by Tim Green
When he took some garbage out and opened the Dumpster, the smell reminded him about the circus with Chris in the lunchroom. Jalen wondered if it would make things worse or better at tomorrow night’s practice. He’d get a hint in school. If Chris gave him dirty looks, he could probably plan on more beanballs. He wondered how long he could endure it, and that started him thinking for the hundredth time about escaping to Bronxville. There had to be a way to convince the coach to take Daniel, so they could both go. What would happen if Coach Allen knew Jalen was a baseball genius and could use his skills to help the Bandits win?
With all the preparation for the evening complete, Jalen’s dad insisted that the two of them share an early meal before Jalen went to Cat’s house. They sat on stools at the countertop where his father did most of his work. There was still hustle and bustle all around them, but the steaming plates of linguine and clams set out on two sides of the corner made it somehow seem like a private meal. His father looked weary, but he still had the twinkle in his eyes that told Jalen he was overjoyed.
“You’re not tired, Dad?”
“Maybe a little.” His dad sighed deeply but looked around and grinned. “But this is what I love. A busy restaurant, and the people complaining they can’t get a table until next month. I take the walk-ins at the end of the night, and they keep coming later and later.”
“How are you going to franchise? You can’t be at every restaurant at once.” Jalen shoveled in a mouthful of food.
“Once I get everybody doing what I need them to do, I can teach more people to do it again. Then the people I train, they train more people. You do it like this for a while and soon fifty Silver Liners!”
“But isn’t it your cooking that everyone wants?” Jalen asked.
His father shrugged. “Is my cooking, yes, but a lot of the people can cook like me. The secret is nonna’s recipes and making the sauce just like she make it. And also, the seafood’s gotta be fresh. Most people, they don’t want to take the time anymore. They hurry the sauce. They take the seafood even when it’s not perfect.”
“I like seeing you smile, Dad.”
“You’re happy too, right?” his dad asked.
“If you get rich and famous, can we find my mom?” Jalen felt uncomfortable asking, but it was too late to take it back. His father’s face went from shock to embarrassment, and Jalen couldn’t remember seeing his dad embarrassed before.
“Your mom?” His father’s embarrassment turned to pain.
34
JALEN’S DAD SLID OFF HIS stool and backed away. “I don’t know, Jalen. I don’t know. I . . . I gotta check the marinara sauce.”
Jalen set down his fork and watched his father work over the stove. He regretted bringing up the subject of his mom. He knew better. It had become an unwritten rule between them. She was there in her picture on his dresser, but talking about her always upset his dad, and Jalen never wanted to do that.
“Dad,” he called through the noisy kitchen. “I’m sorry.”
His father dusted his hands and wiped them on his apron as he turned around, smiling again. “How you liking the phone? Good, no?”
“I like it.” Jalen nodded, eager to put distance between them and the subject of his mom. “I like Twitter and knowing what’s going on. People are telling JY he needs to get back and get some lucky calamari.”
“I got it for him when he is ready.” Jalen’s dad puffed up his chest and patted it.
His dad sat back down. They ate without talking before picking up their plates and rinsing them in the giant sink. Jalen’s dad gave him a hug and a kiss. It was as if the subject of Jalen’s mother had never been raised. “You have fun with your friends!”
“Thanks, Dad.” Jalen left through the front, glad he and his dad could just put uncomfortable things behind them. It would have been nice if his father had responded in a more positive way, eager to help, maybe even excited by the prospect. But Jalen should have known better. Besides the silent photograph in his room, and a rare uncomfortable mention, it was as if he had no mother.
As he walked out, he was aware of how different the restaurant looked with its crisp white tablecloths and napkins and the handful of waiters and waitresses ready to go. It raised Jalen’s spirits to think that things could be so quickly transformed. As he slogged along uphill toward Cat’s house, he thought about the things in his life that weren’t right and how they could be fixed. JY needing him again could change a lot. He could have money to hire a detective. His dad would never have to know. If he could get JY to tell people about his genius, he could use that to get Daniel a spot on the Bronxville team. It could all happen.
