Bat and the Waiting Game

by Elana K. Arnold

  “Take me out to the ball game,” sang the crowd all around Bat. Down on the field, the mascot—a man in a giant bird costume—jumped around, waving his wings to encourage the crowd to sing louder.

  “If they don’t win it’s a shame,” boomed Dad. Bat folded his arms across his chest and wished he had his earmuffs.

  At last the song was over and everyone settled back into their seats. The score, Bat saw on the big, lighted scoreboard, was 3–2. The home team was winning. There was no way Dad would want to leave yet. Still, it was worth a try.

  “If we go now, we could beat the traffic out of the parking lot,” Bat said.

  “And miss the end? No way!” Dad said. “Hey, do you want another hot dog?”

  Bat shook his head. He had already eaten two hot dogs and a bunch of popcorn and was feeling slightly sick. He slumped down in his seat, resigned to staying for the rest of the game.

  Dad straightened the baseball cap on Bat’s head, which was an exact match to the cap Dad was wearing, and which Dad had just given him that day. “You know, sport, you could try a little harder to enjoy the things I’m interested in. It’s a good talent, learning to appreciate other people’s interests.”

  “Well,” said Bat, “you don’t try very hard to appreciate my interests! You haven’t even met Thor, and he’s the most interesting thing in my life.”

  Dad didn’t say anything for a while. The teams jogged back onto the field and took their positions. The fielding team threw the ball around to warm up, and then the batter came to home plate and the game started up again.

  Just when Bat thought that maybe Dad hadn’t heard him at all, he said, “You know, sport, you’re right. I should have met that little fellow by now. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. But I’ll tell you what. You let me tell you a few things about baseball and try your best to enjoy the rest of this game, and then tomorrow when I drop you off with your mom, we’ll spend some time together with Thor. How does that sound?”

  Bat smiled. It sounded good.

  “Okay,” Dad said as they settled back into their seats after a final visit to the concession stand (though Bat had no more room for hot dogs, he found he could make a little space for cotton candy). “Let me tell you a few things that I love about baseball games. Starting with the most important part.”

  “The stats?” Bat guessed. He knew how much Dad loved keeping track of the players’ statistics: batting, pitching, fielding, base running. Dad had a whole stack of notebooks that he kept in the top drawer of his desk, dedicated to keeping track of statistics.

  “The stats are pretty great,” Dad said. “But it’s not the stats that I like best.”

  “Is it the hats?” Bat asked. Dad had a shelf in his closet where he kept his collection of baseball caps. He liked to wear the cap of whatever team he was cheering for, whether he was at the game or watching it on TV.

  “It’s not the hats,” Dad said.

  “The food?”

  “Nope.”

  “The crowds?”

  “No.”

  “The mascots?”

  Dad laughed. “It’s not the mascots.”

  “I give up,” Bat said. “What’s your favorite thing about baseball?”

  “It’s this,” Dad said, relaxing in his seat and putting his arm around Bat’s shoulders again. “This, right here. Sitting next to someone I love, having a snack and something to drink, enjoying the outside air together. Spending time together. Being with you.”

  Bat could point out to Dad that they could do most of these things back at the apartment, or at the park. It didn’t have to be at a baseball game. Technically, Dad’s argument was flawed. But instead of pointing this out, Bat paid attention to the pleasant warmth and weight of Dad’s arm across his shoulders. He pinched off some cotton candy and popped it into his mouth, enjoying the way it changed from fluff into melting sweetness. He looked out across the field, not trying to keep track of the players or the score. Instead he tried to melt a little, like the cotton candy, and just be happy to be right there at the game with his dad.

  The moment was sweet. Not quite as sweet as cotton candy, but pretty close.

  CHAPTER 14

  Yarrow and Sloke

  At school on Monday, Bat and Israel got to use Mr. Grayson’s computer to research the best vegetables for a skunk diet. They found a website that had sample menus for skunks. It said that young skunks, once weaned from formula, should be fed four times per day and should get a mixture of vegetables, a protein like chicken or fish, some sort of grain or crushed-up nuts, and occasionally some fruit for a treat.

