Golden Arm

by Carl Deuker

  His eyebrows went up. “So, tell me.”

  “The p-property where I live—Jet City—it’s been s-sold.”

  He nodded. “I know. I read in the newspaper about the townhomes. It’s rotten. It really is. They shouldn’t be able to take people’s homes like that.”

  I swallowed, then plunged forward. “They found a new place for my f-family in M-Marysville.”

  “What do you mean they found a place? Who found a place?”

  “The d-developers. They’re going to p-pay to move our t-trailer out there.”

  “And when is this move going to happen?”

  “A-April.”

  “April,” he repeated.

  I nodded. “So I won’t b-be able to p-pitch for Laurelhurst.”

  There was a long silence. “And this is definite?”

  “Not t-totally. My m-mom has until January f-first to decide, but there’s really n-no place else.”

  We were past the accident, and traffic loosened. Both Mr. Thurman and I stayed silent until he reached Jet City. When he pulled to a stop at the entrance, I got out and then turned back to thank him. He leaned toward me. “Laz, I need to check a few things, but don’t totally give up on Laurelhurst, and keep coming to the workouts.”

  * * *

  After that, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I took the bus to Laurelhurst once school let out. At every session Mr. Thurman taught me something. The grip for a changeup. The pickoff move to first. The way to field a bunt. He knew everything.

  In fifth grade, Mrs. Fleetwood had taught us about irony. Firemen having their houses burned down. Indy drivers getting a ticket for driving too slow. Cops getting robbed. Things like that. I always thought her examples were funny. Now I’d become one of those examples. For years, I’d been on teams, but hadn’t had a real coach. Now I had a coach, but no team.

  Eleven

  It was the week of Halloween. After the workout, I’d gotten a ride back to Jet City from Mr. Thurman, which I was glad to take because I had a long algebra assignment.

  When I stepped inside the trailer, Curtis was glaring at Antonio, his arms folded across his chest. Mom was standing by the sofa, her hands on her hips. “Laz, did you know about this?” she snapped, waving a piece of paper at me.

  “Know w-what?”

  “He doesn’t know,” Antonio said, “and I’m not going to flunk anything. It’s still early in the semester. I got time.”

  “Tomorrow,” Curtis said. “You’ll go to your teachers tomorrow and come up with a plan to make up this missing work. Understood?”

  Antonio rolled his eyes.

  “Understood?” Curtis barked.

  “Yes,” Antonio said, annoyed.

  “And no more hanging out at night. Not on weekdays, not on weekends. Never.”

  Antonio looked at the ceiling. “So, I’m supposed to spend my life in this trailer? I can’t have friends?”

  Curtis was breathing through his nose like a bull. He was about to answer, but Mom put her hand up, stopping him.

  “Antonio,” she said, “this is not a prison. Get your grades up and keep them up, and the rest will take care of itself.” She paused. “Now I’m going to put some dinner together, and we’re all going to sit down and eat, and there’s going to be no arguing.”

  Mom microwaved two frozen pizzas, and they tasted terrible. The crusts were rubbery and the cheese was like Jell-O, but nobody complained.

  When we’d finished eating, Antonio looked at me. “You got homework tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Community center sound okay?”

  “Sounds great.”

  Mom and Curtis exchanged a glance.

  * * *

  Mr. Leskov had the back room set up as a study area. We found an empty table and got to work. Antonio took notes from a text on American history, but whenever he saw me struggling with a math problem, he helped.

  On the walk back to the trailer, there was no moon and half the streetlights weren’t working. It was so dark that Antonio’s voice seemed to come out of the night. “Whenever I almost like Curtis, he does something to make me hate him. The guy always has something to say, even when it’s none of his business.”

  Antonio was making it easy for me to slam Curtis. And most of me wanted to. But every once in a while I’d seen Antonio look at Curtis in a way that was different and good. And I’d seen Curtis look back at Antonio in the same way.

