Tagged Out

by Joyce Grant

  “Is that the truth?” she asked. Her eyes told Gnash that there was something she wasn’t saying about Jock’s absence.

  “Why? Where is he?” asked Gnash.

  He wanted to know what the principal wasn’t telling him.

  “He’s on my ball team, eh?” said Gnash. “We’re teammates. I’d like to know what’s going on.”

  “Oh?” She seemed surprised. “He’s on your baseball team?”

  “Yes.”

  She sighed. “I got a call from his mother this afternoon. Some kids have been bothering Jock. We are taking it very seriously.”

  “What do you mean, bothering?” asked Gnash. “Like, bullying?”

  “Yes. Apparently he was in Christie Pits and a number of boys were bullying him.”

  “Yeah,” said Gnash. “Yeah, I can believe that.”

  He knew he was holding back important information, but he didn’t want anyone to think of him as a victim who got bullied. Worse, he didn’t want his principal telling his grandfather that he had nearly been beaten up by a bunch of rich kids. That wouldn’t go over well.

  “I didn’t realize you two were teammates,” she said. “I’m glad Jock has some friends to watch out for him.”

  “Well, of course,” said Gnash.

  “He’s going to need friends right now. I hate it when this kind of thing happens. Bullies.”

  “Yeah,” said Gnash thoughtfully. “Me, too.”

  Gnash realized that he really did dislike bullies. Bullies like the kids who couldn’t let another kid just take his time getting down a slide. Bullies like the teachers who told kids that they couldn’t talk or text or even get up and stretch their legs during class.

  A shadow passed over Gnash’s face. Bullies like his grandfather, who made him feel like he needed to get a home run or he was no good. Who held back their smiles and hugs for a kid’s “own good.” Who always insisted it was their job to teach a kid “a lesson” — but that lesson was always terrible.

  Bullies who weren’t happy letting people just be who they were. Bullies who had to put a guy down for being different.

  Bullies, it slowly, horribly, dawned on Gnash, like himself.

  15

  Discussion at Home

  Later that day, Gnash was still thinking about how he had been bullying Jock when he saw Raj in the hall. Suddenly, he knew what he needed to do.

  “Hey Raj,” he said, “I think we need to go find Jock — what do you think?”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” said Raj.

  “Let’s meet at our lockers after school and head over to his house,” said Raj.

  “Do you know where he lives?” asked Gnash.

  “No, but I’ll find out,” said Raj. “I’m sure Coop knows. I’ll talk him into telling me.”

  After the final bell rang, the two boys threw their books into their lockers, grabbed their cell phones and headed to the bus stop. They rode the bus west for a few blocks and then transferred to a second one headed south.

  “Jock lives pretty far from the school, eh?” said Gnash as they climbed out at the bus stop.

  “Yeah, I didn’t realize,” said Raj.

  The boys walked up to a high-rise apartment building that looked like it had seen better days. The paint was peeling off in chunks from the balconies and the front door to the building was jammed open. They went inside and headed to the elevator, where they pushed the button for the twelfth floor.

  In the elevator Gnash crinkled his nose. “Smells like feet,” he said.

  Raj took a deep breath. “Mmmm, I do love that delectable feet smell,” he laughed.

  When the elevator doors opened, it was onto a dingy grey hallway, dimly lit by lights hanging from the wall. Each one was at a different angle. They walked down the hall until they found apartment 1208 and knocked on the door. There was the sound of steps and then scuffling, as though someone was peering at them through the peephole in the door. They heard the lock being turned and the door opened.

  “Hey, guys,” said Jock. His eyes were puffy and he was wearing pajamas and a threadbare blue robe. His bare feet shuffled backward as he drew back the door and invited them in. “What’s up? Hey, how’d you know where I live?”

  “Coo—” Gnash started to say, until Raj interrupted him. “I told the principal we had to bring you your homework.” Gnash suddenly realized that the coach might get in trouble for giving out a team member’s home address.

  Jock motioned for them to sit at the kitchen table which, although spotless, was clearly well used. They pulled up chairs.