He just needed Kluber to O-fer JY.
Cat and Daniel were waiting for him in the TV room at the back of the mansion. Jalen could smell the warm pizza resting in its box on the coffee table. The game was about to begin.
“You ready?” Cat asked. “Pizza?”
“You know my dad. I just ate.” He sat next to Cat and reached across her to bump fists with Daniel.
“Kluber is a killer,” Daniel said.
“We’ll see.” Jalen’s mouth felt dry, but his clenched hands were wet.
The first two Yankees batters struck out before Sánchez hit an easy pop fly into left field, ending the top of the inning. Watching the Yankees on defense was painfully slow for Jalen. All he cared about was the next at bat for his team. JY was set to bat sixth, so they’d get an idea where he was in the second inning for sure. Finally, the inning ended with Cleveland taking a 1–0 lead.
Jalen stood up and paced the room during the commercials. Daniel glanced at him nervously, but Cat sat ramrod straight with her arms folded across her chest, wearing a confident smile.
Tollerson stepped up to the plate for the Yankees and drilled a line drive through the 5–6 hole for a double. Tyler Hutt hit a single, putting runners on first and third and affording JY a nice opportunity. Kluber looked calm and cool, but suddenly not so dominant as Yager boldly took the plate.
“Just my luck,” Jalen muttered.
“We’ll see.” Cat’s eyes hadn’t lost their sparkle.
JY took a few practice swings and set his feet. Kluber wound up and threw a fastball high and outside. JY tagged it. The ball took off for the fences.
Jalen felt his stomach drop, but the ball tailed off and went outside the right foul pole.
“Wow,” Daniel said. “Close.”
Kluber wound up again, this time throwing his curveball. JY swung and missed.
Jalen pumped his fist, feeling guilty but unable to keep from smiling.
“0–2,” said Cat.
“He’s got to throw another curve.” Jalen spoke without thinking.
Kluber did throw a curve and JY whiffed.
“Yes!” Cat and Jalen slapped high fives.
Daniel frowned.
“Hey, this is what we want,” Cat told him.
“I know. It just feels weird to be so excited.”
Weird or not, that was how things went for JY and the Yankees, who lost 5–2 with JY batting O-fer on the night. At the end of the game, the announcers jokingly discussed how James Yager definitely needed to get back to New York for some lucky calamari.
The three friends stood when it was over. The pizza box sat open and empty, except for several crusts that Cat didn’t want.
“Now what?” Daniel asked.
“We wait,” Cat said.
“Tomorrow’s the last day of school.” Jalen wanted to change the subject. Waiting would be agony. He hated even to think about it.
“Hard to believe, right?” Cat said. “Next year, seventh grade.”
“Talk about old,” Daniel said.
“You gonna walk out with me?” Jalen asked him.
“Sure.”
Cat saw them to the kitchen door, and they stepped outside. The air had a slight chill to it, but Jalen felt like the shiver in his spine had more to do with his excitement over JY’s flop than the cold. The three of them
bumped fists, but as Jalen and Daniel turned to go, Cat’s phone chimed. Jalen didn’t want to give it a jinx, but he couldn’t help the hope that flooded him as Cat checked her phone for the text.
“That’s not JY, is it?” Daniel said.
“Yes,” Cat said, “it is.”
Cat’s face glowed in the light of her phone, but Jalen couldn’t read her expression as she thrust the phone at him.
“Take a look at this.”
35
“WHAT’S IT MEAN?” JALEN HELD on to the phone, reading the words again.
“Just what it says,” Cat replied. “He wants to talk when he gets back. He means talk about the terms of your deal.”
“He didn’t say that, though.”
Cat took her phone back from him and glanced at it before stuffing it into her jeans pocket. “He doesn’t have to. It’s self-explanatory. He realizes he’s not going to get that new contract extension the way he’s going.”
Jalen’s heart thumped inside his chest. “But maybe not. Maybe it’s something else.”
