by Tim Green
“First of all, congratulations to those of you who won the championship last night.” The coach caught his son’s eye and the two of them grinned, showing the same big white teeth. “That’s what Rockets ball is all about. Champions. Those of you who don’t know how to win . . . well, I hope I can teach you that.”
Daniel made a soft farting sound with his lips.
“You have something to say, Mr. DeLuca?” Coach Gamble growled at Jalen, and Jalen knew he thought the noise had come from him instead of Daniel.
Jalen struggled to speak, knowing that this was not the way to start things with a guy like Coach Gamble.
He had to say something, and he had to say it fast.
38
“EXCUSE ME, COACH.” DANIEL STEPPED forward. “Beef chips for lunch. That one snuck out.”
Jalen let go a sigh of extreme relief. He was so grateful that Daniel had owned up to the noise, he wanted to hug him.
Half the team snickered, and to Jalen’s surprise, the coach fought back a smile and shook his head before returning to his serious look. “Anyway, we are about winning. Everything I do is about winning, so those of you who are new to this team need to understand that what I say is like the word of God. You do not question me. You play where I say you’ll play, and you play when I say you’ll play. You don’t complain, either. I’ve got a list as long as my arm of kids who want to be on this team. So I tell you to jump, you ask me, ‘How high?’ ”
Coach Gamble glared all around before adding, “And that goes for what Coach Benning says as well.”
Jalen hadn’t really noticed the other adult. Mr. Benning was short and thick like his son, Dirk. He stepped out from behind Coach Gamble, wearing a red cap of his own, which he tipped to the players.
“Got that?” Coach Gamble shouted.
“Yes, Coach!” the team replied.
Coach Gamble blew his whistle and practice began. It was nothing like the low-key practices Coach Winkman conducted. The Rockets were highly organized, and there was no sitting around or loafing. It was all action: running, throwing, hitting, and catching. When they took a break halfway through, Jalen was thankful for the bottle of water he’d filled at the diner, and he slugged it down as he moved closer to Daniel, who’d plunked himself on the end of the bench.
“How’d the pitching go?” Jalen asked. He had been with Coach Benning doing fielding drills, while Daniel was with Coach Gamble and the other five pitchers.
Daniel took a drink from his Gatorade bottle and squinted at Jalen. “I should be the top dog, or at least number two behind Chris, but him and these two kids from Chappaqua got their noses so far up Coach Gamble’s butt, I’ll be lucky if I get more than an inning or two every weekend. I can read the writing on the wall.”
Jalen felt a chill, because if Daniel wasn’t going to be treated fairly, he doubted he would be either. There were eighteen players, and only nine could play at a time. That left plenty of room for benchwarmers.
“What’sa matter, Sandwich? You tired already?”
Jalen looked up and saw Chris standing there with Dirk Benning. They wore their flat-brimmed Rockets caps slightly crooked, and each had a bottle of blue Gatorade.
“Sandwich?” Jalen couldn’t help sounding confused.
“Yeah.” Chris took a long drink from his bottle but kept eye contact with Jalen. “Heard you had to make a bunch of sandwiches for my dad to even let you on this team.”
Jalen’s insides melted. Sick and horrified that everyone knew about his father’s deal to make up the difference for his registration fee, he fought back his emotions.
“What’s that?” Chris peered at him. “Sandwich Boy crying?”
“I’m not crying.” Jalen stood up and glared right back at Chris.
“What you gonna do about it?” Chris jutted out his chin and tapped the sweet spot with his pointer finger. “Wanna hit me?”
Daniel was there between them and holding out his hands to keep them apart. “Hey, Chris, you ever take your fist and smash it right into a big hot pile of dog crap? You ever try that?”
Chris wrinkled his ugly face. “What’s wrong with you?”
Daniel took Jalen by the arm now and led him away from the bench area, turning back to address the enormous pitcher. “Yeah, disgusting, right? Who wants hot poop all over his hand? That’s why Jalen ain’t gonna hit you, amigo.”
Jalen was so mad, he almost couldn’t smile. Almost.
