by Tim Green
“Thank you.” Jalen appreciated that Cat’s mom was taking his playing in the championship game so seriously.
Inside, they were directed to the box seat area, all the way down to the wall separating the stands from the field. The Yankees were on the field for warm-ups, and JY saw them almost immediately, giving them a thumbs-up to go with his grin.
“Looks like he’s not too worried about me reading the pitches,” Jalen said, sitting down next to Cat.
“Why would he? Foxx can’t have the police or anyone block your view here. You’ll be fine without the distractions, right?”
“I should be.”
“Positive thinking, right? You can do this.” Cat sat back and chewed her gum with intensity. Usually so cool, she seemed nervous enough for both of them.
Jalen couldn’t help wishing he were with his own team. It distracted him to know that in a short time they would be taking the field against Chris without him to help. It might have been that distraction that left him feeling so relaxed as the Yankees-Red Sox game began. Even though Porcello shut the top of the Yankees’ order down with just ten pitches, by the time the top of the inning was over, Jalen had a bead on the Red Sox star pitcher. He signaled to JY that all was well, and it was—until JY committed an error on a routine ground ball, which led to the Red Sox taking a 1–0 lead going into the second inning.
As Gardner struggled against Porcello, JY moved to the on-deck circle.
“That error makes his batting even more important.” Cat said, wringing her hands.
Jalen had the flash thought that if JY struck out, the game would end faster and let him get back to his business of being a player, but he pushed the thought away and concentrated on the pitching.
“No worries,” he replied just as Gardner struck out.
“You know?” Cat looked as excited as he’d ever seen her.
“Yup.” He gave JY the okay sign.
As JY tightened his batting glove in the circle, Jalen turned his attention back to the mound. Porcello studied JY as he stepped into the box. He shook off the catcher’s signal, then nodded.
Jalen gave JY a thumbs-down gesture for the two-seam sinker. JY adjusted his feet and swung early. The bat cracked, and the grounder went wide of the third base line.
Cat groaned.
“It’s okay,” Jalen said, studying Porcello. “It’s just one strike.”
The next pitch was a four-seam and it would be high, so Jalen held the four fingers under his chin.
It was high, too high for JY to get a good piece of it, and it flew off the bat foul into the netting above Jalen.
“Jalen.” Cat grabbed his arm and squeezed.
“I can’t hit it for him,” Jalen said. “I can only tell him what’s coming.”
“I know, but . . .” Cat’s voice trailed off.
Jalen hesitated, uncertain what Porcello would do with his 0–2 count.
“Jalen?” Cat said. “Hurry.”
70
JALEN SAW ANOTHER SINKER COMING at the last instant.
He signaled, thumbs-down, but JY barely got his eyes back to the pitcher as the ball was released. It was as nasty as a pitch could be, dropping a foot at the last moment.
The Yankees star swung but missed, and the Boston crowd went wild.
71
PORCELLO WAS ON FIRE.
He knocked down Yankees batters like ducks in a shooting gallery.
JY’s next at bat came in the fifth inning. The Boston fans surrounding Jalen and Cat began to talk in low voices about a no-hitter.
Jalen signaled the pitches to JY, two sinkers to start. JY let them both pass. One was a strike, the other a ball.
Jalen gritted his teeth and leaned toward Cat. “He’s got to swing.”
He signaled a third straight sinker, and JY let that go as well. It was a ball, though, and the 2–1 count felt like a breath of fresh air.
“Maybe he’s smarter than you think,” Cat said. “Now’s he up on the count.”
Jalen signaled a high fastball.
JY smashed it, a frozen rope right at Porcello. In a blink, the pitcher snapped his glove around and snagged the line drive. JY banged the end of his bat in the dirt as he marched back to the dugout. Cat gave Jalen a worried look.
Jalen shrugged. “Porcello is killing it.”
“You don’t sound too upset.”
It was just after two thirty, and Jalen wasn’t going to point out that at this rate, he might be back with the Bandits in the first or second inning of the championship. He knew he was doing his best. “All I can do is signal the pitches. The rest is up to him, Cat.”