“Don’t be afraid of success.” Cat waved her hand to dismiss his doubts. “Or of me being right all the time.”
She huffed on her nails and polished them on her sweatshirt.
“Oh, brother,” Daniel said. “What a load of hot sauce.”
“Does the truth hurt so much?” she asked.
“If your head swells any more,” Daniel said, “you’ll turn into a hot-air balloon and float away.”
“When a guy’s right all the time,” Cat said, “he’s a genius, but when a girl’s right, she’s got a swollen head? Talk about hot sauce . . . .”
“I gotta go, guys.” Jalen turned and left them to their bickering. He marched downhill, feeling light on his feet. The game couldn’t have gone better for him, which meant worse for JY. He passed the Silver Liner parking lot, bursting with cars, and crunched down the gravel drive to his house.
• • •
The last day of school always had a partylike atmosphere. Teachers dropped their cloaks of seriousness, and the chatter in the classrooms and hallways felt like a sports bus after a big win. Even bitter enemies seemed to be under a flag of truce, but after sixth period Jalen was surprised when he turned to find Chris blocking his way in the hall.
“Hey.” Chris’s sling was gone, another good sign, but he wore a menacing frown.
“Hey,” Jalen said. “What’s up?”
“I thought we should talk.”
“Okay. Shoot.” Jalen tried to keep his voice from shaking.
“Pretty funny, those rabbit turds in my lunch, huh?” Chris’s frown became a bitter smile.
“I . . . have no idea.” Jalen’s muscles tightened from a fresh jolt of fear.
“Yeah, you do.” Chris narrowed his eyes but kept his hands to himself.
“I didn’t do that.”
“Maybe, but you knew about it.” Chris folded his long arms and leaned into the lockers, striking a casual pose. It looked to Jalen like he was holding up the wall. “But I want to bury the hatchet, you know?”
Jalen rubbed his jaw, which was still sore, if not swollen.
“I mean, we’re on the same team, right?” Chris raised his eyebrows.
“Where is this coming from?” Jalen looked around. Maybe someone was videotaping his response. Maybe someone was about to spill a can of paint over his head.
Chris shrugged. “I’m just a good guy.”
Jalen snorted.
“No?” Chris looked offended.
“Maybe.” Jalen looked around. The hallways were beginning to empty. He took a step backward. “I don’t know.”
“You should know.” Chris unfolded his arms and stepped forward. “If I wasn’t a good guy, I’d be beating the crap out of you right now.”
“It wasn’t me. I swear.”
“Yeah, well, if I were you, I’d just quit right now.”
“Quit?”
“The Rockets.” Chris folded his arms again. “Just quit. Again, here I am being the nice guy, because you are not going to want to go through everything I’ve got planned for you this summer. But I was thinking, instead of being distracted by the punishment I need to inflict on you and your scurvy friend, I’d rather focus on my curveball. But if you’re around . . . well, I can’t let you get away with what you did.”
“You can’t scare me.” Jalen straightened his back.
“No?” Chris smiled and nodded and turned to walk away.
The instant Jalen relaxed, Chris spun around, shrieked like a demon, and lunged right at him.
36
CHRIS STOPPED JUST SHORT OF smashing into Jalen, as if he were some crazed guard dog on a chain.
His bared teeth nearly touched Jalen’s nose.
Jalen blinked at the puff of rotten breath. He felt like he’d nearly peed his pants, and he knew his face must have been the picture of shock and fear, because Chris laughed loud and hard, pointing at Jalen as he walked away backward down the hall.
Jalen took a deep breath and gathered his wits. The bell rang. He was late.
Fortunately, the easy mood of the last day kept his teacher from saying anything as he slipped into his seat in math class. The teacher, Ms. Smythe, handed out a sheet with ten problems on it and returned to her desk, holding up her own copy.
“Just for fun, I thought I’d give you ten questions you might see on the ACT test in high school. I know it’s a long way off, but we actually worked on these concepts during the year and I think with some effort, some of you will be able to solve these.”
“Are we getting graded?” someone asked.
