“What?” said Mr. Clark. “Oh, no, Roger. This isn’t about that. I’m not going to sue Auburn. Nobody got hurt, and nothing was damaged except part of his own carnival. His own granddaughter was on that wheel, for heaven’s sake. Anyway, I’m no ambulance chaser.”
Roger wasn’t quite sure what an “ambulance chaser” was, but it didn’t sound nice. “So what’s going on?”
Mr. Horowitz spoke up. “I’ll get right to the point, Roger. First thing this morning, the coach and some parents from the Centerville team called me up. They … they want you disqualified from the game tomorrow. And any other official games.”
“Oh, no,” said Roger’s mother. His father frowned.
Roger was stunned, and his antennae drooped like cooked spaghetti. He knew he shouldn’t have been all that surprised. Last night at the carnival, that kid from Centerville had talked about something like this. But it still felt like he’d been punched in a stomach he really didn’t have anymore. He couldn’t think of anything to say. After all the work he’d gone to learning how to play baseball again practically from scratch!
“They had a meeting this morning,” said Mr. Alderman, “and the decision was made. I should point out that not everyone in Centerville agreed with it. Two of those kids you rescued last night were from Centerville, and their parents and a few others backed you pretty strongly. It just wasn’t enough. There was talk about a formal Little League protest, but they didn’t think it would be needed.”
“Not yet, anyway,” said Mr. Clark darkly. His daughter Julie had fought just as hard as Marlene to be accepted in Little League, and although Julie was afraid of bugs, she had the same kind of guts as Marlene when it came to a lot of other things. “Roger,” he said earnestly, “I helped to get girls into Little League around here. I’ll fight for you if you want. And not just because of what you did for Julie, either.”
“T-Thanks, Mr. Clark,” said Roger.
Mr. Horowitz spoke up. “I’m sorry about this, Roger. I did my best. I’ve had a pretty good record this week talking people into being reasonable, but it just didn’t work this time.”
“That’s okay, coach, er, Mr. Horowitz,” said Roger. “You’ve already done a lot for me.”
Roger stood quietly for a few moments, opening and closing his claws gently. Then, “I need to go outside and think a bit, if that’s okay.”
“Go ahead, son,” said his father with a solemn nod. “We’ll be here when you get back.”
Roger went out the back door, and Lou, looking concerned, followed him. He could hear a low murmur of voices as his mother got coffee for everyone, but he didn’t feel like listening in. He stood in the bright sunlight, letting it warm his body and fill him with energy as he absently scratched Lou gently behind the ears with one claw. Another skill he’d recently mastered, much to Lou’s pleasure. Good old Lou, thought Roger. A mantis’ best friend.
Suddenly, Roger stepped out into the yard, spread his wings, and launched himself high into the sky. Lou barked and ran under him, only stopping when he got to the end of the yard.
Roger had never flown very high in the daytime before. The view was spectacular and completely different from what he saw at night. He could see the carnival and workmen hauling off the wrecked Ferris wheel, piece by piece. Kids were still swarming the carnival despite the lack of rides. Maybe they were just there to look at the mess.
He flew out over the woods. All he really wanted to do was play Little League and someday baseball in high school and college. After that, who knew?
But now he was a big, frigging bug, and no matter how much fun it had been playing ball with his friends the past few days, some part of him had always known that a big, frigging bug had no real place in baseball. If it hadn’t been Centerville making the decision, it would have been some other team or the Little League people or something. This wasn’t like getting girls into the game. Girls were still human.
As he flew over the woods, Roger thought about it some more. He had to admit, his abilities weren’t fair to other players. Part of him had known that all along, too. He could hit the ball over the fence almost every single time. Not even professional baseball players can do that, he thought. And how would it look if a pro got to play on a Little League team? It would look pretty darn rotten, wouldn’t it?
Maybe the Centerville kid had been right.
Chapter Nineteen
Landing again in his own back yard, Roger strode purposefully inside, Lou at his heels once again.
