by Jeff Rud
South Side was starting its own ace in lanky lefty Steve White, who seemed to be pitching better every game out. You could tell by the crisp tone of warm-ups that both teams were serious and looking forward to this one.
The Stingers and Marauders battled evenly for six innings, each scoring once and leaving a handful of runners stranded. Nobody in the Stingers’ lineup was hitting Martinez, yet, but the Middleton pitcher had been a little wilder than usual, walking five batters. Meanwhile, White was shakier than Matt had ever remembered him being. He had only surrendered a single run, but he had been in trouble almost every inning and only some terrific plays by the South Side infield had bailed him out.
Matt had been glued to the South Side bench, clipboard and pencil in hand—his usual spot this season, it seemed. If a guy had to take statistics, though, at least this had been an exciting game to watch.
Just as South Side came up to bat in the top of the seventh, Coach Stephens cleared his throat and announced he was making a lineup change. “Hill, you’re hitting for White,” he said, looking at Matt. “You’ll play second, Archibald you go to short, and Jake you pitch the last inning.”
The move caught Matt off guard. White was up first in the batting order this inning. That meant Matt was suddenly going to the plate in one of the most important at-bats of the season for his team. He quickly pulled on his batting helmet, fumbling with the chin strap. Charlie grabbed Matt’s favorite bat from his carefully arranged collection. “Like you can, Matt,” Charlie said quietly, handing him the stick. “Like you can.”
Matt strode to the plate. The hundred or so fans in the stands were chanting, “Strike him out! Strike him out!”, as they had in support of Martinez for most of the game. But once he stepped into the batter’s box and dug his cleats into the hard soil, Matt tried to tune it all out and focus completely on the pitcher.
With the first pitch Matt felt as though everything was in slow motion. The ball appeared to be coming right over the plate at Little League speed. It looked fat and juicy enough to slug right over the…Matt’s thoughts were rudely interrupted as his overly ambitious swipe at the baseball achieved nothing but air. “Steeerike!” the umpire bellowed, shooting out his right hand dramatically to signal the call.
Matt heard a few sniggers in the stands and in the Middleton dugout. He felt like a fool having taken such a big swing only to end up twisting around like a pretzel. But he was determined to keep his composure. All that extra batting practice had made him feel a lot more comfortable and confident in his ability at the plate.
Matt stepped out of the box to gather himself, as Coach Stephens always instructed his players to do. He knew Martinez wasn’t throwing anything with speed. In fact, the Middleton ace hadn’t thrown a fastball all game. It was either going to be the curve or the change-up, which is what the first pitch had been. And it was just a matter of Matt guessing right, and then executing.
Looking down the first-base line at Coach Stephens, Matt saw the coach tip his cap and then put his right hand in the back pocket of his uniform. This was the sign to “take” the next pitch, no matter where it was. Matt stepped into the box and waited, bat cocked. Martinez wheeled and threw. The ball seemed to be heading for the right-hand top corner of the plate as Matt watched intently, resisting the urge to swing. But as the pitch broke, it veered outside by about six inches. It was the curve ball all right, and it had missed the plate completely.
After stepping out again, Matt saw Coach fold his arms across his chest and then adjust his hat. He was telling Matt to swing away at the next pitch if it was good. As Martinez wound up, Matt had a strong feeling another change-up was coming his way. This time he patiently waited on the ball until he could gauge the speed. Lining it up calmly, he blooped the ball into left field for a single.
The South Side dugout erupted. Nobody had hit Martinez cleanly yet today. Not until Matt. Coach Stephens was pumped up too. “Nice at-bat, Hill,” he said from his coaching box at first.
Archibald was up next. He went down swinging hard at the change-up magic of Martinez. But one wild pitch that got by the catcher during his at-bat allowed Matt to hustle down to second base. Howard Berger followed Archibald, but he grounded out quietly, moving Matt along to third.