They left Chris and Dirk there to figure it out. Then the whistle blew and they got back into action. By the time practice ended, the sun had dropped behind some clouds, and the late-spring light had faded. Coach Gamble gathered the team around him under the lights and told them to take a knee in the grass. Even Chris was huffing and bent over, and Jalen was hopeful he didn’t have the energy to be mad.
“Okay,” Coach Gamble said to them. “Not bad for the first night, but we’ve got a lot of work to do before Saturday. We’ll go again tomorrow. I’m out of town Wednesday, but plan on being here Thursday, same time, to sharpen up before the tournament. I’ll give you Friday off to rest.”
Now Jalen had a new reason for being sick.
Thursday evening he was supposed to be at Yankee Stadium.
“The schedule will change depending on my own work schedule and the field availability, but you need to know that I’m gonna own this seven-to-nine time slot of your lives for the entire summer and every minute of the weekends as well. This weekend’s different because the tournament is right in White Plains, so you’ll sleep at home, but normally, we’ll be traveling Friday afternoons. That’s the commitment it takes to be a Rocket. I’m sure you all know that, but if you have a problem, now would be the time to tell me.”
Jalen wanted to raise his hand and tell the coach he’d need to miss Thursday to save JY’s career, that he’d be sitting right next to the dugout, field level, in the owner’s seats at Yankee Stadium. He wanted to do that, but he didn’t know if he could or should, and he kept quiet.
After a team break with a “Champions!” chant, Jalen walked with Daniel off the field.
“What are you gonna do about Thursday?” Daniel asked.
“I gotta get past Wednesday first,” Jalen said.
“Yeah, but you will, and then what?”
Jalen sighed and looked at his feet. “I have no idea.”
39
THE NEXT DAY, TUESDAY, JALEN had a hard time concentrating in school, but things were winding down anyway since they were nearing the end of the year.
At lunch Cat showed him a text she’d received from her mom, asking if Jalen could meet with JY at four p.m.
“Wow,” Daniel said. “He must want to go over your secret signals. Totally cool.”
Jalen stopped eating his meat loaf sandwich on fresh Italian bread. “Why is he asking her to ask you to ask me?”
“Well . . .” Cat fiddled with her bag of chips before looking up. “You don’t have a phone, Jalen. It’s hard to get hold of you.”
Jalen bit his lip.
“Maybe, if we get this genius thing going, we’ll negotiate a phone for you.” Cat sounded excited.
Jalen nodded. “Well, ask him if he can pick me up at the diner. I’ve got to help my dad after school, and tell him I’ve got to be back at seven p.m. for practice, too. Daniel, can you pick up my equipment bag for me?”
“Consider it done.”
Cat typed under the table because phones weren’t allowed in school, even though the only time anyone got in trouble was if they had it out on their desk in the middle of a class or sat in the front row of desks and couldn’t keep their eyes off it.
Cat looked up. “Got it. You’re all set.”
Jalen threw his Yager meeting into the pot of things to be worried about and stewed the rest of the day. When he arrived at the Silver Liner, Gretta and Jimmy were standing behind the counter with their arms folded, looking miffed. There wasn’t a customer in the place.
“What’s up, guys?” Jale
n asked, heading for the kitchen door.
“You can’t go in there.” Gretta chewed the black-painted fingernail on her pinky and forced a smile. “You think we’re out here for kicks?”
“Why not?” Jalen paused with his hand on the door.
“Some hotshot lawyer or something,” said Jimmy, scratching his pale tattooed belly. “Or a banker. They all look the same.”
Jalen hesitated, then went in and nearly got knocked over by a big man in a suit, carrying a briefcase in one hand. The man didn’t even try to catch Jalen, but he staggered upright by the sink. The man did turn toward Jalen’s father’s office, though, to say, “I’m sorry, Fabio. You had a pretty good run. Most restaurants go under in the first two years. You’ve been here how long? Eleven?”
The man turned and left, and Jalen froze at the look on his father’s face. “Dad? Is everything okay?”
Without words, his father’s face said disaster.