The adults looked up, coffee cups halfway to their mouths, as Roger came to stand before them.
“So,” said Roger’s father after a few moments. “What do you think, son?”
Roger heaved a big sigh, his spiracles whistling. He looked down at his feet. “They’re right,” he said. “I hate it, but they’re right. I shouldn’t be playing. Not in real games, anyway. It’s not fair. The way I am now, I’m like … a ringer or something. A pro playing kid’s baseball.” He looked up again. “Sorry, Mr. Clark. I really appreciate the offer to help. Sorry, Mr. Horowitz, if I let you down, or the team, or anyone else.”
Nobody said anything. Everyone was looking at him but not in disappointment like he thought they would. Mr. Clark looked surprised but not unhappy. Mr. Alderman chuckled and winked at Mr. Horowitz. “Called it, didn’t I?” he said. Mr. Horowitz and his father were smiling. His mother’s eyes were wet, but she was smiling too.
“You haven’t let anyone down, son,” said his father.
“Precisely the opposite,” said his mother.
Mr. Horowitz nodded in agreement. “Our team practice is in half an hour, Roger,” he said. “It’s not an official game so I see no reason you can’t be there and have some fun with your friends.” He got up. “Thank you very much for the coffee, Joan.” He left, along with Mr. Alderman.
“I’ll fix you a little snack before you head to the field,” said his mother, heading off to the kitchen. Like many mothers, she was of the opinion that food made every situation better.
Roger stood still in the midst of all their movement, not sure what to think or how to feel.
“You okay, son?” his father said.
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Roger automatically. “Actually, I’m not really sure. Part of me feels good because I know this is the right thing to do. But an awful lot of me feels lousy because I can’t play baseball.” He looked at his father. “How does that work? I’m glad I did it, but I still hate it!”
“Roger,” said his father, “you’d be surprised how often doing the right thing works that way.”
“Huh?” said Roger.
“A lot of the time,” said his father, “doing what you know is right isn’t about getting a warm glow or feeling great. Often it’s a lot more work than not doing the right thing, and sometimes it’s downright painful, like now. But you do it anyway. Let me ask you a question: if you found a wallet with an address and a lot of money in it, would you return it?”
“Well, sure. I’m not a crook.”
“Would you do it even if the person didn’t give you a reward?”
“Yeah,” said Roger. “Yeah, I would. Jeez, who wouldn’t?”
“Would you do it even if you had to walk across town through the rain?”
“If I had to, sure, but I’d probably wait until the rain stopped.”
His father smiled. “I would too, but let’s not overthink it. You understand, though. Some things you do even if there’s nothing in it for you. Or even if it’s actually a pain to do it.”
“I guess. But why is that?”
“I could say ‘because it’s the right thing to do.’ But that’s not all of it. When you come down to it, it’s the same reason I go through the mess and aggravation of changing the oil in the car. Because if I don’t, eventually things stop working properly, or even break down. It’s related to the concept of duty. Some of that I learned in the Navy, some of it from my own parents and other peop
le I’ve known.”
“Oh,” said Roger.
“I suppose it’s one of the dozens of important things you learn as you go through life.”
“Why not just tell me all these important things right now,” said Roger, “and save me a lot of time?”
His father laughed. “Because most of the important things in life you have to learn for yourself as you go along. Nobody can do it for you. Now that I think about it, that was probably another important thing right there.”
“That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“See how that works?” said his father. “Anyway, I expect I still have quite a few important things left to learn myself. Now, I’ve got to get back to the office. You get your snack, and head over to practice. We’ll talk some more later.” He put his hand on Roger’s shoulder. “Your mother and I are even more proud of you today than we were last night.”
Roger went into the kitchen and gobbled up the little plate of sliced bologna and ham waiting for him.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said after he’d finished. “I’m heading out now. I’ll be back for supper.”
