Before anyone could say another word, Benji jumped out of his seat, snatched a Sharpie marker from the director’s desk, and handed it to Mickey Mullen along with his Red Sox cap. The star player signed it without looking, bumped fists with Benji and Josh, then blew a little kiss to the event planner before turning and leaving the room without another word.
“How cool was that?” Benji asked, examining the cap.
“You said toilet paper,” Josh said. “I didn’t think you liked Mickey Mullen.”
“I’m not crazy about the guy,” Benji said, “but he did play for the Red Sox, and this thing will be worth money.”
“Boys,” the director said, reaching into his desk, “here. Take these. Some extra passes. Come back as much as you like. I’m a Hank Aaron fan too.”
“Thanks, mister,” Josh said, accepting the passes and splitting them with Benji.
“Yeah, cool,” Benji said. “Thanks.”
“Come on,” Josh said, tugging Benji toward the entrance. “They’re all leaving.”
Mickey Jr. and Jaden made up only the tail end of an entourage of people buzzing around Mickey Mullen, talking on cell phones, taking orders from him, or clearing the way. Cameras flashed when he emerged into the gray, wet day, ducked beneath an umbrella, and scooted inside a waiting limo.
An olive-skinned man with curly black hair, thick eyebrows, long sideburns, and a scowl emerged from the crowd and put his hand on Mickey Jr.’s shoulder. The man reminded Josh of an ape, despite his black suit and tie. His hunched-over frame rested on bow legs, and dark hair covered the backs of hands that hung like meat hooks.
While the man bent his mouth to Mickey Jr.’s ear, his black eyes scanned Josh and his friends.
“Your father is heading down to New York for dinner with Robert De Niro to talk about a new film,” the man said, loud enough for them all to hear. “Did you decide if you’re joining or going back to the hotel with the team? It’s up to you.”
“Well,” Mickey Jr. said, looking sadly at his father’s car as it pulled away from the curb without him. “I guess I’ll go to the hotel. Hey, Myron? Can I give my friends a ride back to where they’re staying first?”
The man called Myron looked them over and even cocked his head like a monkey before he said, “Well, we’ve got cars for the press. I’m sure we can squeeze them in somewhere and drop them.”
“No,” Mickey Jr. said, “I mean my car.”
“Well, I’ve already got the coaches going in your car if you’re headed back to the hotel,” the man said, obviously put out.
Mickey Jr. shrugged and took a cell phone out of his jeans pocket.
“What are you doing?” the man asked.
“I’ll give my dad a call and see if he can get me a car.”
“Mickey, cut that out,” the man said, swatting at the phone with a hairy hand. “You know I give you whatever you want—I was just saying. Go ahead. Take your friends. The coaches can ride with me in my Town Car, and I’ll just send the driver back for Glenda and Missy.”
The man even held the limo door for them before closing it and slapping his hand on the roof to let the driver know he was set to go. The dark car—a shorter version of the one that had stopped for Jaden—eased out onto the street through a crowd of people who’d come out in the rain, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mickey Mullen.
“Who’s Glenda and Missy?” Jaden asked, her notebook in hand.
“Oh,” Mickey Jr. said, waving his hand, “just my father’s stylist and makeup artist. Don’t worry, they won’t mind.”
“Dude,” Benji said, “your dad wears makeup?”
Jaden elbowed Benji in the ribs and he gulped.
“For movies and when he’s on TV,” Mickey Jr. said, grinning. “You know, a press conference like today or an interview or something. That’s Hollywood.”
“That’s where you live?” Benji asked.
“Naw, Bel Air,” Mickey Jr. said. “It’s okay, I guess. Doesn’t rain much, though. I kind of like rain. You know, how it cleans everything and all that.”
“Well, welcome to upstate New York,” Benji said, pointing his thumb out the window at the downpour. “Can’t get much cleaner than this place. Who was the apeman?”
“Myron Underwood?” Mickey Jr. said. “He used to be my dad’s bodyguard. Now he’s kind of like a personal assistant.”
“Assistant to what?” Benji asked.
