say how far Wade would take things?

  Chapter Two

  I held out my hand to receive a George Washington from an old guy in a yellow golf shirt. His clubs were hoisted over my shoulder, ready for the storage shed. It wasn’t a fun job, but because I hated serving food, and working in the kitchen was worse, being a bag-drop attendant was my only option. “How was your game, sir?”

  “One of my best.”

  “Glad to hear it.” I put the money in my pocket. Or, as I liked to call it, my college fund. I cleaned his clubs and then drove the cart around the corner for charging. As I carried his clubs into the members’ storage shed, I spotted Wade.

  He looked up, his hand deep inside a golf bag. “Oh, it’s only you.”

  “Find anything interesting?”

  “Five bucks and change.”

  I’d warned Wade that he could be fired for going through people’s bags, but he always said he could easily move on to another golf club. He’s probably right. I’ve worked at two others, and there isn’t much difference. The members are the same. Rich folks who keep their eyes on the Cuban gardeners while we keep ours on the pretty granddaughters. I’d fallen for one or two over the years. Wade plucked them like they were oranges dangling off trees. He’d offer to show them the real Florida, not the kind they’d see in the confines of these gates or the discount-shopping malls.

  We walked back to the bag drop-off stand. “Can’t wait to kill at the season opener tomorrow,” Wade said. “We’re going to get scouted, win scholarships to U of Miami and play for the Hurricanes.”

  Wade and I high-fived, and then we each took a scrubber and cloth to two sets of clubs. A man and his wife pulled up in a golf cart, stepped out and walked away without so much as a glance.

  “You see that?” said Wade. “Not even a thank-you. And look at that cart. It’s a mess.”

  I undid the Velcro strap and lifted the clubs off the back of the cart.

  “You know what kind of people don’t tip or even look you in the eye?”

  “No,” I said, even though I’d heard his rant a thousand times.

  “Doctors. Cheapest northerners ever.” Wade took the clubs from me and hauled them into the shed.

  I heard the zip of a pocket opening. Something told me he was planning to get his tip one way or another.

  Hot burgers were burning a hole in my passenger seat. I pulled into a BMW dealership and parked between two sparkling 7 Series that brought out the scrapes and dings in my old silver Mustang. Inside, the receptionist greeted me, buzzed my dad and told me to go to his office. His desk was always a mess, and there was an old picture of me from fifth grade that badly needed updating.

  “Big game tonight!” said my dad as he strolled into the office.

  I held up the bag of burgers. “Brought dinner.”

  “Sorry, I’m in the middle of closing a deal.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll leave yours here. When’s the last time you took a day off?”

  “I can sleep when I’m dead.”

  “You know I hate it when you say that.” Long after my mom bailed on my dad, he was still having trouble coping. He always looked kind of worn out. I didn’t know if he’d ever get over his wife falling in love with another man. My mom moved to Sarasota and then Atlanta. The farther north she went, the less I spoke to her.

  “Thanks for dropping by. Gotta get back and close it.”

  “Good luck.” On my way out, I passed his boss’s office and spotted the giant gong that the salespeople hit when they landed a deal. I knew from my dad that business in South Florida was bad all around. Cars baked on lots while malls closed and homes foreclosed.

  I turned at the South Coast High sign and parked next to Wade’s white Jeep. As I walked behind the school, I heard a voice coming from the basketball court.

  “This shouldn’t be this difficult.”

  Through the fence, I spotted Wade and Darren standing in front of Carson and the other two freshmen, Tom and Adrian. All three were in uniform with their heads down. I came onto the court, and Wade tossed my blue math workbook at me. It fell short, its pages splaying open.

  “Not only can they not play baseball, but they suck at math.”

  I picked up the workbook and scanned my homework while Wade continued to fire insults at them the way an Uzi spits out bullets. “I can see where they went wrong,” I said. “PEMDAS. You need to multiply what’s in the parentheses before—”

  “Shut up, Griffin,” Wade snapped. “These boys are stupid dogs. And when they don’t do what their owner tells them, they must pay. How else are they going to learn?”

  Darren shrugged his shoulders as though Wade was waiting for an answer.

  I tried to step in again to help the boys. “
It goes parentheses, exponents, multiplication—” This only seemed to make Wade angrier.

  Wade signaled to Darren, who pulled out an open can of dog food and a plastic spoon. He looked away, offended by the smell, and held it out.

  “Your new name, Tom, is Rover. So eat up, Rover,” Wade ordered.

  Tom dug the spoon into the dog food. After more prodding from Wade, he slowly forced it into his mouth. He gagged, spitting small chunks onto the ground.

  Wade and Darren burst into laughter before passing it to Carson.

  “Hey,” I called out. “It’s game time.”

  Wade looked at Carson. “Your turn, Sparky.”

  Carson looked at me, his face a complete blank. He took the spoonful and downed it like it was meatloaf.

  “That’s how you do it,” Wade commented. “Good boy, Sparky.”

  Wade dug the spoon to scoop up more dog food. “Last to go is Buster.”

  These dog names are so stupid.

  I watched Adrian take the dog food. He chewed, looked up at Wade and said, “Seconds, please?”

  He was looking for a reaction, but I know Wade, and he doesn’t like a suck-up. The boys were dismissed. I warned Wade not to do anything that might come back and bite him.

  “Four more months of high school, Griff. You need to relax and enjoy the ride.”

  I nodded and looked away.

  “Is this because of your cousin?” He started laughing before I could answer. “Sparky seemed to enjoy it!”

  I followed Wade off the court and toward the baseball field. He howled like a rabid dog the entire way.

  Chapter Three

  Two balls, two strikes and one out lit up the scoreboard in our game against the Stingrays. The score was tied with three innings left to go in the season opener. I sneaked a peek at the crowd and the bleachers were full. The turnout for the first couple of games, the homerun derby and the playoffs was always good. Everything else was spotty. I saw my dad scurrying past people to an opening on the long bench. There was no way he had made that sale. The paperwork alone takes forever.