  Jock went to the fridge and pulled out three cans of pop. There were loud hisses as they opened their drinks.

  “So, how come you weren’t in school today?” Gnash asked. He took a long swig and then burped loudly.

  “I had to go the hospital and get an X-ray of my arm,” said Jock. “I kinda ripped it open the other night down at the Pits.”

  “Huh?” said Raj, confused. “What were you doing at the Pits?”

  “Gnash didn’t tell you?” asked Jock.

  “Tell me what?” asked Raj.

  Both boys turned to look at Gnash, who was sitting with one leg slung over the arm of his chair, silently sipping his drink.

  “We had a little . . . thing,” said Gnash.

  “A little thing? A little thing!?” said Jock, leaning forward in his chair. “We coulda been killed!”

  “Well, now you’re exaggerating,” said Gnash, calmly. “Anyway, I’ve got it under control. I’ve got a plan.”

  “What are you guys talking about?” said Raj.

  “You didn’t tell him? I can’t believe you didn’t tell him!” said Jock.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” said Gnash. “It was a thing. It was nothing.”

  “Well, it wasn’t nothing to me,” said Jock.

  “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” asked Raj shrilly. “Gnash, what did you do?”

  “See, this is why I don’t like telling people stuff,” said Gnash, his face getting red. “I knew it. You think I did something. I get blamed for everything!” He started to get up from the chair.

  “Hold on, Gnash, nobody’s blaming you for anything,” said Jock.

  “Well, I am,” said Raj, heatedly. “You’ve been pushing Jock around ever since he got here. Everyone knows you don’t like him. Everyone knows you’re homophobic.”

  Gnash’s face went white. He couldn’t believe that his best friend thought he was capable of hurting Jock.

  “Wait, Raj,” said Jock, jumping in and preventing Gnash from leaving. “It’s not like that. Sit down, Gnash. Raj, listen.”

  Jock told Raj the whole story, from the unplanned practice with Gnash, to the incident with the Pirates and how Gnash had stuck up for Jock.

  After Jock stopped talking, there was silence.

  Raj was the first one to speak. “Holy cow,” he said quietly. “Gnash, I’m really sorry.”

  “Whatever,” said Gnash, his eyes narrowed and focussed on Raj.

  “Oh, geez, Jock,” said Raj. “Is that what happened to your arm?”

  “Well, that part actually was Gnash’s fault,” Jock said, looking at Gnash.

  “What the—?!” said Gnash, standing up again.

  Then Jock laughed. “No, remember when you shoved me out of the dugout?” he said. “I bashed my arm against the fence. Look.”

  Jock rolled up the sleeve of his tattered dressing gown to reveal a deep scrape and a dark, purple bruise about ten centimetres long. “I must have caught it on a piece of wire,” he said. “At the time, I didn’t even feel it. I just wanted to get out of there.”

  “Anyway, I had it X-rayed and they gave me some kind of needle, and it’s fine,” he said. “I’m good to play tomorrow. The Pirates, right?” Jock shot a knowing look
at Gnash.

  “But I don’t get why you never told us,” said Raj. “Or why you didn’t return any of our texts.”

  “My cell plan expired,” explained Jock. “My phone’s dead. At least, until I get some money umpiring house league or something to pay for a phone card.”

  “Yeah, well, next time let someone know, eh?” said Raj. “And that goes for both of you,” he said, turning on Gnash. “You’re part of a team.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe it doesn’t feel that way sometimes,” Gnash mumbled, staring into his drink.

  “What you send out into the universe comes back at you, man,” said Raj. “It comes back.”

  Gnash didn’t reply.

  And then Raj added, “Listen, what you did for Jock — that’s gonna come back to you, too.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t really get a chance to thank you, Gnash,” said Jock. “It’s not too often that someone has my back like that.”

  Gnash sat silently. Finally he said, in a voice just barely audible to the other boys, “Well, all I know is that those rich losers have got it coming.”