Mickey Jr. shrugged. “My dad, I guess. He does all kinds of things and he’s got, like, some tenth-degree black belt in jujitsu. What he really wants is a role in one of my dad’s movies. He takes acting lessons.”
“I bet the guy could get a part in Planet of the Apes Two pretty easy,” Benji said.
Jaden elbowed Benji again.
“Thanks for saving us back there,” Josh said. He sat on the bench seat riding sideways while Jaden sat between Benji and Mickey Jr. in the back.
“Jaden had the idea,” Mickey Jr. said, “but I was happy to help.”
“Dude,” Benji said, “that lady was lucky she didn’t call my dad. He would have given her something to think about. My dad plays football.”
“Wow,” Mickey Jr. said. “That’s great. What team?”
“Oh, this semipro team where we live,” Benji said proudly. “They don’t get a ton of press, but last year they won the championship. I don’t know, you might have read about that somewhere.”
“That’s cool,” Mickey Jr. said.
“Lido,” Jaden said, “this guy’s dad won the World Series. Cut it out.”
“Hey, he said it was cool,” Benji said. “You heard him. Football is a whole different sport. You don’t just run around in a pair of knickers and socks when you play football. It’s men only.”
“Good grief,” Jaden said, rolling her eyes. “I’m sorry for my friend here. He gets delirious if he doesn’t get fed.”
“I could use a hot dog if that’s what you mean,” Benji said.
“Just forget it,” Jaden said, crossing her arms.
Josh tried to show her his smile to let her know Benji was just goofing around, but Jaden stared straight ahead for the rest of the ride out to the Beaver Valley Campsite. The only time anyone said anything was when they passed by Dream Park on their way out of town.
“There it is,” Mickey Jr. said, touching the car window at the site of the enormous arched entryway to the sixteen fields. “I can’t wait to get out there.”
When they pulled into the gravel drive of the Beaver Valley Campsite, Josh’s mom and dad were just walking up the path under an umbrella with Laurel wedged between them. They looked up with surprise at the limo.
“Hey, thanks a lot,” Josh said.
“Yeah, thanks, dude, but don’t expect me not to put it out of the park when we play you,” Benji said, clicking his tongue twice against the roof of his mouth and winking at Mickey Jr. before slipping out of the car.
“No problem,” Mickey Jr. said pleasantly. “You go get it, Lido.”
Josh climbed out and waited for Jaden, who moved more slowly.
“So, Jaden,” Mickey Jr. said softly to her. “If you give me your number, maybe we could, you know, get together or something this week sometime.”
Josh bit into his lip.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JADEN GAVE HER CELL phone number to Mickey Jr., then repeated it before climbing out. Josh turned and started up the drive for the dining hall, where his parents waited on the porch.
“Josh,” Jaden called, but he pretended he didn’t hear.
“Hey,” Benji said as the gravel crunched beneath the limo rolling off down the drive. “You know what I was thinking? What about the ice cream?”
“What ice cream?” Josh asked.
“The Mick,” Benji said. “The Mick said he knew what we needed. What was that? Just some movie line? Crap.”
“Go get some franks and beans, Lido,” Jaden said, marching past. “God forbid you run low on gas.”
Benji stopped in hi
s tracks and Josh bumped into him.
“What’s up with her?” Benji asked.
“Who cares,” Josh said. “Let her new boyfriend deal with it.”
Benji’s eyes went wide. He looked from Josh to Jaden, then back to Josh, grinning. “Oh yeah. I knew it! And you are fuming, right?”
“I couldn’t care less,” Josh said, watching Jaden kiss her father’s cheek as he met her on the path and they started toward the dining hall together.
“I don’t know,” Benji said doubtfully.
“Come on,” Josh said, heading for the dining hall himself so he’d beat Jaden there. “Maybe we can get you some ice cream.”
Benji bounced along beside him. “I want the Mick’s ice cream so I can tell people, like, ‘Hey, yeah, the Mick bought me this ice cream one time.’ You know, so it wasn’t just like I saw the guy. More like we hung out a little. Don’t think I’m not reminding him about what he said when we play those guys, ’cause I will.”
“We have to beat everyone else first,” Josh said as they climbed the steps.
