Center Field

by Robert Lipsyte

  “Leave it alone.” Andy didn’t look at him.

  “He’s got something on you, too, doesn’t he?” He grabbed Andy’s shoulders. Andy sagged.

  “Good luck.” Andy’s eyes glistened. “I’m sorry.”

  “What is it?”

  “He found out it was me who turned Oscar in to Immigration.”

  “You? Why?”

  “He shouldn’t be in center field.”

  Mike felt nauseous. “You did it for me?”

  “Partly, yeah. But why should some illegal beaner walk in and…”

  “Okay.” Mike held up his hand. He didn’t want to hear this.

  “I took some cell phone pictures of Oscar at school getting out of that car with New York plates. And getting picked up. I turned them in on a hotline.”

  “How did Coach find out?”

  Andy looked down. Tears formed. “I guess I shot my mouth off.”

  “We’ll get him,” said Mike. He squeezed Andy’s shoulders. “I’ve got another idea.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Zack was scared. “I’m on probation. Part of the deal was that Cody could make random checks of my hard drive.”

  “Sounds like steroid testing.” When Zack didn’t react, he said, “We’ll use my computer.”

  “He’ll check that, too.”

  “No, he won’t. He thinks he knows everything about everybody. He thinks I’m coachable.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That I’ll do whatever he says.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  It just tumbled out. “He messed with people I care about. Kat. Andy. Oscar. My dad. You.”

  Zack looked at him for a long time. Mike thought Zack’s face was changing, eyes getting squintier, lips pressing together, even the flesh around his jaw tightening. A geek game face. Finally Zack said, “You really think we can bring him down?”

  “We’re the perfect team,” said Mike.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Pukes know how to do stuff,” said Mike, “and jocks hate to lose.”

  They started with the copy of Coach Cody’s résumé from the official website, the résumé he had submitted for the dean of discipline’s job at Ridgedale High five years ago. According to the résumé, Gary James Cody was forty-eight years old. He was born in Kansas City and joined the Army after high school. Five years later he left the service as a Ranger sergeant with a Bronze star and went to Michigan State University on an Army Reserve scholarship. He played baseball there and graduated with a degree in education. He served five more years as a Ranger officer. He left the service as a captain with a Silver star and taught for ten years in various high schools in Michigan and Illinois before he was activated for a year by the Army during the Gulf War in 1990. He was wounded. Then ten years as a school administrator in Utah, Nevada, and New Hampshire before coming to Ridgedale.

  Zack studied the résumé as if it were a math problem. “This is going to take a while,” he said. His game face had solidified.

  “What should I do?” said Mike.

  “Get me spicy potato chips and A&W root beer,” said Zack. He was serious. He sounded in charge. “And gummy bears.”

  Mike took a deep breath. BillyBuddTigerbitchBillyBudd. Making a junk food run for a puke wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, he thought. Suck it up, Mighty Mak. Jock keeps his eyes on the prize, does whatever he needs to win.

  “Oh, and I need my tunes.”

  “Some Mozart while you hack?” said Mike sarcastically.

  Zack didn’t get it. “For this, some Fishnchip. It’s on my iPhone.” He dug into his dork bag.

  “Fishnchip?” He dimly remembered a Canadian band Andy had listened to for a week. “Grunge?”

  “No one’s used that term in a decade,” said Zack, and smiled.

  When Mike got back from the store, Zack’s eyeballs were locked onto the screen and his fingers were glued to the keyboard. He had a headset on. The cat was sitting on his lap. For a long time he didn’t notice that Mike had returned or had cleared space near him for a six-pack of soda, three different bags of chips, and a sack of gummy bears.

  He blinked. His fingers moved. Every so often he jerked his head and mumbled, “‘Squeeze don’t pull.’”

  Mike thought of movies and TV shows he’d seen where the tough guys, heroes or villains, waited while their geek henchman, usually an Asian or black guy, but always skinny with glasses, tapped on his laptop. The tough guys would be growling, “Go, go, we’ve got forty seconds,” and the geek would tap furiously until something popped on the screen and he’d yelp, “We’re in!”