  It took some time for Jock and Raj to convince Gnash not to seek revenge on the Parkhill Pirates who had bullied them. Jock said Gnash couldn’t go through life trying to get back at every ignorant jerk — there were too many of them.

  But it was Raj’s comment that broke through. “The best way to show these guys is on the field,” he said. “Beat them at baseball. Beat them badly. It’s the only way.”

  That made a lot of sense to Gnash.

  “Our next game decides who goes to the provincials,” Raj said. “There’s one spot left. It’s either gonna go to us or to the Pirates.”

  “It’s got to be us!” Gnash said.

  “Then . . .” said Raj.

  “Let’s get ’em,” said Gnash.

  “Yeah,” said Raj. “We win this one, and the Pirates’ season is finished.”

  “Schzeeeeet!” said Gnash, making a cutting gesture across his throat. “Game over.”

  16

  Batlle in the Pits

  On the diamond, fifteen minutes before the game, Raj was on the pitcher’s mound squinting toward home plate.

  Gnash jogged out to centre field. Once there, he looked around the outfield and then bent down and picked up a hot dog wrapper that had blown over from the nearby snack bar. He scrunched it up and then, carefully picking his spot, set it down on the grass. He stood near the wrapper and looked toward home plate, then up into the sky. Then he bent down again and moved the wrapper about a foot to the right. He jogged back to the dugout.

  Jock was sitting at the far end of the dugout, away from the entrance. He was absentmindedly rubbing his arm, which was wrapped in a beige stretchy bandage. He jumped at the sound of Gnash walking in.

  “Sorry,” said Gnash.

  “No . . . no problem,” said Jock. “I’m a bit on edge.”

  “Yeah. Hey, I thought your arm was all right,” Gnash said, gesturing to the bandage.

  “It is. It was bleeding a bit earlier, that’s all. I’m fine to play.”

  There was an awkward silence. They both looked toward the Visitors’ bench, where some of the Pirates were lined up. Seeing Stretch talking to the Pirates’ coach, Gnash’s eyes narrowed and he scowled.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to —”

  “No, Gnash,” Jock cut him off.

  “I mean, I could just get him alone and —”

  “Gnash, stop! You’re not going to do anything to them,” said Jock.

  Gnash ran his fingers through his hair and then shoved his cap down over his eyes. Jock held Gnash’s angry glance until finally Gnash laughed. “Okay, okay!” he said, putting his hands up.

  But then he backtracked.

  “Not even just one little —”

  “No! Not even ‘just one little’ anything! Number one, I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. And number two, this is a battle that we need to fight out there,” said Jock, pointing with his thumb toward the field.

  “Yeah, that’s a given,” said Gnash. “They’re going down.”

  “They’re going down,” agreed Jock, nodding.

  Coop stuck his head into the dugout. “Okay, guys,” he said. “Let’s get out there.”

  Jock grabbed his glove and headed onto the field but Gnash stayed behind. “Hey, Coop, can I talk to you real quick?” he asked.

  “Hurry,” said Coop. “We’re already on the field.”

  “Coop, can I play centre? Just this one game? Jock can take my spot at short. Please.”

  Coop looked at Gnash, surprised. He had never asked his coach anything remotely like this before.

  “Just this once,” Coop said. “Go ahead.”

  Gnash brightened. “Great!” he said over his shoulder as he ran onto the field. “I’ll tell Jock!”

  As Gnash ran by Jock to switch places with him, they both jumped up for a high high-five.

  “Play ball!” yelled the umpire, and the game began.

  The first two batters went by quickly, in just eight pitches, with two of the Pirates ending up on base.

  Gnash recognized the next batter as one of the bullies who had threatened them in the Pits. His eyes narrowed as he watched the boy take two practice swings and then step into the batter’s box. Gnash felt his face grow hot with anger. He looked around to judge the distance between himself and the infield — and then he jogged backward a few yards, closer to the wrapper he had placed on the ground. He took two more steps back, and then got into his ready position.