40
JALEN’S FATHER ROCKED FORWARD SO that his desk chair squeaked, and he buried his face in his hands for a moment before looking up and forcing a smile. “I know we don’t talk about her, but your mother . . .”
The word hung there, suspended in silence.
His father cleared his throat. “She had to go. Her family, they didn’t want her to marry me in the first place. Then . . . then things happened and she had a chance she always dreamed of, and I said she had to go. She worried about you, but I said to her, ‘Jalen, he’s gonna be fine. He’s my boy and you know I’m gonna take good care of him. I swear on my own life he’s gonna be fine.’ ” His father’s smile broke apart. He turned his eyes toward a pile of papers on his desk that looked like bills, and tears spilled down his cheeks. He bit into his knuckle. “But now . . . I don’t know how good a job I’ve done. . . .”
Jalen crossed the floor and bent down and hugged his dad tight. His father’s thick shoulders shook. Jalen held on until his father took a deep breath and sniffed and gently pushed him to arm’s length. “I don’t have to own a restaurant. I can get a job in a pizza shop and we can get an apartment. Not big, but we don’t need big. We’re gonna be okay, Jalen. I swear we’re gonna be okay.”
His father stood up and gave Jalen another quick hug and a kiss on the top of his head before he said, “Don’t tell Gretta and Jimmy. We’ve got the diner until end of the month, and I don’t want the food to be bad. It’s gotta be good to the end, and they won’t work if they know. Capisce?”
“Okay, Dad.” Jalen nodded. He wanted more than anything to tell him about James Yager and the tweet that could save them. He wanted to, but he knew that the only thing worse than losing the diner for his dad would be to give him hope that he might not lose it and then lose it anyway. That might kill him.
So Jalen got to work, helping his father prepare a fish stew that made his stomach rumble as it simmered on the stove. When the work was done, Jalen looked at the clock. “Dad, I gotta go, okay?”
“You got homework?” his father asked.
“Actually, I gotta help James Yager,” Jalen said.
“Mr. Yager? I thought you going to help him tomorrow night, at the game?” His father began chopping some garlic, and it filled the air with its pungent smell.
Jalen nodded. “Right. Yes. But I need to signal him if I know the pitch and what pitch it is.”
The big knife in his father’s hand stopped. “Jalen . . . is this really a thing you can do? I don’t know. I don’t know. . . .”
“I think I can, Dad,” Jalen said. “I said I’d try.”
“Okay, Jalen.” His father looked down at the cutting board and began to chop again. The staccato rhythm sounded like a woodpecker. “You do that. You try.”
41
THE BLACK LAMBORGHINI THUNDERED UP and Jalen hopped in without looking back at the diner. Instead of turning up the hill toward Old Post Road, they went straight through the middle of town, with small shop windows buzzing by at light speed so they could beat a yellow traffic signal.
“Where we going?” Jalen asked as they veered onto the highway.
“The city.” Yager switched stations on the radio until he had an old Prince song that he began to hum along with.
“The stadium again?” Jalen figured Yager was nervous about the sight lines and wanted to test out their signals, a kind of dry run.
“Uh . . . no.” Yager swerved through two cars like a rocket. “It’s a surprise.”
Jalen nodded like he got surprises all the time, but inside he was boiling with curiosity. They got off the thruway and onto the West Side Highway, exiting at 72nd Street. Through a canyon of buildings blocking out the sky they went until they reached a line of trees that extended both ways as far as Jalen could see. “What’s that?”
Yager took a right and glanced at him. “Central Park. You’ve never been here?”
Jalen shook his head. “No.”
“It’s pretty amazing. Woods, ponds, ball fields, paths to walk, playgrounds. When I first came to New York, I had a place near here. Walked through that park all the time.”
“By yourself?” Jalen asked.
Yager snorted and went quiet for a minute, pausing to allow a woman on a bicycle the time to make a turn. “No. I used to have a girlfriend, but that’s a whole other story, and we’re here.”
He pulled the car up in front of a building overlooking the park, and they got out.
The doorman wore a crimson hat and a coat with gold braiding. He seemed to recognize Yager and asked him how long he’d be.
“Not long. Twenty minutes maybe.”