  “It sounds like a regular person diet,” Israel said.

  “Well, skunks are omnivores, like people.” Bat wished the website had a list of the vegetables that taste the best to skunks, but all it said was “mixed vegetables, frozen or fresh.”

  “So what do you want to plant?” Israel asked.

  “I don’t know,” Bat said. “What are your favorite vegetables?”

  “I like avocados,” Israel said.

  “Avocados are fruit, and they’re from trees,” Bat said. “We can’t grow those in a garden box.”

  “Oh,” said Israel. And then he said, “Hey! I have a great idea!”

  Israel’s idea was to make a survey for the class to take, asking everyone to write down their five favorite vegetables. “Then we can figure out which vegetables are the most popular, and we can plant those,” he said.

  Bat nodded. “I like it,” he said. “Very scientific.”

  When they told Mr. Grayson Israel’s idea, he said, “You can use the copy machine in the office if you want!”

  So Bat and Israel made a survey:

  Pick your three favorite vegetables from this list. Number them 1, 2, and 3.

  Asparagus

  Brussels Sprouts

  Broccoli

  Cabbage

  Carrot

  Corn

  Kale

  Lettuce

  Spinach

  Squash

  Bat wanted to include every vegetable they found on a website that listed all the vegetables in alphabetical order, but Israel said, “I don’t think anyone in our class knows what yarrow or sloke even are, Bat!”

  So Bat compromised on just ten. Then they took the hall pass, which was an old flip-flop with “Walking Pass” written on the sole, and headed to the front office to make their copies.

  “Well, hello, boys,” said Principal Martinez. “What can we do for you?”

  “Hi, Principal,” said Israel. “Mr. Grayson said we could use the copy machine. Look! We’re doing a survey.” He gave her the sheet they’d written up.

  “I see,” said Principal Martinez. “Very interesting. Do you need me to show you how to work the machine?”

  “No,” said Bat. “I know how. My mom has a copy machine at her clinic that she sometimes lets me use.”

  “Okay,” said the principal. “Well, good luck with your survey!”

  “Thank you,” said Israel, but Bat was already on his way to the machine.

  “Bat, you should have said thank you,” Israel whispered to him loudly as Bat entered sixteen—the number of students in their class—into the copy machine’s display.

  “Do you think sixteen copies is enough?” Bat asked.

  “Make it eighteen, just in case.”

  Bat made it eighteen. He and Israel stood next to each other and watched the identical copies of their survey emerge one by one from the machine. It was, Bat thought, very satisfying. Also, Bat loved the way a working copy machine smelled—hot, kind of rubbery, important.

  When the machine was done, Bat took the copies plus the original, tapped the papers into a neat stack, and said, “There.”

  “I wonder what the winners will be,” Israel said as they walked back to class.

  “I hope kale is in the top three,” Bat said.

  “Why?” asked Israel. “Do you like kale?”

  “Not really,” Bat said. “B
ut my mom says it’s got lots of vitamins in it, and I want Thor to be extra healthy.”

  When they got back to class, Mr. Grayson said, “Okay, everyone! Attention! We have a special activity. Bat, Israel, want to tell us about it?”

  Bat opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. It was as if, standing in front of the class with everyone staring at him, he had forgotten how to speak.

  Luckily, Israel remembered. “Bat and I are going to plant a garden to grow food for Thor, the skunk Bat’s raising. And we want everyone to vote on which vegetables we should plant. So everyone take a survey and mark your three favorite vegetables.”

  Then he nudged Bat, who was holding the stack of surveys. Jolted into movement, Bat passed them out. He even gave one to Mr. Grayson and one to Israel, and kept one for himself.

  Back at his desk, on his own survey, Bat numbered kale, broccoli, and corn as one, two, and three. When everyone was done, he and Israel walked around the room and collected the surveys.

  “Okay!” said Mr. Grayson. “When you’ve tallied the results, let us know what the winning vegetables are!” Then it was time for recess, and everyone went outside. Bat stared down at the stack of surveys, smiling. They were really going to make a skunk garden.