  “He’s t-trying to b-be a real d-dad,” I said. “That’s all.”

  Antonio shook his head. “If he wants to be a real dad, then why doesn’t he marry Mom?”

  “M-Maybe he will s-someday.”

  “Yeah? Well, he sure isn’t in a hurry.”

  Twelve

  After that, on school nights Antonio and I went to the community center to study. In the beginning, he stayed until closing, working hard to catch up on his missing assignments. Once he’d caught up—which didn’t take him long—he’d knock off his homework and then go hang out with Garrett and Jasmine and the rest of them.

  After he’d left, Suja would come and sit next to me, shoulder to shoulder, our heads nearly touching as we studied. One night, after she’d helped me solve substitution problems that had seemed impossible, we walked back to Jet City together. The trees were rustling in the wind; the moon was low in the sky. I was thinking about taking her hand or putting my arm around her when Antonio appeared out of the darkness.

  That had become standard procedure. He’d hang around our trailer when he knew I’d be coming along, and then we’d go into the trailer together. Mom and Curtis just assumed that we’d been studying together the whole time. I didn’t like it, but I’d gone along.

  Suja quickly said hello to Antonio and goodbye to me before heading to her trailer.

  “Hey, hey,” Antonio said, grinning as he watched her go. “Got something going? About time, Bro.”

  “I’m n-not doing this anymore,” I said, my voice hard.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, confused.

  “Pretending we’ve b-been studying together. I’m not doing it.”

  He shook his head. “Come on. Is this about Suja? Next time I’ll wait till you split up.”

  “This is n-not about Suja.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Going in together just makes things a little easier for me.”

  “Maybe I d-don’t want to m-make things easier f-for you.”

  He frowned. “Because?”

  “You know why. I’ve t-told you.”

  He shrugged. “All right. You go home when you go home and I’ll go home when I go home.” His smile came back, but it was mocking. “Mom and Curtis won’t even notice. You’ll see.”

  * * *

  You take a stand, and you think something should happen, but Antonio turned out to be right. When I stepped inside the trailer the next few nights, Mom and Curtis were snuggled together on the sofa, binge watching episodes of The Wire. They didn’t notice that I’d come in alone. After Friday, it didn’t matter, because a letter came from the school stating that Antonio was passing all his classes.

  Mom read it before Curtis had come home from work. She waved the piece of paper around, smiling, and then hugged Antonio. “Don’t do this to us again,” she said. “You hear me?”

  “I won’t. I promise.” He paused. “Can I ask a favor?”

  “You can ask.”

  “Back off a little?”

  She stared at him. “You going to keep your grades up?”

  Antonio nodded.

  “All right. I’ll cut you some slack.”

  “Thanks.” He paused. “Curtis, too?”

  She nodded. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Thirteen

  Mom makes a big deal about birthdays. When November 14 came around—my birthday—she bought a fancy cake and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. She baked a ham for dinner and made us all wear party hats, even Curtis, as if I were turning nine instead of nineteen. As we ate, she took pictures a
nd threatened to post them on Twitter.

  I got great presents. Mom gave me a fifty-dollar gift certificate to Baseball Express; Curtis got me a new Mariners cap; and Antonio gave me a poster of Ken Griffey, Jr. After dinner and cake, we watched Back to the Future on Curtis’s television.

  That was a good day, but it was about the only good one. Nobody mentioned Marysville, but we all could see that Jet City was dying. One day a trailer would be there; the next day it’d be gone.

  The driving range was falling apart, too. I had to make an OUT OF ORDER sign and then tape it above one of the drinking fountains. “The owners aren’t going to pay for any repairs,” Mr. Matsui said. When three floodlights went dark along the netting on the west side, they stayed dark.

