Hurricane Heat

by Steven Barwin

  “I’m sorry, Travis. Now what are you going to do?” Jessie asked.

  I picked up the check, took a breath, ripped it into pieces and watched them flutter to the table.

  “Am I missing something?” Ethan asked.

  I turned to Jess. “Did you see what Claire was wearing around her neck?”

  She shook her head.

  “A St. Christopher medallion!” I said.

  “Really?” said Jessie.

  Ethan shrugged. “I don’t get it.”

  “If we push Claire a little more, she might cave.” I jumped to my feet. “Beautiful July morning. What else is there to do? You said it yourself, Jess—these are some of the best waves you’ve seen.”

  “What are we waiting for?” she said.

  “Hold on, guys.” Ethan stood. “What’s going on?”

  “Sorry, Ethan,” I said. “Surf’s up!”

  chapter seventeen

  Hitting the beach in shorts, a T-shirt and Converse shoes, I felt out of place among the sunbathers and surfers. At least I wasn’t wearing socks. I took off my sand-filled shoes. My feet sunk into the warm sand. The beach was close to the Millers’ house and the spot where Jessie and I had spent the night. Jessie and I searched the shoreline for Claire, trying to pick her out of a sea of faces. It was no easy task. Four surfers with their boards tucked under their arms approached. Three were guys, all with six-pack abs. The girl wore a bikini and was carrying a wetsuit.

  As they passed, one of the guys asked, “What you looking at, dude?”

  “Do you know a Claire Miller?” I asked.

  I heard them laugh. Annoyed, I turned to Ethan and told him that since he knew what Claire looked like, he should feel free to help.

  “You know, right now there’s a team practice,” he said.

  “Right. You’re only interested in making sure we get back to the game on time.”

  “Well,” Jessie said, “at least we know where Ethan’s priorities are.”

  “Just do this another time. I’ll drive you back down here tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Listen—forget it! I don’t need your help. Just leave me alone,” I said.

  Jessie pulled me away from Ethan and suggested we split up to search the beach. She and Ethan would take the top half, and I would take the waterline. I walked toward the shore. The cool Pacific ran across my feet, and I scanned the sunbathers to my left and surfers to the right. Although I moved quickly, I saw almost fifty bikini-clad false-positives. A couple of surfer girls splashed out of the water. They looked at me like I was a creep. At the edge of the crowd, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I waved Jessie and Ethan down.

  I wiped sweat from my forehead. “Maybe we need to go back to the house and stalk her.”

  “You know, I was thinking, Claire lives near here but that doesn’t mean she surfs here,” said Jessie.

  “How does that help us?” I asked.

  “Check this out.” She held up her phone. “Black’s Beach has San Diego County’s best waves. It says there’s a submarine trench offshore that creates ocean swells with big peaks.”

  “So?” I asked.

  “So there are offshore canyons, and the water goes from very deep to very shallow. This creates kamikaze waves,” said Jessie.

  “If you were surfing, would that interest you?” I asked.

  “Hell yeah.”

  “Then let’s roll!” I said.

  Zipping north, we passed through a touristy beach town called La Jolla. Jessie said the people who lived there had a lot of money. I asked her if Ethan was still following in his Jeep behind us, and she nodded. Out of La Jolla and into the Torrey Pines area, some huge bluffs appeared on our left. The folks in this area had even more money. Before the Torrey Pines golf course, Jessie turned onto a small street. A packed parking lot was to our left. To our right, cars were parked on a dirt field. I spotted a sign on the grassless field that read Black’s Beach. The Pacific loomed behind the bluffs ahead.

  Jessie rolled down the windows and turned to me. “Told you this place was popular.”

  “All we need to do is find her Jetta, and we’re in business,” I said.

  We drove slowly past Porsches, minivans and Chevy pickup trucks. People, no matter how much money they had, were here for the waves.