“Well, he’s 0 for 2,” she snapped, like it was his fault. “We really need these next two at-bats to be hits.”
“Or next one.” Jalen nodded toward the mound. “If Porcello keeps this up, JY’ll only get one more chance.”
“Do you even want to save his career?” Cat’s eyes flashed.
Jalen watched JY jog out onto the field to take up his position at second base. “Yes. I do want to help him, Cat. And I am here, helping him. But I want to be out there one day, and I won’t be able to get there unless I put in the hard work and get the game experience. You’ve got to play baseball to get better. Practice isn’t enough.”
“Well, hopefully you can do both,” she said.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “The double play. But a lot of things have to happen just right for even the chance to make a double play.”
Over the next two innings Porcello did his part, and so did Michael Pineda, who was pitching a whopper of a game for the Yankees. He had given up only one run on three hits, but he had also sprinkled in five walks.
Pineda was leaking oil after his hundredth pitch but navigated through a scoreless seventh. Clusters of Yankees fans scattered around Fenway gave him a standing ovation.
It was the eighth inning when Porcello showed real signs of weakness. On a 3–2 count, Gregorius let a fastball go by. It was just high, and when the ump signaled ball, Fenway really got loud. The booing raged up into the warm summer afternoon as Gregorius took first. And the Yankees dugout came to life. JY had a chance to save the team from being swept in their Boston series.
“I think you’re right,” Cat said. “JY probably won’t bat again after this. Jalen, this might really be it. If Foxx has Mr. Brenneck convinced that last week was a total fluke, JY can’t get shut out. He’s got to get a hit here. He’s just got to.”
Jalen gave her a nod and shifted his focus to the Red Sox pitcher. “I’ll do everything I can.”
72
THE WALK WOULDN’T PREVENT PORCELLO from notching a shutout. Only a hit could do that. Still, the Red Sox pitcher looked like he had a mouthful of broken glass, and Jalen knew he was going to try and muscle his way past JY, who’d struggled to connect with his fastball.
Jalen needed to be sure, though. He saw no reason to rush. He knew JY was watching him carefully, so after concentrating on the pitcher for a few more seconds, he held four fingers under his chin. JY saw it and shifted his feet just as Porcello went into his windup.
The fastball came in high, just as Jalen had predicted it would. JY swung for the wall. He got around late on it, and the ball sailed in the direction of the Pesky Pole in right field. Cat, her mom, and Jalen jumped to their feet. Every eye in the stadium followed it. Every neck stretched.
But the ball went foul.
“Oh, he almost had it!” Cat moaned, and clapped her hands together once.
The next three pitches were high, tantalizing fastballs as well, and even though he knew they were coming, JY couldn’t do more than nick them foul. His timing seemed to be off, and Porcello smelled blood like a shark in the water. With an 0–2 count, JY was fighting furiously to protect the plate, and it seemed like he was getting less and less of the ball.
“That last one was ninety-seven miles per hour,” Cat’s mom said.
Cat followed the direction of her mother’s finger, pointing to the pitch
speed on the scoreboard, before she turned to look at Jalen and asked, “Why are you smiling?”
73
JALEN GRINNED SO WIDE HIS face hurt.
He held up two thumbs.
“This isn’t . . .” The next word was “funny,” but Cat’s scolding faded as she realized Jalen was signaling a changeup.
After the barrage of fastballs, Porcello was going to try and trick JY with a changeup. It was the perfect pitch, except if the batter knew it was coming. The beauty of it was that the ball would hang in the air like a November apple on a low branch. JY got the signal and turned his eyes on the pitcher at the top of his windup. Everything said fastball, but the pitch came in fat and slow as promised.
74
JY RIPPED IT.
The ball took off, this time headed for left field, over the Green Monster, and on to Lansdowne Street.
The smattering of Yankees fans cheered like maniacs, but they were quickly smothered by a stadium packed with Red Sox groans.
Jalen, Cat, and her mom hugged one another and howled with delight, ignoring the dark looks of the Boston fans surrounding them.
