by Jenn Bishop
“Do you want a bite?” he asks.
“No thanks,” I say. “It’s kind of slobbery.”
Casey gets pretty quiet and focused on his ice cream.
Out of nowhere, all the girls behind the counter start clapping and cheering. I turn to look at what they see. A bunch of the Bandits are streaming into Gracie’s, one after another.
“From the way you guys sounded in the car, I didn’t think they had won,” Mom says, sitting down with her frozen yogurt cone. “Quinnen never tells me much about the Bandits,” she says to Casey, like I’m not even here.
“You don’t ask,” I whisper.
Mom gives me a funny look but doesn’t say anything. She turns to listen to Casey.
“Hector had a bad game,” Casey says. “The Bandits had to score eight runs to win. But they did. The catcher hit a grand slam. It was the coolest thing ever.” He bites into the Almond Joy scoop and keeps talking with ice cream in his mouth. “At the end, all the guys ran out and jumped on top of each other. It was awesome.”
It wasn’t awesome for Hector, I think.
Brandon waves at us from his spot in line, and I wave back. I scan all the guys, looking for Hector. He’s not there.
I leave my ice cream behind on the table and run over to Brandon.
“Where’s Hector?” I ask.
“He’s not so happy with himself right now,” Brandon says. “We tried to get him to come with us, but he said he couldn’t. He said he let the team down.” He shrugs. “Hector’s got to get over that diva attitude. It’s about how the team does. You can’t be on your A game every day.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Brandon would win every game he pitched, even if the Bandits only scored one run each time. It’s hard for me to admit it, but he’s that good. Best pitching record on the team. Best ERA, too.
“It’s his first start in three weeks,” Brandon says. “He probably had some nerves. He’ll be fine once he gets over himself.”
When I return to our table, Casey is almost done filling Mom in on Hector’s meltdown—how he walked five batters in four innings and gave up two home runs. I mix my ice cream around with my spoon until it’s more soup than ice cream.
“You gonna eat that or drink it?” Casey asks, peeking into my bowl.
I take a little slurp from it, and Mom shakes her head.
We’re heading back out to Mom’s car when I see someone wearing a Bandits jersey across the street at the playground. Number fifteen. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Mom and Casey, and jog over.
Hector’s facing away from me, sitting on a swing.
I don’t want to scare him. It’s pretty dark in the park, except for right under the streetlamps at the edge of the playground.
“Hector?”
He kicks at the wood chips under his feet. He’s way too big for the swing. Even with his legs bent all the way, both feet are touching the ground.
I sit down on the swing next to him. Even my feet drag on the ground. Have I really grown that much?
“Do you want to talk?” I ask.
He sniffs. I don’t look at his face to see if he’s crying or if he just has allergies. It doesn’t seem right. “I want to pitch good.”
It’s well, I think. You want to pitch well. But the last thing Hector needs right now is a grammar lesson, so I zip it.
“You will,” I say. “That was only one game.”
“No. Two games. Two times I failed. Two times I pitched bad.” He kicks at the dirt again.
“No one’s counting that first game. What happened that day, it wasn’t your fault.” A breeze comes over the park. I shiver and wish I had my sweatshirt.
“This game, though? This game was my fault.”
“But you guys won. You won anyway. That’s what teammates do. They help each other out.”
I think about the Panthers. How last summer it was all of us around the table at Gracie’s.
That’s what we did to win, too. We always helped each other out.
“I’ve disappointed my family. My family needs this. My brother, Victor, he used to play baseball for the Pirates. But he wasn’t good enough. They kicked him off the team.”
I hold on tight to the chain, turn my head, and listen.
“All Victor wanted his whole life was to play baseball. That was his dream, you know? After they cut him, he had to move to New York City and start a whole new life without baseball. My mother, she expects…she expects big things from me. I want to give my family a big house and a car. I want to give my mother everything she wants, everything she deserves. To do that, I need to be good. No—I need to be great.”
“But they know you got hurt, right?” I think about what Brandon said back at Gracie’s. Of course Hector was nervous being up on the mound for the first time after what had happened. Nerves happen sometimes, even to the very best players.
Hector doesn’t answer me.
“You didn’t tell them?”
“I didn’t want them to worry.”
“What about your sister, Mikerline? Did you tell her?”
He swings slightly. He doesn’t answer that question, either. “You used to play baseball, right? Did you love it?”
The feeling of the packed dirt of the mound beneath my feet. The butterflies in my belly when I had to pitch to a really good hitter. High-fiving all my friends on the team. The crack of the bat when I sent the ball soaring, soaring, soaring over an outfielder’s glove. The post-win ice cream trips with Coach Napoli and his super-long beard. Did I love baseball?
I swallow hard and nod. Of course I did.
“Why did you quit?” Hector asks.