  Jessie drove across the parking lot to a sandy road. A sign said No drinking and no sleeping or camping overnight. The car’s wheels skidded as she turned left in the sand, and we entered another parking area. I caught a glimpse of the water and six palm trees next to two small buildings with solar panels. Along the rolling hills, I could now make out some homes. We reached a guardrail at the end of the lot, and Jessie looped around. Then I saw the Jetta, next to a black Honda Civic with a University of California, San Diego sticker.

  “That’s it, right?” Jessie asked.

  “I don’t remember the plate, but the color is bang on.”

  Jessie double-parked next to a Porta-Potty, and I jumped out. From the top of the bluff, the blue Pacific stretched out below us.

  Ethan got out of his Jeep.

  “How do we get down there?” I asked.

  “No idea. We can check in that small building,” said Jessie.

  “Well, this looks like a dead end,” Ethan said, taking a step back toward his Jeep.

  I spotted a man approaching an suv, a wet surfboard under his arm, and asked him. He pointed and said, “There’s only one way down from here, and it’s thataway.”

  I thanked him, and we stepped over the guardrail. I looked down at a steep and rugged trail. “That looks like a five-hundred-foot drop,” I said.

  “Check out the sign,” said Jessie.

  It was a scuffed sign that read Danger— Stairways and cliffs unstable due to rains. Do not use.

  “Well, there’s no other way to go,” I said. “At least there’s a handrail.”

  I started down the path, zigzagging along the edge of the bluff. Halfway down, I got too confident and slipped.

  “You okay?” Jessie asked.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” said Ethan.

  “Ha-ha,” she said.

  When we all reached the bottom, Jessie stopped. “So how do you want to do this?”

  “Well, Claire would be here to surf, not sunbathe. So let’s walk the waterline and keep a lookout for anybody on the beach with a board,” I said.

  “For the record,” Jessie said, “my respect for Claire as a surfer has just increased. I’m freaked out just looking at those heavies.”

  I nodded, and we set off down the beach. When I glanced out to the break, I was surprised by how many surfers were out there. “If she’s not on the beach, I’m going to have to wait until every one of those surfers washes ashore.”

  Jessie said, “Then it’s probably better to wait by her car. And you’ll probably miss the game.”

  “Guys,” Ethan said.

  “Yes, I know my time’s running out—”

  “No.” He pointed.

  I turned around, and there was Claire. She was talking with some other surfers, her wetsuit unzipped and pulled down to her waist. I moved toward her, and she looked twice before recognizing me.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” She asked her friends to give her a minute.

  “I just want one thing,” I said, “and then I’ll head off. You won’t see me again.”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

  I reached into my back pocket and unfolded the postcard of the Hermosa Beach Pier. I held it out. “Please give this to Amanda for me the next time you see her.”

  Claire looked at the postcard, then at me, but she didn’t say anything.

  I kept the postcard extended toward her.

  Claire finally took it. She examined the picture, then flipped it over, revealing my crummy handwriting.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “Amanda will know.” I turned and headed back toward the stairway leading up the bluff.

  “You
okay?” Jessie asked.

  I nodded and told Ethan I was ready to return to the tournament.

  chapter eighteen

  In the Jeep, Ethan didn’t say anything for almost the entire drive back to the tournament. I knew he thought going to San Diego was a waste of time, and he probably hated Jessie for taking me there. He had to race to get us back for the four o’clock game. We needed to be there by the start of the game, or we wouldn’t be eligible to play. He had brought my uniform and glove with him. I changed as he drove, and he changed at red lights. When we screeched into the parking lot, our team was already on the field. I sprinted behind Ethan, noticing that the stands were full. As we got to the dugout entrance, I saw our starting pitcher finishing his warm-up. Coach Robert uncrossed his arms and pointed his index finger at Ethan.

  “Not even one minute to go.”

  “Sorry, Coach,” said Ethan.

  Coach Robert looked away for a moment, as if he had a decision to make. “Get out there.”