  At first it was easy to follow what Zack was doing. Google, Wikipedia, Yahoo, Altavista, Technorati, then search engines that Mike had never heard of, then deep into state, federal, and military websites. Zack’s head and body barely moved.

  He stopped once for a can of A&W and one of the bags of chips. Two gurgles from the can and a handful of crunchies, then back to the screen. He wiped off his greasy hands on the cat. She purred. If I did that, thought Mike, she’d tear the skin off my fingers.

  “Anything?” said Mike.

  Zack shook his head. “So far his résumé checks out.” He sagged back in the chair. The music continued to play in the background: ‘Aim for the brain and squeeze don’t pull’… Zack rubbed his eyes and jammed a handful of gummy bears into his mouth. He locked back into the screen.

  Mike heard the garage door hum up and down, car doors, his parents coming into the kitchen. It was after eleven o’clock. He locked his bedroom door and stretched out on the bed. He looked up at Billy Budd’s puzzled gaze—What are you up to, young ballers?

  Good question, Billy.

  Zack was going back and forth between sides of a split screen, when he suddenly straightened up and yelped, “Game on!”

  “We’re in?”

  “What?” Zack turned down the sound.

  “What do you have?”

  “He wasn’t just wounded. Captain Gary James Cody was killed on January 23, 1990, in Kuwait during the Gulf War.”

  “That must be someone with the same name.”

  “Don’t think so. His obit in the Kansas City Star says he was a schoolteacher in a Ranger Psych warfare unit who played baseball at Michigan State.”

  It took Mike a moment to get it. “Coach stole his identity!”

  “Elementary, my dear Semak.” Zack fell back in his chair. “Now we have to find out his real name.”

  “Don’t people ever check out résumés?”

  “Only when they want to find something.”

  Mom rattled his doorknob halfheartedly, as if she just wanted to go to sleep herself. Zack and Mike were still until they heard her walk away, whisper to Dad, and close their bedroom door. Too much to explain if they got caught, Mike thought.

  Zack chugged an A&W and ripped open another bag of chips. “Census,” he said, logging onto a government site. “It could be someone who knew the real Cody, even grew up with him in the same town.”

  Zack occasionally grunted and hummed, but his thin shoulders barely moved. In the zone. He could be lifting or running through outfield drills, Mike thought. Who’d ever think pukes could concentrate like this? Why not?

  His mind drifted. What was Kat doing right now in that group home? Did they let her out to run? Was she thinking about me? Cody had pushed her over the edge. To what? He remembered Lori wondering if she was bipolar. What does that actually mean? Will I ever see her again? Will she be different?

  “Nothing,” said Zack.

  It took Mike a moment to get back to now. “Nothing?”

  “Too many people around Captain Cody’s age grew up with him in Kansas City. Dead end.”

  The poster shook its head. Never quit, young baller.

  What would they do on CSI?

  “Centerburg, Colorado,” said Mike. “Can you see if anyone who was in Kansas City with the real Cody was also in Centerburg like twenty years ago?”
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  “Why?”

  “Cody said he coached against Billy Budd in Little League.”

  “Sounds like another one of his stories,” said Zack.

  “Maybe not. Would you try it?”

  “Might as well. You got any chocolate chip cookies?”

  By the time he got back from the 7-Eleven in Nearmont, Zack was rocking in his chair, nodding and grunting. “Roger Wald. Kansas City and Centerburg. He could be the one.”

  “How do we find out?”

  Zack smiled, leaned back, and flexed his fingers.

  FORTY

  The principal, Dr. Howard, made him wait a half hour in her small outer office with her stone-faced secretary, an older woman who kept shooting suspicious glances at Mike, as if she expected him to snatch the tiny glass figurines on her desktop. It would have seemed funny if he wasn’t so jittery. Coach Cody could show up at any moment. He stared at Dr. Howard’s closed office door, willing it to open. From behind him came the chatter and bustle of the big main office where a dozen clerks, secretaries, and volunteers, including Tori, answered phone calls, filed attendance records, and received visitors and students at the long front desk. He sensed Tori scowling at his back. He was caught in a crossfire of laser glares.