“We’ll cream everyone else,” Benji said. “Cream, like ice cream. Ha. Get it?”
“Get what?” Josh’s dad asked.
“We met Mickey Mullen,” Josh said.
“The Mickey Mullen?” his mom asked. “Not the son?”
“No, the real deal,” Josh said.
“How exciting,” his mom said.
“Yeah, people were going crazy,” Josh said, then noticed the look on his father’s face. “He’s not that big, though, Mickey. Dad’s, like, twice the size he is. Dad’s the one who should be in those action movies. The actors they get to play the bad guys must be midgets, I swear.”
“Not me,” his dad said. “Tried out for West Side Story in middle school and it wasn’t pretty.”
Josh forced out a laugh, and it sounded like his mom did the same thing.
“The Mick owes me an ice cream,” Benji said to Josh’s mom before turning to his dad. “And don’t worry, Coach. Mickey Mullen and his son both know that I can’t be bribed out of being your heavy hitter and doing serious damage to their defense. Not for ice cream, anyway. Money might be another story, but no one’s offered me any money. Yet.”
“Way to go, Lido,” Josh’s dad said without much enthusiasm. “You’re a true team player. Now, let’s eat.”
“Josh,” his mom said as they sat down on one end of a long table amid the noise and mayhem of more than a hundred people passing along platters of hot dogs, hamburgers, buns and rolls, beans, and potato salad, “there’s Jaden and Dr. Neidermeyer. You should invite them to sit with us.”
“No, that’s all right, Mom,” Josh said, taking two dogs.
“Joshua,” his mom said as she passed the rolls. “I’d like to be able to ask you to have good manners, but I’ll tell you if that’s what it takes. She’s your friend and she came all this way to write about you and your father’s team. The least you can do is be polite.”
Josh clenched his teeth.
“She’s doing a lot more than writing about Josh,” Benji said, slathering a dog with ketchup and stuffing half of it into his mouth.
Josh’s mom took a dollop of potato salad as she gave Benji a questioning look, but the only thing that got past his hot dog chomping was a silly grin. She turned her eyes on Josh.
“Her editor asked her to do a story about Mickey Mullen is all,” Josh said. “We just don’t want to hear about it anymore.”
“That’s no reason not to be polite,” his mom said.
“Look,” Josh said, pointing to Jaden and her father as they sat down at another table next to the Eschelmans. “She’s fine. She knows half the team, Mom.”
His mom opened her mouth to say something, but his father put a hand on her arm.
“Laura,” he said, nodding to the plate of hamburgers, “let’s get those burgers going and let the boys start thinking about baseball instead of girls and action movies, okay?”
Josh’s mom studied his dad for a moment, then swept a strand of hair behind her ear, and said, “That’s a good idea. Let’s eat.”
Josh watched Jaden from the corner of his eye as he pretended to listen to Benji telling a story about how his father once ate two dozen hot dogs in a contest.
“He must have gotten quite sick,” Josh’s mom said.
“Oh yeah,” Benji said, “you should have seen it, chunks everywhere. Our dog, Bingo, didn’t care, though. He went right after them. Joke was on him, though, ’cause next thing you know, Bingo starts puking. Bad thing was that he gets it on my leg and the smell gets me gagging and next thing you know, I puke. Basically a puke fest.”
Josh’s mom set her burger down, cleared her throat, wiped her mouth on a napkin, and said, “So, let’s talk about baseball. I know there are, like, thirty-two teams here and you need to win four rounds to get into the finals, but who do you guys play in the first round? When do you face the Comets?”
“The first round is a team from Miami,” Josh’s dad said through a mouthful of food. “The Barracudas. The brackets got drawn randomly. We’re in the upper bracket with fifteen other teams, and the Comets are in the lower bracket. The only way we’ll face them is if we both make it to the championship game, the finals.”
“Five games in all?” Josh’s mom said. “How come we’re here for eight days?”
“They need extra time in case we get rained out,” his father said. “If the weather looks good, they’ll just have a day or two where they can spread out the schedule a bit, let some of the teams rest up. That’ll all be the luck of the draw, too.”