  I started to follow Ethan, but the coach stopped me.

  “Do you understand that I should kick you off the team for leaving the ball park and hanging your team out to dry?”

  I knew better than to speak. I nodded.

  Ethan surprised me by stepping forward, but the coach shooed him away and took a deep breath. “I’ve got a tournament to win, so sit down.”

  I took my usual spot on the bench and realized that Charlie and Davis had heard everything.

  As the game started, Davis said, “Everyone’s been wondering if you were coming back. Where were you?”

  Charlie cut him off. “Why you talking to that guy?”

  “Just a question,” said Davis.

  When Davis asked if I was still on the team, I told him I wasn’t sure, and Charlie smiled. College scholarships were on the line, and scouts were everywhere. I didn’t blame him for being competitive.

  Five and a half innings in, the Hammerheads were up by two. I was wearing a jersey, but I didn’t know if the coach was going to play me. I felt empty, knowing that my fate with Amanda was out of my control and in the hands of Claire. I had done all I could for now. I just hoped I had penetrated her overprotective family.

  The roar from our bench pulled me out of my fog. A Hurricanes player had crossed home plate. By the bottom of the sixth, the game was tied. Our last batter went down swinging, and the Hurricanes bench emptied. Coach Robert stayed with his starting pitcher for the final inning. Davis and Charlie were itching to get in the game, while I just wanted to know if I was still on the team. I reached into my backpack tucked under the bench and snuck a peek at my phone. There were no calls from Claire or Amanda.

  The distinct crack of the bat filled the diamond, and the Hammerheads batter took his position on first base. Ethan visited the mound for a quick chat as the go-ahead run stepped to the plate. The first pitch went high, and the runner on first stole second base. The second pitch hung over the middle, and the batter sent the baseball flying deep into right field. As the runner on second rounded third, the throw came in. It was enough to force the hitter back to first, but the runner on second scored, and we were now down by one.

  Coach Robert jogged to the mound, and I stood up with Charlie and Davis. One of us would be picked. After an exchange with Ethan and the pitcher, Coach Robert turned and tapped on his left arm.

  Charlie slung his hat over his eyes, and Davis called out, “I’m here if you need me!”

  Stepping onto the plush green grass, I scanned the stands. At least Amanda knows I’m alive and that I’m reaching out to her, I thought.

  On the mound, Coach Robert handed me the baseball and said, “Keep the ball away from the bat.”

  I smirked. Best advice I ever got.

  Ethan returned to his position.

  I took my first warm-up pitch and imagined Amanda receiving the postcard. I could hear Amanda saying, What’s this? I didn’t send it. My last pitch slid off my fingers, and I closed my eyes as I saw Amanda ripping up the postcard and tossing it.

  The batter touched the tip of his bat with the plate and laid his gaze on me. The smack of leather on leather was what I needed to clear my mind of everything except the sport I’d come to love again. I checked the runner on first and delivered two more strikes. One down, two to go.

  The next batter made the amateur mistake of swinging for the fences on everything I sent his way. He was “going for the glawr-ee,” as my old coach used to say. I sent him packing. He’d have to wait for another opportunity to get his fifteen minutes of fame.

  Runner on first, I told myself. Two out. You can do this.

  The next batter approached. On the top of my arc, I flinched when the runner on first took off. The pitch landed high, and I hit the ground as Ethan sent it whipping over me. When the dust cleared, the runner was smiling proudly on second base. Things had just gone from difficult to DEFCON 1. The second baseman handed me the ball, and Ethan stepped away from the plate with his glove extended. He wanted me to walk the batter to force a possible out at third. But with more men on base, we could fall even further behind.

  Ethan shook his glove like he was waving at me, but I didn’t throw the ball. When the umpire shrugged, Ethan approached me. “What’s your problem?”

  “I’m not putting another possible run into play.”

  “It’s an aggressive play and the right thing to do.”

  “Too gutsy. Ethan, I can get him out.”