Jalen suddenly froze. “I have to go.”
Gregorius crossed home plate, but JY hadn’t yet reached third on his easy tour of the bases. Jalen started to push past Cat toward the aisle.
“Wait.” Cat blocked him from getting by. “This isn’t over.”
“JY isn’t going to be up again, Cat.” Jalen didn’t like the look on her face. It was that stubborn look she sometimes got. “They’ve got the lead. You know that Betances will hold them in the eighth and Chapman will close the ninth. Money in the bank.”
“The Red Sox are going to be at the top of their lineup.” Cat gripped his arm and tugged him toward his seat. “They could come back and tie this. Anything could happen.”
“Yeah, anything could happen.” Jalen pointed to the clock. “I could leave now and help smash Chris and the Rockets, that could happen, but not with me sitting here just in case. Come on, Cat. JY is gonna be the hero, and I already missed at least an inning, maybe two. I gotta get back.”
“I just—”
“You’re the one who said ‘double play,’ Cat. Your words. Tag the bag and make the throw. Something spectacular. Something most people can’t do.” Jalen threw his hands up. “I tagged the bag, now you gotta help me make the throw. Right now.”
In his mind, Jalen was making backup plans. If Cat and her mom wouldn’t take him back, he could get a cab, or if he didn’t have enough money for that, he could figure out the trains. He didn’t want that, though. He wanted Cat with him because he felt like they were a team.
Cat clenched her teeth, and Jalen studied her face to see what it would be.
75
“YOU DIDN’T TAG THE BAG, Jalen. Not yet.” Cat spoke quietly but with the force of a tidal wave. “You know you didn’t. If you don’t get the first out, no one will care about the second.”
Jalen took a deep breath and held it, thinking about what he wanted to do, and then what he should do. Back and forth he argued with himself, even though he knew he’d do the right thing in the end, because that’s just who he was. If he abandoned JY now, when he and the Yankees might need him the most, there’d be no excuse. Not staying to finish the job he’d agreed to do would be wrong in anyone’s book.
He let out his breath. “You’re right. I’ll stay, but can we ask your mom to get the Rover to the garage exit so the instant we know, we can run out of here? Can we wait and listen by the entrance gate, maybe? Then, if we need to, we can run back to the seats?”
“For sure. That’s a good idea.” Cat wore a smile of relief, as if she’d expected a bigger fight from him. “Mom?”
“Yes,” Cat’s mom said, getting up from her seat. “I heard you guys. I’m happy to go get the Rover. I’ll be waiting right outside like we agreed. We can get right out. And Jalen? I’m proud of you.”
Jalen felt his cheeks grow warm, and he looked down at his feet and coughed.
“I’ll see you guys in a few minutes. Hopefully.” Cat’s mom reached over and mussed his hair before she gathered her purse, kissed Cat, and headed for the exit.
Cat and Jalen turned their attention to the game.
Porcello, pulled for a fresh arm after JY’s dinger, was replaced by Matt Barnes. Without knowing it, Barnes did everything he could to help Jalen by retiring the next three Yankees in order. Cat gave Jalen’s hand a squeeze before quickly letting go. As JY jogged out to second base, he looked over at the two of them and held a thumbs-up against his chest.
It felt good to be acknowledged, but Jalen felt like he had ants in his pants as the inning dragged along. After a strikeout, Betances gave up a single before Larry Rothschild, the Yankees pitching coach, stopped the action and headed to the mound. Jalen had to grab hold of the bottom of his seat to keep from jumping up and screaming for the coach to hurry. Finally both Rothschild and Betances nodded. The coach trotted back to the dugout.
Jalen looked at the clock on the scoreboard. It read 3:27. Every minute was eating into the Bandits’ championship game. “Come on.”
Betances wound up and threw a belt-high four-seamer. Hanley Ramirez connected and ripped a grounder right at Joe Ros. Ros scooped it up and tossed it to JY like a beanbag. JY jammed his foot against the second-base bag, snatched the ball from the air, and in the same motion, rifled it to first.