There were two outs as Phil came to the plate. Matt knew that if anybody else on the South Side bench had figured out Martinez it would be Phil. Like most good catchers, he could quickly pick out a pitcher’s tendencies, something that made him a dangerous hitter in the latter stages of any game.
Matt watched from third as Phil, a determined look on his broad face, worked Martinez to a two-and-two count. Then, just as Matt had done, he waited on the change-up, patiently stroking the ball into center field. Phil’s hit scored Matt. South Side was ahead 2-1 with just a half-inning to go.
Those were all the hits Martinez would surrender, though. And as the Marauders trotted in from the field, they still seemed supremely confident in their ability to come back.
Jake hustled out of the dugout to the mound. He often relieved White or another starter in the late innings. Coach Stephens liked the fact Jake could throw hard and accurate for at least two innings. He was a great shortstop, but he was valuable to the Stingers as a late reliever as well.
Still, this had easily been Jake’s worst game of the season. Matt had noticed that he didn’t have the same confident bounce in his step today. He hadn’t even managed a single hit off Martinez, walking once, grounding out and striking out on the Marauder pitcher’s wicked curve ball.
The first Middleton batter was Martinez himself. He was a decent hitter, but no match for Jake’s pure speed on this day. Four pitches later, Martinez was heading back to the dugout, shaking his head after a disappointing strikeout.
The Stingers were now two outs away from a huge win. With just Central and Mandela left on their schedule—both of which figured to be routine wins— a victory here could almost lock up first place.
Up next, however, was catcher Tommy Layne, a player that everybody on the South Side team knew well. Layne was a ninth-grade shortstop who had also probably been the city’s best middle school basketball player for Middleton this past season. Hoops was Layne’s first love, but his lean sinewy frame and huge hands were those of a pure athlete. The kid could hit and field too.
Jake caught Layne looking with the first pitch, a fastball. But when he tried to throw the same thing past Layne on the next offering, the Middleton senior wheeled on the pitch and drove a hard grounder straight at Matt, who was covering the hole between first and second.
Matt charged the grounder, thinking he had a good read on the ball. But at the last second it bounced high off a clump of grass at the edge of the unkempt Middleton infield and soared over his head. There was nothing he could do but watch it bounce into center field.
Layne seized the opportunity, hustling to second before the South Side outfield could relay the ball in to Matt. The tying run was now aboard with just one out.
The next Middleton batter grounded weakly to Howard Berger at third. Layne held his position at second as Berger checked him off and then threw out the runner at first. It was two away. One more out would seal the win for the Stingers.
The Middleton crowd was on edge as Gustavo Martinez, the older brother of David, strode to the plate. “Gus! Gus! Gus!” the fans chanted as the muscular ninth-grader took his practice cuts. Martinez was the Marauders’ best long-ball hitter. He had taken Steve White deep to center a couple of times today, but hadn’t managed a hit.
Jake went into his windup and delivered a sizzling fastball that split the center of the plate. Martinez had been taking all the way, so he didn’t even blink when the umpire signaled the first strike. On the next pitch, Jake got lucky. The ball slipped out of his grip as he delivered, floating out over the plate like a balloon. But it fooled Martinez, who had been expecting heat. He swung wildly, twisting himself up just as Matt had done on the first pitch from the younger Martinez.
; Jake was nicely up on the count. Now he could afford to paint the corners, Matt thought. Jake wound up to deliver the third pitch. It was obvious from the grunt he emitted that he was trying to end this thing now. He put another fastball right down the middle, but this time Gus Martinez was ready.
The big dark-haired boy had timed it perfectly, bringing his bat around in a blur and transferring his weight to full effect. He caught the ball flush and sent a towering drive out to center field. Matt watched as it sailed far over his head. He already knew there would be no play on this one. Martinez had parked it over the fence and the ball bounced wildly off the asphalt of the school parking lot. Middleton had won the game 3-2. The Marauders’ dugout erupted, dog-piling the elder Martinez as he crossed the plate.
Matt walked dejectedly off the field toward the dugout. He thought he felt about as bad as somebody could until he looked at Jake, who had hurled his glove down at the mound in disgust.
