Hurricane Heat

by Steven Barwin

  I turned and spotted Charlie talking with Coach Robert. Davis was alone on the bench.

  “What are you doing?” Davis said to me.

  “Nothing.”

  “On the phone.”

  I nodded. It was pretty obvious.

  “Who you calling?”

  I didn’t know what to say and was worried he might squeal to Charlie. I thought about lying. Then I remembered that other than Ethan, Davis was the only one on the team interested in talking with me for more than a minute. “I’m searching for my sister.”

  “She lost?”

  I told him the story.

  “Having any luck?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  In the sixth inning, there was another three up and three down. Coach Robert called out my name, telling me to take over. Like a good soldier, I hit the mound, did my warm-up and steadied the ball for the first pitch. I had no idea if we were winning or losing. A quick glance at the scoreboard showed we were ahead by two. Ethan flicked two blocked fingers in my direction, calling for a split-finger fastball. I looked at the batter, his uniform bright orange. The pitch zipped under the bat. I caught the pass back, returned to the mound and hoped they’d all go that way so I could return to my list. Prepping for my second pitch, I noticed Charlie and Davis chatting. Was he telling him about Amanda? Charlie would probably find some way to use it against me. My next pitch was off target, and I was punished with a single. Stay focused, I told myself.

  Ethan called for a curveball. Problem was, I had my eye on the lead off the runner on first was taking. I could get through this inning quicker if I picked him off. I broke from my stance and whipped the ball to first. He made it back to the first base. Ethan tossed me a look. Ready to deliver on that curveball, I saw the runner on first take an even bigger lead. I again whipped the ball to first and shrieked when it went wild, allowing the runner to advance to second base. Ethan made a visit to the mound, and I promised him I’d focus on the batter. I pushed the phone calls I needed to make out of my head and was able to get out of the inning undamaged.

  Coach Robert pulled Ethan and me aside as we approached the dugout. “What was all that about? You two need to get on the same page.”

  We nodded.

  As I grabbed my spot on the bench, my cell phone rang. I quickly hit Mute and turned to see the coach looking at me.

  His hands were pressed against his hips. “Did I just hear that? Now, what’s up with you, Mr. T?”

  I could hear the murmur of someone talking at the other end of the line. “Sorry, Coach,” I said.

  “Do you have a sick aunt?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Dog?”

  “No dog, Coach.”

  “Cat? Fish? Catfish?”

  I spun back with a quick no. I needed him off my back so that I could take the call. I angled the phone slightly away from my chest to let the person on the other end know I was still there.

  “Then I’m trying to understand why you see the need for a cell phone in my dugout. Am I clear?”

  “Yes.” I looked toward Charlie, who didn’t seem to know what was going on.

  “Good.” Coach Robert turned to Ethan. “Keep your pitchers in line. Davis, after this at bat, you’re taking over from Mr. T.”

  I slipped to the far end of the bench and answered my phone call with a whispered “Hello.”

  A woman’s voice said, “You’re still there. You left a message on my machine. I want to let you know I don’t know Amanda. Thought I owed you at least a call back. Good luck.”

  My stomach turned. I slouched my head and turned off the phone.

  “Give me your phone,” said Ethan.

  “Leave me alone, please.”

  “Then give me that piece of paper you’re always looking at.”

  He reached for it, and I pulled away. “I need this.”

  “We’re playing an important game and you’re goofing off.”

  I told him that trying to find Amanda was not wasting my time.

  “Can you at least wait until after the game? There could be scouts out there.”

  “What’s the difference? I’m pulled from the game.” Ethan glared at me. “Fine,” I said.

  Two innings later, we managed to hold on to our lead and take the game. After handshakes with the Chargers, I walked with Ethan to the stands, where he introduced me to his parents. They were both tall, tanned and very put together. In other words, intimidating. His dad complimented me on my pitching, specifically my fastball. His mom asked me how things were going with my sister. I told her the lousy truth. Before they headed back to Hermosa, they said they’d be back on Monday if we made it to the finals.

  Ethan and I hung back in the stands to watch the next game. “You got a problem with me making calls now?” I asked.

  He smiled. “What do you think?”

  I continued making calls until Ethan persuaded me to throw some pitches to keep my arm warmed up.

  At the afternoon game, Coach Robert kept looking at me to see if I was on the phone. It was hard to resist, but I knew he was watching to see how committed I was and whether I was a player he could trust. I wasn’t called in until the last batter of the game, but I got the job done. The Hurricanes moved forward in the tournament. I was back in the coach’s good books, and, more important, I could go back to making my calls.

  chapter thirteen

  On Sunday morning, Coach Robert arranged for an early wake-up call. I didn’t like having to get up early, but it was nice being the only team in the lounge. There were no lineups for food. Coach reminded us all that if there’s a tie, the team with the most points advances to the finals. Not only did we have to win both of today’s games, but we also had to keep our runs allowed as close to zero as possible. That put all the pressure on the pitchers.