  He clutched the folder and tried to practice what he was going to say, the way he had rehearsed it with Zack. Calmly. Simply. No Law & Order dramatics. These papers prove that the person we know as Gary James Cody is really Roger Wald. He lied on his résumé to get this job. Just lay it down, sweet as a bunt, and you’ll get on base. That’s all you have to do. Don’t go for the home run now—time for that later. Just start the rally, get Dr. Howard on our side.

  Phones rang. Period bells clanged. A bright flash of laughter from the main office. The stony secretary shook her head without looking up.

  Why am I doing this? Everything’s okay. I’m in center field. Captain of the team. Hitting a ton. Keep your eyes on the prize. Which is what, young baller?

  Concentrate. Get back in the zone. These papers prove that the person we know as Gary James Cody is really Roger Wald. He lied on his résumé to get this job.

  The door opened. Dr. Howard smiled and waved him in. He’d never been so close to her. Smaller than he thought, slimmer. Smelled good. The dark freckles on her milk-chocolate skin were kind of cute. He started to relax a little. Good. You’re loose. Bad. You’re getting distracted.

  She shook his hand and looked up at him. “That was some catch in the Westfield Hills game. Billy Budd should see that—he’d start worrying about his job.” She laughed. “Coach Cody was so proud you won that contest and so am I. What can I do for you, Mike?”

  He took a breath. Get back in the zone. “These papers prove that the person we know as Gary James Cody is really Roger Wald. He lied on his résumé to get this job.” He handed her the folder. “Roger Wald was never a Ranger in combat. He served two years in the Army, but all in the U.S. He was a personnel records clerk. A private. He stole a dead officer’s identity.”

  She took the folder without opening it and nodded. “I’m glad you brought this to me, Mike. It’s exactly what a captain should do.” She dropped the folder on her desk. “You know, this is not the first time I’ve been apprised of such allegations. I was deeply concerned until we checked them out. No substance at all.” She lowered her voice. “There are people out to undermine Mr. Cody and me and to turn Ridgedale High back into the unsafe, underperforming school it once was. That is simply not going to happen.”

  Even towering over her, Mike suddenly felt himself getting smaller, weaker, as if he had just struck out without even swinging. He struggled to control his softening muscles, deepen his voice. “That material is…”

  “Don’t tell me, Mike.” She raised her hand. “I don’t want to know how you got it because then I’d be forced to take action. Hacking is a federal crime, not to mention the civil lawsuits from anyone damaged by the action.” She put her hand on his arm. “You’ve been through a lot lately, Mike, I know that, and you’ve handled yourself well. We were planning an assembly to celebrate your day with Billy, but that will have to wait until”—she arched her eyebrows—“your filmmaker rejoins us.”

  She was steering him out of her office.

  He only imagined the secretary’s suspicious glances turning into good-riddance dismissals, Tori’s scowls into questioning looks. He was out in the hall. No way he was going to class. He ditched the day and headed for the county park.

  Zack relaxed after the third time Mike swore he had not mentioned his name. “What now?”

  “You’ve got to do better.”

  “Better?” His eyelids snapped open like window shades. His jaw dropped. It was almost comical. Puke’s a puke, Mike thought, but he’s my puke.

  “I been thinking about this all day—I…”

  “You thinking?” said Zack.

  “…figure Dr. Howard can get past the false résumé. After all, she hired him and she needs him. But anything that would tie Cody up to illegal immigration or to threatening a student with revealing her records would be just too hot. She’d flip him.”

  “Flip him?”

  “It’s a law enforcement term. Give him up. Turn him over.”

  Zack looked impressed. He doesn’t watch crime shows, Mike thought, just science fiction. He began nodding, that toy wooden bird again dipping his beak.

  “I’m going to have to bring in the hackerati.”

  “Hackerati?”

  “The aces. Some of those On-High dot org guys.”