The Stingers quietly filed out of the dugout and back onto their bus. With that one hit, their hopes for the playoffs had been thrown into serious jeopardy. Jake slumped into a seat at the back of the bus. Matt slid into the double bench right in front of him.
“Tough one,” Matt said quietly to his friend. “That kid can hit.”
Jake was still looking at the floor of the bus. It was a few seconds before he spoke. “It was my fault,” he said solemnly. “I shouldn’t have given that kid anything to hit. I thought I had him after that second pitch. I got cocky.”
Matt was just about to say something when Coach Stephens piped up from the front of the bus. “Listen up, guys,” he said.
“We lost a tough one this afternoon. But we got beat by a great hit and a great hitter. Nobody should hang his head in this bus. You guys all played heads-up baseball. I couldn’t ask for much better. Sometimes it’s just not your day.”
There was silence on the bus, but several players nodded their heads. Jake was still looking down at the floor.
“All right, let’s shake it off,” Coach continued. “Practice is Wednesday, just like always.”
As the bus pulled into the South Side parking lot, Phil spied his parents’ gold Lexus sedan idling. “I’ve gotta go,” he said eagerly, grabbing his equipment and hustling to the front of the bus. “We’re going out for dinner tonight. Grandma’s eighty today.”
Matt could see Phil’s parents from the bus window and waved to them. Phil’s grandmother spotted Matt and waved furiously. She had known him since he was in kindergarten and treated him like he was her own grandson. Whenever he and Phil hung out at her tiny corner grocery, she would pull out chips and candy and Cokes and spoil them rotten.
Phil’s departure left Matt and Jake to walk home together. Matt felt strangely awkward. They hadn’t spoken much since their telephone conversation about the joint found in Matt’s bag. For the first block down Anderson Crescent, neither said much.
“I couldn’t concentrate out there today.” Jake finally broke the ice. Matt thought that he had never seen his friend look so serious. His jaw was set and his blue eyes seemed weary.
“I’ve been thinking about what we talked about the other night,” Jake continued. “You were right, Matt. What happened was totally unfair to you. I’ve kind of been acting like a jerk.”
Matt couldn’t argue there. But he felt he had to ease his buddy’s worry. “I just wanted you to know what happened, Jake,” he said. “It’s not like I’m totally pissed at you or anything.”
Jake cleared his throat. For a second, there was silence. Then he spoke. “You should be,” he said. “You’re in trouble because of something I did.
“I was thinking,” he continued. “What about if I went with you to those Sunday things?”
“You mean with Mr. Evans?” Matt said. “Why would you want to do that?”
“It’s not that I want to. It’s just that I feel responsible. Why should you be stuck there by yourself?”
“But what will your parents say?” Matt asked. “They’re bound to find out you’re in Mr. Evans’ group. They’ll know something’s up.”
“They’re going to know anyway,” Jake said. “Because I’m going to tell them tonight.”
“You sure you want to do that?” Matt said.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Jake said resignedly.
The Piancatos’ station wagon pulled up beside them. Mr. Piancato rolled down the passenger window. “Hey, guys,” he said. “How did you do?”
“We lost 3-2,” Matt answered quickly. “But it was a pretty good game.”
Jake looked at Matt as he opened the car door. “Later, man,” he said.
“Good luck,” Matt replied as he watched the car pull away. He was awfully glad not to be in Jake’s shoes tonight.
chapter sixteen
There was definitely a buzz surrounding the ball team at school on Tuesday morning. But it didn’t have anything to do with the boys’ baseball squad. Instead, it was the Stinger girls who were basking in the limelight.
“Make sure you get out to the diamond this afternoon and catch the undefeated South Side Stingers against Middleton in girls’ softball at its finest,” Principal Walker said during the morning announcements.
“One more win this season and your Stingers are off to the regional playoffs. They deserve your support.”