He trotted upstairs to get his bat and glove (and of course his baseball cap) and then went out the back door. He stood in the warm and wonderful sunshine for a minute, soaking it up. He looked over in the direction of the ravine that ran past the high school and the ball fields.
“Aw, the heck with it,” said Roger and took off into the sky. He’d already flown once today in the daylight, not to mention in front of the entire town last night, and the darn main highway was way over on the other side of town anyway.
When he landed at the Little League field, his friends and Mr. Horowitz were gathered in a clump between the pitcher’s mound and home plate. Everyone turned toward him wearing long faces. Obviously, Mr. Horowitz had just told the team the news.
“Oh, man, Roger,” said Henry. “This stinks.”
“Yeah,” said Julie, who walked up and actually stood right next to Roger for the first time.
The rest of the team piped up then, a gratifying flow of sympathy and support that made Roger feel a little better. Although, he noticed that Jerry and Marlene weren’t saying anything, and Mr. Horowitz just watched him.
“They were wrong to do this!” said Chris. “You were the best hitter ever!”
“The best hitter in the world!” said Ricky.
Roger interrupted. “Would you want to play against a kid’s team that had the best hitter in the world?”
The team stopped talking and looked at each other.
“Do I like that they’re keeping me from playing?” said Roger. “Of course I don’t. I hate it. But they weren’t wrong to do it. It isn’t right to have someone on the team who’s a … a … ”
“Super hero,” said Jerry, helpfully.
“Whatever,” said Roger. “Someone who can do this … ” He was still holding the old baseball bat with the duct tape in his claw. With one incredible snap, his right arm flashed outward, and the bat spun like a lost helicopter blade far into the sky. Everyone watched without saying a word as it whirled over the bleachers and finally hit the ground in the tall grass two hundred yards away. It bounced twice, stood on its end for a moment, and then fell over.
“Maybe the Super Hero has a point,” said Ricky, quietly. “It really wouldn’t be fair.”
“Not quite cricket, you might say,” said Jerry, in a fake British accent. Everybody groaned, even Mr. Horowitz.
“But Roger,” said Charlie. “If you can’t play, what’ll you do?”
“I can still have fun with you guys during practices. Just don’t count on me to save your butts in the real games. It’s not like I was ever the only hitter on this team.” Roger looked over at Gary.
Gary grinned. “Darn right you weren’t!” he said.
Roger got the distinct impression that Gary, at least, wouldn’t be too unhappy at a chance to step out of Roger’s shadow. He looked around at the others, who looked like they were coming to see Roger’s point. Maybe Gary’s too.
Mr. Horowitz smiled and nodded at Roger in approval. “We can all hope that this isn’t permanent, but we need to make it work for now. Let’s hit the field! The big game is still tomorrow! Roger, what do you want to do?”
“I think I’ll just hang out and watch for right now,” said Roger.
Roger went over to a bench by the fence before he remembered he couldn’t actually sit anymore. So, feeling miserable (but trying to hide it) and a bit stupid, he stood next to the bench as his friends pitched, hit, and threw the ball. Hey, at least I might have some advice for them, he thought. Or I could chase balls, like Lou.
He’d been watching for a while when a quiet voice behind him said, “Hey, Roger.”
Roger jumped, and turned around to find Barry Wilson standing alone on the other side of the chain link fence.
“Uh … hi, Wils … Barry,” said Roger.
“Man, you look even weirder close up,” said Barry; not nastily, just matter-of-fact.
“Thanks,” said Roger dryly. He bit off so do you. He didn’t need to make the Wilsons any angrier than they probably already were.
“I heard about you not being able to play anymore,” said Barry.
“When? I just found out myself a little while ago.”
“My mom. She finds out everything.”
“I guess she does, doesn’t she?”
Barry looked down at the ground. “That sucks, man.”
Roger hadn’t expected sympathy from Barry. It hadn’t been that long since Barry had been furiously promising to get back at Roger and his friends. “Um … yeah. It sure does. Thanks, Barry.”