  The only good things those days were my workouts at Laurelhurst. Mr. Thurman worked with me on my technique, teaching me how to get more power from my legs and my core. “You don’t want to be arm-y,” he explained. “That puts a strain on your shoulder and leads to injury. It sounds weird, but you want to throw the ball with your legs.” He took everything slow with me, the way I like it. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

  Thanksgiving came, and, for the first time in a long time, Mom cooked a turkey. After dinner, she insisted that we play Monopoly at the kitchen table. “We’re going to be a regular family,” she said, and we were.

  The sessions at Laurelhurst were supposed to continue one week past Thanksgiving, but on Sunday night a storm blew in from Hawaii. The Pineapple Express, the weather guys call it. Rain poured down Monday and Tuesday, closing all fields citywide. I had some hope that Thursday’s session wouldn’t be canceled, but the rain returned on Wednesday afternoon.

  Wednesday night I got an email from the YMCA, letting me know that Thursday’s class had been canceled and wouldn’t be rescheduled. The last sentence read The YMCA thanks you for your participation, and we hope to see you again!

  So that was it—the end of my time practicing with the Laurelhurst guys.

  Fourteen

  In the winter, hardcore golfers still go to the driving range, but most players stick their clubs in the garage. Fewer guys hitting meant fewer hours of work for me.

  When I showed up at the driving range on the first Saturday of December, I was actually glad to see that crows had strewn garbage all over the parking lot. Cleaning up the mess meant an extra hour of pay.

  Once I’d made the lot presentable, Mr. Matsui had me write “30% off” on the tags of the golf shirts and “50% off” on the top of the boxes of shoes. After that, I power washed the hitting stalls before heading onto the range to pick up golf balls.

  With the bad weather, Garrett and Antonio and the rest of them had moved inside the deserted maintenance shack. As I rode the John Deere, I could see the glow of cigarettes, but I couldn’t make out any faces. I did see two addicts trudge to the shed, but only two. Maybe Garrett was smalltime, after all.

  I had swept half the range when Mr. Matsui waved me in. When I drove the cart to the shed and started unloading the golf balls, he stopped me. “Do that later, Laz. You’ve got a visitor.”

  A visitor?

  I left the cart and walked into the golf shop.

  Mr. Thurman was waiting for me in Mr. Matsui’s office. He stuck his hand out. “Hey, Laz. Good to see you.”

  “Is something wrong?” I asked. What was he doing at the driving range?

  He shook his head. “No, no. I knew you worked here, and I’ve taken a few lessons from Len. I thought I’d stop by on the chance that I could borrow his office so we could have a talk—” He stopped. “Why don’t we both sit down.”

  I sat, and he took a chair across from me.

  Mr. Thurman leaned toward me, his elbows on his knees. “Is the move to Marysville still in the cards?”

  I nodded. “My m-mom signs on January first.”

  Through the wall, I heard the familiar thwack as golfers hit balls out into the range. Mr. Thurman cleared his throat. “I told you I had an idea. Well, here it is. Instead of moving to Marysville, I’d like you to enroll at Laurelhurst High and live with my family. Ian’s older brothers are both away at college, so we have plenty of room. And if you live with us, you could play baseball for Laurelhurst. Your school credits will transfer, so that won’t be a problem.” He stopped. “I know it’s sudden, but what do you think?”

  I felt like I was twenty feet underwater, and he was shouting at me from a boat bobbing on the surface.

  “I don’t know. I’d have t-t-to talk with—”

  He interrupted. “Your parents. I mean, your mom and her friend. Of course you would. And I’ll talk to them, too. I’ll answer any questions they might have. I didn’t want to bother bringing it to them before I’d checked it with you.”

  His words were clear, but the meaning stayed strange.

  “Why would you d-do this for me? You don’t know me.”

  “I know you better than you think. You’re hard-working. You’re talented. You’re coachable. You deserve a shot at the next level, and I know that’s what you want. You’ll have a better chance of making a name for yourself at Laurelhurst than you’ll ever have in Marysville.”

  He paused, waiting for me to answer, but no words came. He waited some more, and then clapped his hands and stood. “Okay. You think it over. If you like the idea, and your mom likes the idea, we’ll make it happen.”