There was no mention of the boys’ baseball team this morning. Yesterday’s loss to Middleton had put a serious crimp in the team’s playoff hopes. Even if they won the final two games, they would have to rely on both Middleton and Churchill losing one of their final two games. The chances of that happening were slim.
While disappointed with the way the season was playing out—both for him personally and for the team—Matt was happy for the girls and especially for Andrea, who was finding her groove as a shortstop and developing into one of the team’s best players.
With no practice of his own to worry about that afternoon, Matt headed to the diamond with Phil to catch the girls’ game. He hadn’t seen Jake at school all day and neither had Phil. He didn’t say anything to anybody else but Matt wondered whether Jake had gone ahead and broken the news about the joint to his parents the night before.
Phil and Matt cheered enthusiastically as the South Side girls cruised to an easy 8-1 win over Middleton, wrapping up first place and a spot in the playoffs. Andrea was enjoying her best game of the season so far, going two-for-three with a double and some terrific plays at shortstop. Matt knew wearing the cast all winter had meant she had been waiting a long time to go full-out in sports. It was good to see her so happy and doing so well.
After the game, Matt and Phil were walking down Anderson toward home when they heard a voice behind them. “Hey, guys, wait up!” It was Jake.
“Where were you, man?” Phil said as Jake puffed up. “We thought we’d see you at the girls’ game for sure.”
A sheepish look crossed Jake’s hearty face. “Let’s just say it was a long night out at Long Lake,” he said ruefully, trying to make light out of what most certainly hadn’t been a light situation.
Jake brought Phil and Matt up to speed. He had told his parents the previous night about smoking marijuana with his cousins. They had both been stunned. He had also told them about the jackpot Matt now found himself in, thanks to Jake.
“Sucks to be you,” Phil said, half-jokingly. “Man, I had no idea about all this stuff. You guys hiding anything else from me?”
Jake looked directly at Matt. “I’m in so much trouble with my mom and dad,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m like grounded for two weeks. I had to spend half the morning with them in the school counselor’s office. And I’m done with baseball for this year.”
The last sentence was the one that registered with Matt and Phil. Had he actually said “Done with baseball”?
“Mom and Dad totally freaked out,” Jake continued. “They’re super mad at Cody and Vance. They phoned their parents. And Matt, they phoned your mom too.”
“What?” Matt s
aid. “Why?”
“They said it was only fair to you. It was my jacket that Joker smelled, not your gear. They said it wasn’t right that you were taking the blame for that…And they’re right.”
Matt suddenly felt elated and depressed all at the same time. It was a huge load off his shoulders that his mom would now know that he hadn’t been involved with drugs. But at the same time, he felt bad for Jake and for the team. Without Jake in the lineup, South Side could probably kiss the playoffs goodbye.
“Guess you’re off the hook for Sundays,” Jake said to Matt. “My parents want me to take Mr. Evans’ counseling sessions now.”
They were already at the corner of Anderson and Seventh. “I know your parents are pissed,” Matt said, looking at Jake. “But they’ll get over it eventually.”
“Hope so,” Jake said glumly. And with that, he and Phil continued to walk toward Wong’s Grocery where Jake, as usual, would catch the bus out to Long Lake.
Matt hesitated at the corner and watched as his two friends headed up Seventh. He knew Jake felt bad, but he also knew his friend had done the right thing. It was nice to have the old Jake back again.
Mom was in the kitchen, dicing up cucumber for a salad when she heard Matt come in the door. She stopped what she was doing and met him in the hallway. She had a smile on her face. “I got a call from Jake’s mom and dad today,” she said. “They explained to me what happened. I’m sorry I didn’t have more faith in you, Matt.”
“It’s okay, Mom. I mean, what were you supposed to think, anyway? The dog freaked out on my equipment bag. It must have looked pretty bad.”
“I’m glad that they weren’t your drugs, Matt,” she said. “But even if they were, I hope you feel like you could talk to me about it.”
Matt nodded as his Mom stretched out her arms and gave him a hug. He already knew that he could talk to her about anything. But it felt good to hear the words just the same.