  CHAPTER 15

  Thor’s Garden

  “Carrots, corn, and kale!” Bat told Mom on the drive home from school.

  “Carrots, corn, and kale!” Bat told Janie when she got home, interrupting the song she was singing.

  “Carrots, corn, and kale,” Bat whispered to Thor as he fed him his afternoon bottle, cradling his squirming, eager black-and-white body. Thor was getting strong, Bat noticed. He filled Bat’s hands now, and his snuffling snout pushed into Bat’s palm as he searched for the bottle.

  “I think your little friend is ready for solid food,” Mom said. She was in the kitchen with Bat, drinking a cup of tea and watching him feed the kit.

  “Carrots, corn, and kale!” Bat said again.

  “Yes,” said Mom. “Those sound like great choices for a skunk garden. But in the meantime, let’s try something a little easier to digest.” She set down her tea and took a slice of bread from the loaf by the toaster. She pulled away the crusts and cut just the softest center of the slice into little cubes. Then she dripped some of the formula onto the plate of bread cubes and waited until it had soaked in and the bread was soft. Then she set the plate on the floor and said, “Let’s see what he thinks.”

  Bat sat on the floor and made a V with his legs around the plate of bread. Gently, he set Thor down. At first, the little kit stumbled as he got his legs underneath him, but his tiny nose went up like he smelled the food and he wove his way over to the plate, his tail bushy behind him.

  When he got to the plate of bread, he sniffed around for a while. Bat didn’t know if he would eat it. “Maybe he doesn’t like bread,” he said to Mom.

  “Give him a minute,” Mom said. She had sat down on the floor, too, right next to Bat, and they watched together as Thor climbed up onto the plate with his front legs and dipped his mouth down toward the food.

  Sniff, sniff, sniff. Then, his tongue emerged and touched the bread. Then he licked it. Then he got even closer, opened his mouth, and took a bite.

  “He’s eating!” Bat said.

  “He sure is,” Mom said.

  Thor chomped down half the plate of formula-soaked bread, and then he turned away from it. Bat scooped him up and wiped his face clean with a napkin Mom handed him.

  “They grow up so fast, don’t they, Bat?” Mom said.

  Bat nodded. He was proud of Thor, but he knew what it meant that Thor was learning to eat on his own. It meant that he was one step closer to being able to return to the wild—one step closer to not needing Bat anymore.

  “I kind of wish he still needed to be bottle-fed,” Bat said.

  “Babies can’t stay babies forever,” Mom said. She stroked Bat’s hair as he stroked Thor.

  Thursday afternoon, Bat and Tom and Israel took the big black truck to the nursery to get supplies for the skunk garden. Bat and Israel had written up a list of supplies, and Mom had checked it the night before. She’d crossed off “shovel” and “hoe” because she said they already had those things in the shed.

  That still left: carrot seeds, corn seeds, kale seeds, and fertilizer. Not a very exciting list. When they’d found everything they needed, Tom drove them all back to Bat’s house so that they could get to work.

  Bat had never been at his house without another member of his family being there, and he wished suddenly that Janie were home. Not because he wanted her to make him a sandwich, not because he needed anything from her—just because it would have been nice to have her there.

  He found the key just where Mom had promised to leave it, under the second-biggest potted plant on the front porch (because the biggest one was too heavy to move), and used it to open the front door. Then, standing in the hallway with Tom and Israel, Bat felt suddenly shy.

  But Israel raced straight through to the kitchen, down the steps, and into the backyard. “Come on, Bat! Let’s garden!”

  Half an hour later, the garden box was planted. Tom had found a couple of pieces of wood and some old paint in the shed, and when Bat and Israel were done smoothing over the dirt, he said, “What do you boys think of this?”

  It was a signpost that read “Thor’s Garden.”

  “It’s perfect,” said Bat.

  Tom hammered the sign into the dirt and they all stood together admiring it. Now they just had to wait for the plants to grow.