“Turn two!” Jalen and Cat were on their feet, shouting and slapping high fives.
The Yankees piled into the dugout.
Jalen bit his lip. “One more inning.”
76
THE YANKEES FELL QUICKLY, THREE up, three down, and Jalen began to hope he’d make it for the final few innings of the championship. He had no idea what state the game was in, but he knew the Bandits were good and could hold their own against the Rockets even if Chris had his best day ever.
Cat stood up and said, “Okay, let’s get to my mom. If the Red Sox tie it up in this last at bat, we’ll have plenty of time to get back to the seats before JY is up again.”
They stopped inside the gate. Cat’s mom pulled out of the garage and up to the curb when the crowd inside the stadium roared, and the Monster shook beneath the stamping feet.
Jalen looked at Cat, who looked at her phone. “What happened?”
Cat looked up from her phone. “Bogaerts just hit a double.”
“Come on.” Jalen started for the exit. “Maybe Chris Young will knock one out.”
“How about this?” Cat sounded insulted, and she held him back by the arm. “Maybe Chapman will sit the rest of them?”
“Yes,” Jalen grumbled. “You’re right. That’s what I want too, but mostly I just want it to be over.”
“I know,” she said, not sounding quite so angry. “Trust me. I want you to stomp Chris almost as much as you do.”
“You do?” Jalen said.
Cat nodded. “He makes me sick. I hate bullies.”
“Well, let’s go get him.”
“As soon as we know this is over for sure.”
Cat’s mom motioned to ask what they were doing. Cat held up a finger to her mom and got the radio on her phone, which was better than the app because there wasn’t a second of delay, and every second counted. They listened as Benintendi struck out, and Betts grounded out with a short hit to right field that advanced Bogaerts to third.
Jalen groaned. It was now 3:51, and even if they left now, he’d likely make just the final two innings. If Ramirez knocked in Bogaerts without scoring himself, they’d go into extra innings and he’d likely miss the entire championship game.
The Red Sox radio play-by-play man, Tim Neverett, set the stage, drawing out all the drama of a 2–2 count with Chapman trying to seal the win against their archrivals, ending it against arguably the Red Sox’s most potent batter. Before Neverett could get the words out over the radio broadcast, they heard the stadium erupt in cheers. A split second later came the call.
“Ramire
z swings and he got it! This ball is high and long and headed down the line for the Green Monster, Bogaerts is headed home, and it is . . . it hits the wall and—oh my! Oh, my, my, my!”
Jalen slapped his hands against both legs and leaned forward, growling at the radio. “Tell us! Tell us what happened!”
77
THE STADIUM ABOVE THEM ROARED.
“Joe,” said Neverett to his analyst, Joe Castiglione, “I’ve never seen anything like that before. Reuben Hall launches himself one foot, two foot off the corner of the wall and makes the catch, and this game is over, folks, in dramatic fashion, 2–1 Yankees.”
Castiglione laughed bitterly. “There was a ball girl in 2009, Tim, who did something just like this, just like it, and it makes me wonder if Reuben Hall saw it himself on YouTube and just said, ‘Hey, if a ball girl can do it, then so can I.’ Amazing . . .”
“Ha-ha!” Cat squealed, and turned and slapped high fives with Jalen. “Yes, yes, yes!”
“Come on.” Jalen raced through the gate and they threw themselves into the Rover.
“Mom, go!”
“Yes, all right.” Cat’s mom put the Range Rover into gear and the SUV jumped into the street.
They took a right, then a left, and surged up Brookline. Jalen looked back behind them and saw waves of people streaming from the stadium. He looked ahead at the empty road and giggled. “This is so great, Mrs. Hewlett.”
They went right onto Route 2, then left onto Charlesgate, without any traffic at all. Jalen knew the fields were just fifteen minutes away without traffic. They raced around the ramp that led to Storrow Drive, flying now because Cat’s mom knew that for Jalen, every second counted. They whipped around the tight bend so fast Jalen swallowed hard, because an accident was the only thing that could stop them now. Suddenly Cat groaned. A snake of red taillights stretched along Storrow Drive.