Jalen followed Yager into the fancy building. People coming in and out mostly wore suits and ties or dresses with high heels. Yager didn’t seem to mind being in a T-shirt and jeans, so Jalen figured he was okay in the sweatpants and T-shirt he had on for practice. Up they went in a shiny elevator that moved so fast it reminded Jalen of the Lamborghini. When they got off, Yager led them down a long hallway and knocked on a wide mahogany door. It swung open, and a young woman led them into a living room that looked out over much of the city. The woman quickly disappeared.
Jalen felt like he was on a cloud.
Then he heard someone behind them say, “James!”
Jalen turned to look and couldn’t believe his eyes.
42
THE MAN HUGGING JAMES YAGER looked like Derek Jeter, but he was taller and leaner than Jalen thought he’d be, and his head was closely shaved.
Jalen waited until the man stood directly in front of him with a hand extended to shake before he decided that it definitely was Jeter.
“So you’re the baseball genius?” Jeter’s pale-green eyes were warm and kind, and Jalen felt like he was somehow talking to an old friend instead of a superstar.
He heard himself say, “I guess so,” and felt ridiculous.
Jeter smiled, though, then nodded and looked at Yager. “So, let’s see.”
They followed the Yankees icon into another room, where a huge flat-screen TV played a baseball game. “The Tampa-Arizona game started at three forty, so . . .” Jeter clicked his remote and scrolled through the satellite guide until Rubby De La Rosa appeared atop the mound, winding up and delivering a strike. “Let’s sit. I’d like to see what you can do, Jalen. Okay?”
“Okay. Sure.” Jalen felt his voice shaking, but he sat down next to Jeter, giving him plenty of space. Yager stood with his arms crossed.
“Can I watch a little, first?” Jalen asked.
“Sure,” said Jeter.
De La Rosa gave up a single to Corey Dickerson before striking out Souza. Jeter looked at Jalen curiously and patiently asked, “Anything yet?”
Jalen bit his lip. “Uh . . . maybe.”
De La Rosa wound up. Jalen knew it was a fastball but didn’t say anything.
“If you think this is pressure, we have no shot tomorrow night, I can tell you that.” Yager began to pace, and he looked at Jeter hard. “See? I knew this was too crazy.”
Jalen watc
hed and thought fastball again, so he just said it. “Fastball.”
Fastball it was. Longoria let it go for a strike. Jeter and Yager looked at each other.
“Yeah, but De La Rosa throws that pitch three out of four times.” Yager stopped and stroked his neck.
“Okay,” said Jeter, “so we keep watching.”
“Fastball again,” Jalen said.
It was. Longoria fouled it.
“And another fastball,” Jalen said.
Longoria let it go. The pitch was high and a ball. Jalen’s stomach rolled over because it was too many fastballs. De La Rosa had to throw something else, but that wasn’t what Jalen felt.
“Fastball.”
“Jeez.” Yager threw up his hands, but it was a fastball Longoria fouled again. “Can Rubby throw anything else?”
“I don’t know on a one-two count. That’s his money.” Jeter sounded totally relaxed. Jalen envied him.
The camera went off De La Rosa, showing a close-up of Diamondbacks manager Chip Hale, because the announcers were talking about him.
“I hate when they do this,” Jalen blurted out. “Show the action.”
Jeter chuckled, but the pitch went without a call from Jalen, a slider that struck Longoria out.
“Good God.” Yager dug his fingers into his own dark hair.
“Relax.” Jeter sat back into the couch. “I’m good till five forty-five.”
“Easy for you to say,” Yager said. “This is it for me. I can’t believe I even took it this far. I’m sorry, Derek. I won’t waste your time anymore. It’s over. Come on, kid.
“I’m pulling the plug.”
43
JETER WAS UP ON HIS feet, and he put a hand on Yager’s arm. “Wait, James. Just wait a minute. You know how I always say not to complicate things by thinking too much about what other people might think? That’s what you’re doing. Who cares how crazy this sounds? I don’t know everything that’s out there in the world, and neither do you. Let’s see if Jalen can do this. Give him a chance.”