Ms. Smythe smiled. “No, it’s just for fun, to test yourself and realize what’s up ahead in math. Try them. You’ll see. Oh, and I did include one question that you won’t know just as a teaser. Anyone who gives me five correct answers gets a coupon for a free pizza at Pavone’s Pizza in town.”
That got everyone’s attention, and all of a sudden the annoyance turned into a fun challenge. Everyone loved Pavone’s pizzas.
Jalen looked at the paper and was so distracted by what Chris had said that he jotted down the answers to every single one, set his pencil down, and delivered his sheet to Ms. Smythe’s desk.
She looked up and lowered her glasses, surprised and disappointed. “Jalen, you’re one of my better students. I was hoping you’d really try on this . . . .”
“I . . .” Jalen looked around the room. Everyone was staring at him. He felt his face grow warm, and he returned to his seat, where he secretly took out his new iPhone. He hid it beneath the edge of his desk and began to read up on the stats from the previous night’s MLB games. Lost in the numbers, Jalen didn’t realize that the voice calling out in the back of his mind was his teacher’s until—when he finally looked up—everyone was staring at him again.
Ms. Smythe was holding up his sheet. “Jalen? I said, did you guess on these?”
“I . . . yes.” Jalen felt suddenly damp under his arms.
“No.” Ms. Smythe shook her head. “I don’t believe you did. You got every one of these correct, and the odds of that are more than a million to one.”
“Actually, one in ten million two hundred forty thousand,” Jalen said before he could stop himself. The number had simply popped into his head before he could realize he shouldn’t be saying it, because it only confirmed for his teacher what was really going on in his brain.
A couple of kids laughed nervously. Ms. Smythe frowned and shook her head before adjusting her glasses and returning her attention to the paperwork on her desk. Everyone else went back to their handout—eager for a free pizza—and Jalen tried to focus on his stats, even though his brain kept trying to come up with the solution to the unsolvable problem of finding an excuse for how he’d answered everything correctly and so fast.
Before the bell finally rang, Ms. Smythe called for the worksheets to be turned in. Many of Jalen’s classmates groaned because they’d only completed half the questions. Ms. Smythe quick
ly graded the papers and announced that only Jalen had won a pizza.
“I’m glad you all tried, though,” she said, just as the bell rang.
As the room emptied out, Jalen wasn’t surprised to feel Ms. Smythe’s hand on his shoulder. “You and I need to talk, okay?”
37
JALEN REMAINED BEHIND AS THE classroom emptied.
“You want your free pizza, right?” Ms. Smythe handed him the coupon.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, will you tell me why you’re hiding your ability?” she asked. “Why have you hidden it all year? You’re not a B-plus math student. You’re gifted.”
Jalen looked down at his sneakers and told the truth. “I don’t want to do math. I want to be a professional baseball player.”
Ms. Smythe frowned. “Why can’t you do both? Play ball and become a mathematician?”
Jalen shrugged. “I don’t want to be a freak.”
She huffed. “How does being a brilliant math student make you a freak?”
Jalen looked up. He saw the excitement in her eyes. He’d seen that before, in fourth grade when Mrs. Boehr started having him tested: pulled out of class and sitting in an empty room with strangers asking him questions, writing them out on a dry-erase board for him to solve, and talking about Jalen going to a special school his dad could never afford. “I better go, so I’m not late for my next class.”
Ms. Smythe put her hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. “You can always let me know if you change your mind. I can help you, Jalen. You have no idea how the world could open up for you.”
“Thank you, Ms. Smythe. Have a nice summer.” Jalen got out of there fast. If he could have kicked himself in the backside, he would have. He didn’t want to stand out that way, as a math whiz.
After his last class, Jalen joined the stampede of kids rushing out the main entrance of the school. There were cheers and laughter, and the sun shone down on them all, promising the joy of summer to come. The bus ride was a circus. The air was filled with delighted howls and flying things like spitballs, erasers, and worn-down pencil nubs. In the mayhem, Jalen told Daniel about his meeting with Chris in the hallway before seventh period.