  CHAPTER 16

  Sleepover

  “Do you think there’s time to bake cookies before they get here?” Janie asked Mom. She had been working all day on getting ready for her big sleepover party. Three friends from her school musical were going to arrive any minute, and Bat had been watching her flurry of preparation with curiosity and maybe just a touch of jealousy.

  “You already made brownies and ordered pizzas and had Mom take you to the store for three different kinds of juice,” Bat said, thinking that with three different kinds of juice, Janie shouldn’t be so selfish about not letting him open even one until the guests arrived.

  “I know,” Janie said, twirling her hair up into a bun. “But I can’t remember if Corinna said she doesn’t like brownies or cookies. I thought it was cookies she doesn’t like, so I made brownies, but now I think I might be remembering wrong.”

  “I like brownies,” Bat said, “and I also like cookies.”

  “I know, Bat,” Janie said, rolling her eyes.

  Bat hated when Janie rolled her eyes at him. It was rude. He was about to tell her so when the doorbell rang.

  “They’re here!” Janie yelped, and she ran out of the kitchen.

  Soon the house was brimming with noise. Janie and her friends seemed to have forgotten the whole concept of “inside voices.” Bat peeked through the kitchen door. One of Janie’s friends saw him and waved. Bat waved back, then headed down the hall toward his room.

  “Janie,” he heard a girl’s voice ask, “didn’t you tell me your brother is autistic?”

  “Uh-huh,” said Janie.

  “So is my cousin,” the girl answered.

  Bat went into his room and closed the door firmly behind him, but he could still hear the girls, only slightly muffled.

  Bat sighed and flopped down into his beanbag. He wasn’t sure what name to give the emotion he was feeling. His eyes darted around his room as he looked for something to do. Even his animal encyclopedia, which usually made him perfectly content, didn’t seem appealing. And Thor must have been deep into his afternoon nap, because Bat couldn’t hear him stirring in his enclosure.

  Now that Thor was less of a baby and more of a toddler, Bat liked to think of his enclosure as a playpen. In one back corner was the kitty transport box that made a sort of cave for Thor to sleep in; in the other back corner, newspapers acted as a bathroom for the kit, who was quickly learning the right place to go;
up toward the gate at the front was Thor’s food dish, which Bat filled four times a day, and a water dish, which he changed and refilled every morning and night. Hanging from the gate was Thor’s sling, which he used to disappear into but which was getting a little tight.

  Mom knocked on Bat’s door. He knew it was her because she always knocked in a little pattern—knock-knock, pause, knock.

  “Come in,” he said.

  Mom opened the door, and the girls’ noise got louder. She came into the room and shut the door again. “Those girls know how to party,” she said with a smile.

  Bat shrugged. “I guess,” he said.

  Mom sat on the edge of the bed. “How’s Thor?”

  “He’s taking his nap,” Bat sighed, and for no reason his eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, little Bat,” said Mom, and she stroked his hair. “Are you feeling lonely?”

  Bat shrugged. “Maybe,” he said.

  Mom pet Bat’s hair in long, slow strokes. It felt nice. “Hey,” she said. “I have an idea.”

  “What?” said Bat.

  “Do you want to call Israel and see if he’d like to come for a sleepover? We could break out your trundle bed,” Mom said.

  Bat had had a trundle bed as long as he could remember, but the only person who had ever slept on it was Janie when they were younger and he could sometimes talk her into sleeping in his room.

  “Do you think he’d want to?” Bat asked.

  “Only one way to find out,” Mom said.

  It turned out that Israel did want to come for a sleepover. Sometimes life meant lots of waiting and not knowing, but this time everything happened fast: Israel answered the phone on the second ring, and he said “Yes!” as soon as Bat asked him if he wanted to come over, and then Bat’s mom talked to Israel’s mom, and within half an hour, it was Bat’s turn to open the door when the doorbell rang, and it was his friend standing on the front porch holding a pillow and a knapsack.

  “Hi,” said Bat. “Do you like brownies?”

  “They’re my favorite,” Israel said with a grin, and then he came inside.