  We arrived at the field early. The coach’s plan was to rotate all the pitchers into the game. In the third inning the Bulldogs’ bats came alive, and I was brought in to stop them. It was the first time I had been called in early in a game. They scored one run off a fastball I let rise too high, and I thought I had failed. But Coach Robert said he was proud of me for plugging the leak.

  After the game, Coach Robert ordered us to stick together and told us to keep from getting distracted. We all went to the restroom, got drinks and sat in the stands to watch a team Coach Robert said would be in the finals. “Study them,” he said. “Get to know your enemy.” When I tried to sneak to the top of the stands to make another call, Coach Robert was all over me.

  In game four, with a four-run lead for us, my biggest challenge was staying away from my phone. We needed to win this game against the Ravens to stay alive. With one out to go in the bottom of the seventh, we thought it was in the bag. Then Davis gave up a double and a single. He had no choice but to load the bases. Coach Robert paid Davis a visit, and I deflected a glance from Charlie. It was him or me. I knew Coach Robert was stalling to see who the Ravens were bringing out to hit. I’d get called if it was a left-handed hitter, and Charlie would take a right-handed hitter. The Ravens coach subbed in a hitter. I watched carefully as he exited the dugout, picked up a bat and took a practice swing. I was in.

  The night sky had started to show. Davis reluctantly handed me the game ball and almost refused my high five. After my short warm-up, the batter stepped to the plate and took his position—batting right. He was a switch-hitter. I looked to the coach to see if he’d pull me out, but he didn’t.

  I gripped a fastball, predicting Ethan’s call. After the last game, I’d promised to pitch whatever he wanted. Into my windup, I curled my right foot up and then extended it, bringing my arm with it. The ball left my hand at top speed, heading for the inside and high. The batter started to swing, then tried to stop himself, but his wrists broke.

  The umpire yelled, “Strike!” and the Ravens bench reacted.

  I held back a smile as I took off my cap, wiped the sweat from my forehead and placed my hat back on.

>   Ethan called for another strike, this one lower.

  I released the ball, doing my best to push it low and out of the middle of the plate. As if in slow motion, I watched the ball dip and the batter swing. The ball dug into the dirt and bounced wildly in front of home plate.

  Ethan dropped to his knees to block the ball, rescuing it after it rebounded off his chest blocker.

  I let out a long breath, relieved to see the runner on third forced to retreat.

  The umpire yelled out again, “Strike.”

  Ethan threw me the ball as the coach paid me a visit. Ethan joined us.

  The coach looked at Ethan and then at me. “I’ve seen two up in the count and bases loaded end horribly before. In some ways, it’s better to be behind—makes you hungry for the strike.”

  I nodded, unsure how this information was helping me.

  “There are two types of batters,” Coach said. “I’m hoping he’s the kind who swings for the fences. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” He patted my back and walked away.

  I asked Ethan what the second type of batter was.

  He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Coach never gets that far.”

  “Okay.” I kicked some dirt up with my shoe. “So you want a fastball, right?”

  “I just want a strike. You want to go fastball up high and outside?”

  “Or we could go fastball and inside. He won’t be expecting it.”

  Ethan nodded. “And what if it trails across the plate? You heard the coach. He might swing for it.”

  “Then it comes down to speed. Bat versus ball.”

  “All right. Inside and high.” Ethan returned to home plate.

  I steadied my gaze on the strike zone and released my third fastball in a row. The coach was right—the batter started his swing. He wanted the grand slam. My fastball was out of position and confused him. He had choked up on the bat, expecting it on the inside. Instead, it raced over the plate on the outside. He adjusted his swing at the last moment and missed.

  Ethan jumped to his feet the moment the ball entered his glove and charged toward me. “Three pitches—that was awesome!”

  People in the stands cheered and the Hurricanes applauded as Ethan directed me to the bench.

  “If the scouts weren’t watching you, they sure will be now!” said Ethan.

  A crowd of high fives greeted me.

  Coach Robert put his arm around me and turned to face the team. “We’re moving on! Great job, Travis.”

  He had called me by my first name, and it wasn’t obvious only to me. I saw the look on Charlie’s face. I was through more than half the numbers on my list, and still no Amanda. I wondered if I just had bad luck or if maybe her family’s number wasn’t listed. A burger in one hand, my phone in the other and the team out of earshot, I dialed yet another number. While it rang, I kept an eye on the Hurricanes, who were seated at a row of picnic tables. Next to the tables were four barbecues. Flipping burgers at one of them was Kevin Perry, the guy who used to work with Bob.

  “Hello?” It took me a second to remember that my phone was pressed against my ear.

  After eighteen phone calls, I had figured out how to get right to the point. “Hello, I was wondering if Amanda Miller lives there?”

  I could hear that the woman on the line was typing. “Amanda Miller?”

  “Yes. You know her!”

  “No, I don’t know an Amanda Miller. Can you hold a second?”

  “Ah, sure.” Her second turned into two minutes.

  “I’m sorry about that. Just had another call come in. So is there anything else I can help you with?”

  That was it. Going from sounding like she could help me to nothing. I wanted to yell at her. Instead, I hung up.

  “Ready to take a break?”

  I turned to see Ethan. “Huh?” I said.