  Fifteen

  That night, everybody was home for dinner. Mom cooked hamburgers and french fries. As we were eating, she asked about the driving range. “You still getting your regular hours?”

  Instead of answering, I told her about Mr. Thurman’s offer. Mom’s eyes narrowed as I explained, but I didn’t stop. “If I do m-move in with them,” I said, looking around the table, “you c-could all move into Woodacres instead of having to go to M-Marysville.”

  Everyone had stopped eating. Antonio and Curtis exchanged glances—I could tell they thought it was a good idea. But Mom’s face was stony. Finally, she folded her hands in front of her and stared into my eyes. “You can tell Mr. Laurelhurst that we don’t need his help, thank you very much.” She looked around the table and then said to no one in particular. “They’re taking my house from me; now they’re trying to take my son.”

  “But M-Mom, playing at Laurelhurst would be g-good—”

  “Stop, Laz,” she said, cutting me off. “This is not up for discussion. The answer is no.”

  Curtis leaned back in his chair. “Timmi, I think you’re missing part of the picture. The top players from Laurelhurst get drafted by major-league teams. If Laz pitches well for them, he could be one of them.”

  Mom’s jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. “Laz could get drafted by a major-league team? Are you hallucinating?”

  Antonio jumped in. “Mom, Laz is good. Really, really good. Way better than anybody knows.”

  “If he’s so good,” Mom replied, “then why does North Central lose all the time?”

  “Because the team sucks,” Antonio said. “And the coach sucks, and everything about the baseball program at North Central sucks. Laurelhurst is the exact opposite. He’d rock for them.”

  Mom leaned back in her chair and fixed her eyes on Antonio. “So you want your brother to move in with this Mr. Thurman?”

  Even though I’d been on him about Garrett, he stepped up for me.

  “Yeah,” Antonio said, looking right back at her. “I do.”

  Mom’s eyes turned to Curtis. “And you agree?”

  “I think it should be Laz’s call.”

  Mom faced me. “Okay, let me ask you this. Say you live with this Mr. Thurman and we move into Woodacres. Where are you going to go when the school year ends if this major-league fantasy doesn’t pan out? Woodacres won’t let four people live in the apartment. That’s not going to change. There won’t be a place for you.”

  “I’ve g-got some m-money saved. I’ll find a p-place.”

  Mom shook her head. “You’ll find a place. Where? Under the Ballard Bridge?�
��

  “Timmi,” Curtis said, his voice not much more than a whisper. “You’ve got to let him live his own life.”

  Mom took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “You’re sure you want to roll the dice on this? Because you can’t unroll them.”

  Sixteen

  After that, my body was in Jet City, but my mind was living for spring. Christmas break drifted into the New Year. On January first, Curtis and Mom signed a lease for a one-bedroom at Woodacres, with a move-in date of April 1.

  Finals week came in late January. On Friday, after I’d finished my last test, I walked outside the main entrance and looked around. You go to a school for three and a half years, and on your last day you want to say goodbye to someone. For me, that someone was Suja.

  I stayed at the top of the stairs for a few minutes, hoping to see her, but then gave up. As I started toward home I heard her call my name. “Laz, wait—”

  A few seconds later she was standing next to me. “This is it, right? Your last day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you, t-too.”

  “I hope Laurelhurst works. I really do.”

  I smiled. “I do too.”

  Her eyes clouded. “What are you going to do about algebra?”

  I’d been worried about that. Laurelhurst’s classes were sure to be harder, and I needed a passing grade to stay eligible.

  “I’ll m-manage.”

  “If you want, we could get together for a study session. Saturday or Sunday morning? Whichever works.”

  I felt my face flush and hoped she didn’t notice. “That’d be g-great.”

  Just then Tessa, one of Suja’s friends, called to her from across the lawn. “Are you coming? Because we’re leaving.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Suja said, and then she leaned forward and hugged me.

  “Suja!” Tessa called.