  “Can we trust them?”

  Zack’s eyes narrowed. “Pukes don’t snitch,” he said.

  FORTY-ONE

  Mom made her special barbecue chicken for the first time in months and got teary as Tiffany dug in. She wasn’t a vegetarian anymore, and the silver hoops were gone from her eyebrows and lips, although Mike thought he could still see the holes. Dad sat back grinning. He loved having the family together.

  Sophia, Tiffany, and Scotty took turns talking about their computer classes. Sophia was learning to use one in nursery school, Tiffany was taking information technology courses at a community college, and Scotty was composing chamber music on his laptop. I should introduce them to the Cyber Club, thought Mike. I’ve got the best computer stories, but I can’t tell them here.

  “I was so bummed missing you,” said Tiffany. “You should’ve come by the restaurant.”

  Mom said, “When was this?”

  “Mike stopped by the apartment a couple of Saturdays ago,” said Tiffany.

  “That was so nice,” said Mom. “He never tells us anything.”

  “It’s the age,” said Tiffany. Suddenly she’s so wise and old, thought Mike.

  “You heard about Mike winning the Day With Billy,” said Dad. “Billy’s website is listing Mike’s batting average these days. He’s leading the team.”

  “Mike’s captain-elect,” said Mom.

  “I think Sophia inherited Mike’s athletic ability,” said Tiffany. “She’s a great Wiffle ball player.”

  “I hit home runs,” said Sophia.

  “She inherited that from me,” said Dad, “not from Mike.”

  “Unless there’s something we don’t know,” said Scotty.

  Even Mom laughed.

  Tiffany and Mom cleaned up while Dad took Sophia out on the porch for a catch. Mike followed Scotty outside so he could smoke.

  “Just this week,” he said apologetically, lighting up. “Calms me down.”

  “Must be a big competition,” said Mike.

  “Biggest in Europe for student string ensembles,” said Scotty. “Doing well can lead to grants, jobs.”

  “Hope you’ve got a good team,” said Mike. He wondered if that sounded dumb, but he felt a connection with Scotty he hadn’t felt before.

  “The viola is a little weak, but that’s because she hasn’t been with us long,” said Scotty seriously. “After a while you just know what everybody else is going to do. You breat
he together.” He turned to blow smoke away from Mike. “I guess you’re getting along with that fascist coach. What was his name?”

  “Cody.” He thought for a moment. Maybe Scotty has an idea. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “If it’s about New Jersey high school baseball, all Europe will want to know.” He punched Mike’s shoulder.

  “Something’s going down with Coach Cody. He stole a dead guy’s identity to get his job.”

  “Are you kidding?” Scotty choked on his inhale.

  “We got proof.”

  “What kind of proof?”

  “Documents.”

  “What are you going to do?” Scotty looked concerned.

  “I don’t know. The principal blew me off. The kids who hacked the documents are trying to get more stuff, but they’re staying under the radar. They’re afraid of him.”

  “And you’re not?” Scotty shook his head. “This is serious.”

  “No shit.” He was beginning to be sorry he had brought it up.

  “I mean you could go to jail for this.”

  “He could go to jail for this.” He gave it the CSI edge.

  “You sound like you really want to nail him.”

  “I do. He’s a bad guy.”

  “World is full of them,” said Scotty.

  “He messed over my friends.”

  “Can’t they take care of themselves?”

  “Not all of them.” He had a clear mental image of something he had never seen. Kat hanging upside down on her rack to chase the dark away. He wanted to reach out and touch her.

  “You better be careful.”

  “Thanks.” It came out more sarcastic than he had intended but Scotty let it go.

  “What does Dad say?”

  “Have I got a deal for you.”

  Scotty laughed. “That’s the salesman. He’s a good guy. Took me a while to see it, but he really cares about us. It’s why he works so hard. He was right there with Mom getting Tiff straightened out, and he’s really supported my music even though he’d rather I was in the store.” Scotty rubbed out the cigarette on his sole and stuck the butt in his pocket. “Talk to him. You can trust him.”