  When the boy’s pop fly came toward him, Gnash held out his glove. He was perfectly in position and the ball seemed to be pulled right into his hands. Like a magnet, thought Gnash, as the umpire called, “Caught!”

  With a smile, Gnash tossed the ball to Jock, who threw it in to Raj.

  Stretch was the Pirates’ best player, and he’d been put in the clean-up spot, number four on the batting roster. As he came up to bat, the air in the infield seemed to crackle. All of the Blues knew what Stretch and his teammates had done to Gnash and Jock. They had all agreed on their goals: first, win the game. Second, prevent Stretch and the other two bullies from scoring.

  When Stretch approached the batter’s box, the Pirates had a player on second and a player on third. Stretch smiled smugly at Raj on the mound. Before stepping in, he turned toward Jock and, holding one hand up in the air, casually waggled his fingers. For a minute, Gnash found it difficult to concentrate on the game.

  He took a moment to get control of his anger, and then yelled, “C’mon Raj! You can do it! Let’s strike this guy out!”

  There were calls and jeers from all of the Blues in the field as they echoed Gnash’s sentiments. “Let’s get him!” Miguel called. “You can do it, Raj! All you, buddy! You got this!”

  Raj was clearly shaken by having to pitch to Stretch. Out in centre field, Gnash could tell that Raj was nervous. Raj turned and looked at the runners. When he was satisfied that they were staying put, he wound up.

  The ball was faster and harder than anything Raj had ever thrown. Unfortunately for the loudmouthed batter, it was low and way inside. When the fastball made contact with Stretch’s thigh, the big boy landed hard on the ground and he didn’t get up.

  Gnash thumped his fist into his glove.

  “You did that on purpose!” Stretch yelled, still lying on the ground and furiously rubbing his left leg. “He did that on purpose!” he said to the umpire and pointing at Raj.

  The look on Raj’s face clearly indicated that he had not. Coop called, “Time!”

  Jock ran in to the mound before Coop could get there.

  “Hey, Raj, it’s okay, man,” he said.

  “I swear I didn’t do that on purpose!” Raj said, watching Stretch limp to first.

  “Did you check
your front foot?” asked Jock.

  “No, I didn’t,” said Raj. His face was as white as the chalk lines on the field. “That guy’s such a jerk!”

  “I know,” said Jock. “I know. Let’s just get him out.” He went back to his position.

  The bases were loaded.

  “Play ball!” yelled the umpire, to get the game started again.

  “You got this, Raj,” Gnash called.

  Raj settled onto the rubber again and checked his footing.

  The Pirates’ batter settled into his stance and loaded up.

  Raj looked at the batter, and then straightened up and stepped off the rubber. He flexed his shoulders. The batter relaxed and knocked the head of his bat against the bottom of his cleats. Raj moved back to the rubber and went down into his pitching stance again, looking over at first base and then third before putting his ball-hand into his glove.

  He looked down at his feet and then pulled his arm all the way back. When he brought it forward, letting the ball go, it was hard, low and directly over the plate.

  “Strike!” yelled the ump.

  His second pitch was wide of the plate, but the next pitch was perfectly placed.

  “Strike!” the umpire said again. He held up his fingers and gave the count, “one and two.”

  Raj was in the middle of his wind-up when the field umpire behind him suddenly put one hand up. “Balk!” he said.

  Raj held out his arms in a gesture of confusion and looked over at Coop, who asked for time and then crossed the baseline onto the field toward the umpire.

  The batter smirked in the box as he watched the umpire and the coach argue about whether Raj had, in fact, balked — stopped in the middle of his pitch.

  The conversation on the mound ended and the umpire motioned for the boy on first base to go to second, the penalty for Raj’s balk. Since the bases were loaded, that brought the boy on third home. The Pirates’ fans whistled and hooted as the runner crossed home plate.

  The Pirates were leading 1–0.

  “That’s okay, Raj,” yelled Gnash. “Shake it off!” The other Blues chimed in with “shake it off” and “we’ll get it back!” Raj took a deep breath.