  “Will you be joining us for dinner?” he asked.

  “Guess so.”

  “You should be stoked we won, and you’re to blame!”

  At the picnic tables, Kevin Perry asked how the burgers were.

  Everyone responded with cheers.

  He took off his apron. “You guys do not need encouragement, but I have to say, this team sure knows how to play ball.”

  The guys all shouted, “Go Hurricanes!”

  “That’s a big credit to you, Coach Robert. You’re in the finals, and I never doubted you guys for a second!” Kevin shook hands with the coach. On his way out, he winked at me and said, “You got some kind of natural talent, kid. You pitch like a Hurricane. See you tomorrow!”

  Ethan was so excited about making the finals, I had to send him to Davis’s room so I could make some calls. We had a team meeting and dinner scheduled in the evening. I would be surprised if I got through the rest of my list by then. I dialed another number, and a man answered. “Hello, Bob Miller here.”

  “Hi, I’m looking for Amanda Miller,” I said.

  “Who’s calling?”

  I stood up. “It’s—” Click. “Hello?” Nothing. What had just happened? I punched the number again.

  The phone rang, and the call immediately went to voice mail. “You’ve reached the Miller residence. Please leave your name and number, and we’ll get back to you.”

  “Ahhh, I’m—” I hung up and burst into the hallway. I found Ethan talking to three players. “I think I found her!”

  Ethan turned to me.

  “She’s in San Diego. Can you take me?”

  The other players started to smirk, but I didn’t care.

  Ethan told them he would catch up with them later. “No way. You can’t just leave. We’re in the finals tomorrow.”

  “It’s at like four in the afternoon. We’ll be back.”

  “There’s a meeting and dinner tonight. You’re not going to San Diego.”

  I slid back into my room, and with my back pressed against the door, I dialed one more number. “It’s me. I found Amanda. Can you pick me up?”

  chapter fourteen

  Jessie picked me up at the back of the motel, and then we hit the highway, heading south toward Temecula and on to San Diego. It was hard to believe that in two hours I’d be at Amanda’s house. My mind raced through what I would say to her.

  “Maybe you should have told the coach that you were leaving,” said Jessie.

  “He would have said no.”

  “I guess. But I don’t get not telling Ethan.”

  “He would try to stop me. He doesn’t want me to find my sister—he only wants to win tomorrow.”

  “That’s not true. He cares about you.”

  That point was debatable, so I let it be.

  Jessie overtook an eighteen-wheeler on the highway. “So the game plan is?”

  “Meet her, reconnect, exchange information and rush back for the team dinner.”

  “You’re going to want to spend time with her. You guys have a lot of years to catch up on.”

  “There will be loads of time for that. I’m going to finish this tournament for Ethan and then move to San Diego.”

  “You’re leaving Hermosa? The Hurricanes?”

  When I’d moved to Hermosa, I hadn’t expected I’d meet anyone who would care if I stayed. “One thing at a time. Let me talk with Amanda first.”

  “And what about your job?”

  I looked at her. “My what?”

  “I’m just kidding.”

  “Hopefully, they can find someone talented enough to replace me!”

  “I think if you stick it out, he might make you head dishwasher.”

  “Thanks.”

  She smiled.

  The buildings of downtown San Diego gleamed in the distance. I played with the radio, changing stations. It was the only way to deal with my nervous energy. Between Jessie and me was the Google map I had printed out at the hotel. Jessie followed it, and eventually we rolled into a quiet neighborhood. I was lost. She took a palm-lined two-lane road to its dead end. My window was rolled down. I could smell the ocean. She
turned again, and I took in the expensive-looking homes as we searched for number 1982.

  Jessie stopped the car and pointed. “There it is. Second house from the corner.” The house was a white bungalow with light blue shutters, with a matching double garage. One tall palm stood at the base of some steps leading to two large wooden doors. As I stepped out of the car, my one thought was that Amanda had really landed on her feet. She’d been adopted by people with a lot of money.

  “So what are you waiting for?” Jessie said as she moved toward the house.

  I crossed the road and climbed the steps to the front door. Reaching toward the doorbell, I stopped. I had never been closer to finding my sister.

  “You want me here?” Jessie asked.

  I nodded, took a moment to fix my hair and get rid of my hat. I rang the bell and stepped back. After waiting patiently, I rang it again. “Don’t tell me no one is home.”

  “But you spoke to someone on the phone.”

  “Yeah. It was a few hours ago though.” Three more failed attempts, and we walked back to the sidewalk. After the buildup, this was a huge letdown. “Man, I can’t believe this. Now what?” I said.

  “You have a right to be frustrated, but we’re going to have to come back.”

  “When I called, the man hung up on me. Maybe they’re just not answering the door.”

  “Try calling again,” Jessie suggested.

  “No one’s going to answer.” I stepped toward the main window, but bushes were blocking it, so I walked to the side of the house.

  “What are you doing?”

  I passed an air-conditioning unit humming away. “I’m checking the back,” I said and slipped into the backyard.

  Jessie trailed behind me. “Travis, this is private property.”