“First round ought to be a breeze, right, Coach?” Benji said. “Our real rivals are the Comets, right?”
Josh’s dad swallowed, shook his head, and said, “You don’t know who your real rival is until you play them. A rival is a team that’s just as good as you are, maybe even a little better, but a team you play your very best against.”
“But we only play teams here once,” Benji said.
“But you know by how that goes that you’re going to be seeing the team, or maybe just some of the players, somewhere down the line,” Josh’s dad said. “And the team from Florida? Don’t take them lightly. They play more baseball in Florida than anywhere. The kids we play will be faster, more skillful, and more experienced, especially on defense, than any we’ve seen before.”
“So,” Benji said, a look of confusion on his face, “we can’t win this? I thought we were one of the favorites to win. Us and the Comets.”
“I didn’t say we couldn’t win,” Josh’s dad said. “I just said that overall, the Florida players might be even better than ours.”
“So how do we win if they’re better?” Benji asked.
Josh’s dad winked at Josh and Benji and said, “You don’t have to be better—you just have to play better.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SUNSHINE WASHED OVER THE fields at Dream Park as the opening day of the tournament began. The sound of bats clanging and crowds cheering mixed with the smells of fresh grass, baking dirt, and food grilling. The day for Josh didn’t begin so well. Seeing Mickey Jr. in the parking lot surrounded by a crowd eager to have their pictures taken with him left Josh’s mind wandering. And in spite of a successful week of hitting the ball in practice, his mask felt uncomfortable. He shifted it about between pitches during his first at bat, and the loss of focus helped him to strike out. After his teammates began to connect, though, he left the mask alone and found his groove, driving two over the fence.
Only a slight breeze stirred. The air and the lush grass grew steadily warmer as morning crept toward noon. The Barracudas maintained their lead, and Josh thought more and more about his father’s words of warning the night before.
While the Barracuda pitcher wasn’t up to the standard of Sandy Planczeck, the players around him were demons in the field, snatching up fly balls, scooping grounders, and making throws as quick and easy as sneezing. The Barracudas could hit, too, and in the
top of the sixth, with three men on base, it took a solo double play from Josh, snagging a wicked line drive and tagging the runner on second before he could get back to the base, to put down the side. The Titans were still in it, only down 5–4.
Esch began the bottom of the sixth with a single, and Josh followed with a double that sent Esch home for the tying run. The next two batters went down swinging, leaving the Titans’ survival in Benji’s hands. That’s when Josh’s dad gave him the signal to steal after the second pitch. Josh stood on second like a potted plant, and the pitcher threw a high ball that Benji swung at anyway. Josh never even moved.
But on the next pitch, he took off.
The catcher got caught slacking and made the throw late, with Josh burning up the baseline and sliding safe into third. He bounced up and slapped the dirt off his pants, his heart racing at the signal from his dad to steal if it was there. To Josh, that meant even the slightest fumble by the catcher and he would go. Benji hadn’t gotten on base yet, and—as unlikely as it was to safely steal home—Josh’s dad was betting on Josh’s speed over Benji’s bat. This time, though, the Barracudas wouldn’t be caught unaware.
Benji did his best, swinging at a curveball and missing, then missing on a changeup. Neither pitch left Josh an opening. Both times the ball smacked soundly into the catcher’s mitt with the catcher popping straight up to stare Josh down with the ball cocked back, ready to throw.
Josh’s dad tipped his hat and tugged his earlobe before tapping two fingers on his arm and then giving a series of fake signals. The initial signal, emphasized by the two fingers on his arm, meant steal home no matter what. When the ball crossed the plate, Josh would take off.
Josh took a deep breath, dug his cleats into the dirt at the base of the bag, and prayed for a ball.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE PITCHER WOUND UP and let one fly. Josh timed it so that he took off as the ball crossed the plate, running all out at a blazing speed.
The pitch went wide of the plate. The catcher dove and Josh felt a surge of delight. But as the catcher rolled in the dirt, he twisted and sprang to his feet with the ball in hand. He’d made a spectacular save. Josh envisioned plowing over the catcher—the ball spilling from his glove—for the big win.
Rivals (2010) Page 7