“I know what it’s like not to be able to play when you really want to.”
“Yeah,” said Roger. “I guess you do, at that. But you just didn’t make the team this year. You’ve got another shot next year.” Roger thought about how much he’d been looking forward to next season and felt even worse.
“I know,” said Barry. “And I’m gonna make it this time, too! I’m going to talk my mom into baseball camp this summer.”
“That’s a pretty good idea, Barry. You know, you just might make it after all.”
Barry was quiet for a minute. “You know that thing with the reporter?” he said in a small voice.
“Yeah?”
“Sorry about that. I was just kind of … pissed about everything right then.”
“You know,” said Roger, “right here and now? I understand perfectly how that feels. It’s cool. Anyway, after that mascot gag we pulled on you, I think we’re even.”
Barry smiled. “I was pretty mad about it at the time, and I got in some hot water with my mom, but once things cooled down I had to admit I’ve had worse times than watching that reporter take it in the shorts.” He chuckled. “‘Roger Mantis.’”
“Yeah, that was a surprise for me, too. Believe it or not, I wasn’t even in on it.”
Roger looked back at the field. The team was taking a break, and Jerry, Marlene, Henry, and Ricky came up to the fence near Roger and Barry.
“You doing okay, Roger?” said Jerry his face darkening as he saw Barry. “What’s he doing here? Did you check him for a camera?”
“Hey, it’s okay, Jerry,” said Roger, holding up his arms. “Barry’s okay.”
“Don’t got a camera,” said Barry. “I do have some film, though.”
“What?” said Marlene.
Barry pulled a film canister out of his pocket. “My mom was taking pictures at the carnival last night.”
“In the dark?” said Ricky.
“My dad’s old camera is pretty good,” said Barry. “Anyway, after I heard about Roger getting kicked off the team, I figured that Roger really didn’t need any more crap right now.” Barry handed the canister through the fence.
Marlene took it, her eyes wide. “Thanks, Barry,” she said.
“Your mom is going to kill you,” sai
d Henry.
“What else is new?” Barry smiled. “At least she knows now I wasn’t suckered by a kid in a cardboard mantis head. But she won’t be mad at me this time. I replaced the film she took with an exposed roll. All black. She’ll just think she screwed up the camera settings for night shots. That won’t be new, either.”
Jerry grinned. “You know, I’m starting to like your style.”
Barry laughed. “Not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I hear a lot about you. And not just from my mom.” Jerry took a deep bow. The others laughed, too. The rest of the team wandered up to the fence, clearly wondering what was going on.
“Anyway,” said Barry, “maybe this buys you a little more time before those city idiots come down on you. Could you believe that reporter guy?”
He leaned up against the fence and looked at Jerry. “That mascot gag, Martinez. That was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“Hey, I took a bow already,” said Jerry.
“Like it’s hard to figure out,” said Roger. “Who else but Jerry?” His voice turned bitter. “It was a great idea, but it didn’t help me stay on the team.”
“Deal with it, man,” said Barry. “I had to.” For a minute, the old sullen look was back, then it was gone. “Come on, you guys, think! Jerry had an idea. Run with it!”
“Huh?” said Jerry.
Barry turned to Roger. “Roger Mantis, man. Be Roger Mantis.”
Marlene looked at Roger, too. “You mean … Roger? As the real mascot? That’s … that’s actually kind of brilliant.”
“It is, isn’t it?” said Jerry, his grin getting wider.
“Me? A mascot?” said Roger. “I don’t … ” Roger didn’t really know what to think. Not long ago he would have found the idea insulting. But now that the alternative was watching his team instead of playing …
“Wow,” said Henry. “We’ve never had a mascot before!”
“So it’s about time, right?” said Jerry. “It would absolutely rock! Roger, you can do all kinds of things no other mascot can do!”
Roger Mantis Page 13