  The crowd started to chatter, but I didn’t care.

  “This is how we do it on the Hurricanes.”

  Coach Robert approached the mound and interrupted us. “Guys, what’s the holdup?”

  “Just trying to walk him so I can set up the forced play if there’s a grounder, Coach,” said Ethan.

  The coach looked at Ethan and then at me. “Walk ’im.”

  Coach Robert disappeared, and Ethan smiled.

  “What’s your problem?” I asked. “What did I ever do to you other than make you late to a ball game?”

  Ethan didn’t respond.

  “You didn’t get that I was trying to find my sister. And I think that was just a little bit more important than this.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Huh? What does that mean?”

  “Nothing,” Ethan said.

  “I’m not walking that batter until you tell me—”

  He jumped in. “I brought you to my team, and what does the coach do? He makes it my job to watch over you. Don’t you get that if you hadn’t shown up today, I’d be off the team?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He knows you’ve got the potential to go all the way. It’s every coach’s dream to send a player to the majors. You win, he wins.”

  “You should have told me. I don’t know why the coach made you do that.”

  “It means I’m replaceable. The coach was going to wait until after the game to tell you—”

  The umpire caught us off guard. “Throw that ball, or it’s a delay-of-game penalty!”

  “Sorry, ump,” Ethan said.

  “Tell me what?”

  “Walk him, get the next guy out, and I’ll tell you.”

  I walked the batter. With runners on first and second, I faced a menacing-looking right-hander. My first pitch was fouled deep into left field. That was too close for comfort. I delivered a ball just to see how hungry this Hammerhead was. Unfortunately for me, he didn’t bite. My next pitch swerved inside. He swung and missed. Ahead in the count, I started to breathe again.

  Before I could celebrate, my fourth pitch drifted just outside the batter’s box. This guy was good. Anyone else couldn’t have resisted the temptation to swing at it. Two and two, and I didn’t want to get into one of those full-count scenarios. I’d seen too many baseball movies and didn’t have the stomach for it. Ethan called for a strike. It was dangerous. This batter could easily turn my speedball around and catapult it.

  I wound up and tried to drill the ball down and insid
e toward Ethan’s target. The batter swung and drove it as low as I had thrown it. The ball bounced once in front of the mound and came at me chest-high, like a bullet. On pure instinct, I pulled my glove and squeezed. I stayed on my feet but was turned around by the force. When I looked in my glove, I was surprised to see the ball there. The runner on second was headed to third. I fastballed it in time for the third baseman to tag him out. Somehow, I had pulled us out of the inning alive.

  Ethan fist-pumped me.

  “I’m sorry, Ethan.”

  “Told you you’d need the forced play.”

  “I’m sorry for wasting your time and dragging you to San Diego. I should have respected you and the team.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I told you— starting tomorrow, I’m happy to drive you wherever you want.”

  I nodded.

  “So, you planning on going to university?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Ethan smiled. “Coach said a scout’s interested in you.”

  “Really? From where?”

  “University of California, Irvine.”

  “What? Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Coach and the scout are hoping you spend your last year of high school right here.”

  “But I live in Phoenix.”

  Ethan laughed. “You couldn’t ask for a bigger opportunity. I think your family will understand. Now promise me you’ll act surprised when the coach tells you.”

  “I will.”

  “And no celebrating—yet. We’re down by one, up to bat. You’re lucky I took you to the batting cages, because you’re up after me.”

  At the bench, Coach Robert pulled me aside and told me he had been waiting for my pitching duties to be over to share his good news. I kept my promise to Ethan.

  chapter nineteen

  I heard the crack of a bat and some applause from the crowd as I rummaged through the collection of bats in the dugout and grabbed one. With one out and a runner on first, all the pressure would be on me unless Ethan homered. “Promise me you’ll get a home run so I won’t have to bat,” I said.

  Ethan smiled. “You’ll be fine.”

  “I think I forgot how to hit a ball.”