I pick at a bumpy piece of the metal chain. I don’t know where to start. “I let them down—my team. I made this big mistake and then…”
“What if this is how I’m going to pitch from now on? What if my best days are already behind me? Maybe I should just quit now while I’m ahead.” He stares down at the ground as he says it. I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not. Quitting when he’s made it this far?
“Quit? No—you’re crazy—what are you talking about?”
“I pitched badly. Don’t lie, Quinnen. Today, I was throwing everywhere but the strike zone. I walked three batters in a row. Do you know what my ERA is right now? 27.00. 27.00! I’ve had bad games before, but I’ve never seen a stat line like that. Not with my name next to it.”
I remember what I told Casey when we were watching from the stands, what I noticed. It’s the kind of thing I’m sure the manager noticed, too, but maybe he didn’t have a chance to talk to Hector about it yet. “You slowed down a lot between pitches. Starting with the second inning today. In the first inning, you didn’t wait long at all before throwing the next pitch. But after that, you did. Like you were overthinking it. You lost your rhythm.”
“My rhythm, huh?” He says it slowly. “You’re pretty smart about baseball.”
I used to be.
“Thanks,” I say.
A horn honks, and I turn and see Mom and Casey waving at me. They’re waiting for me. But I don’t hop off the swing. Not just yet.
I can’t let Hector quit. I can’t let him give up on himself, let one bad game stop him from doing the thing he loves. “I have an idea,” I say. “What if when I came to your games, I yelled something out? To let you know when you’re slowing down too much.”
Hector stares off into the distance, thinking over what I’ve just said. “My sister, Mikerline, she always sat in the same seat behind home plate, where I could see her. Maybe she was my good-luck charm. Could you sit in that seat?”
“Of course.” I don’t tell Hector he’s being ridiculously superstitious. He’s a baseball player, after all. That would be like telling a cat it’s furry. “We’d need some kind of code word for me to yell. Not something obvious; we don’t want the other team to know. What could I say?”
Hector doesn’t stop to think about it. “Mofongo.”
“Ma-what, now?”
“Mofongo. My favorite food. You don’t know mofongo?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t seen it on a menu before. I’ll have to try some.” I try to say the word again. “Mofongo.” I don’t even know how to spell it.
Mom honks the horn longer this time and flicks the car lights. I slide off the swing.
“Wait,” Hector says. “You’re too nice to do this for me. I should do something for you. Do you want my tickets? To come for free?”
I shake my head. I love the Bandits—I always will—but I’m sick of only watching from the sidelines. If I ever want to be a Panther again, I need to be good, really good. Larissa had the right idea, but she had the wrong person. Brandon would never understand what happened last summer. He couldn’t help me. But maybe Hector could.
I cup my hand like I’m holding an invisible baseball. “Would you…could you help me pitch again? I haven’t practiced in such a long time.”
“Sure,” Hector says. “Do you want to practice at the stadium?”
I don’t know if Zack is there before the games or not, but I don’t want to take any chances. I shake my head. “How about at the park? I bet Brandon can give me a ride.”
“Deal,” he says.
I stick out my hand to shake on it. “Deal.”
As I walk back toward Mom and Casey in the car, I whisper it again and again. “Mofongo. Mofongo. Mofongo.” I wonder if it’s like a hamburger or chicken fingers. Mofongo sounds sort of like fungi, like mushrooms. There’d better not be any mushrooms in it, because then I’ll never want to eat it. I’ll have to look it up on the computer when I get home, if I can ever figure out how to spell it.
I know I’m super-full of ice cream—never mind all the junk food I ate at the Bandits game—but for the first time in a while, I feel the littlest bit lighter.
“Come on, QD! Strike ’em out!” Mr. Miller yelled from the sidelines. We were one out away from advancing to the regional tournament in Indiana. Only one out away. And I was on the mound.
I felt the stitching on the ball with my pointer finger. One more strike, Quinnen. One more, I told myself. I wound up and threw. The batter, the only girl on the opposing team, held her ground. She didn’t swing. She knew it was outside, barely.
“Ball two,” the umpire said.
“Turds,” I muttered under my breath. The score was 2–1, Panthers, with nobody on base, but all it would take was one really good swing from this girl, and the score would be tied.
Nope. Not going to happen, I thought. Not on my watch. I stared her down and wound up again. She swung. Swung and hit it. A little dribbler down the first-base line. Easy out. But Damien bobbled it somehow. He bobbled it, and she was safe. Safe at first. No, no, no!
“Shake it off, Quinnen!” Coach yelled from the sidelines. I really, really, really couldn’t let the next batter get a hit. I had to stop this now.
I took a deep breath. You’ve got this; you’ve got this, I told myself. I let my breath out. Okay. I do. I can do this. I let one fly.
The batter swung. The ball went up, up, up, straight up. Katie flung her helmet off and jogged backward. Our entire team watched as the ball landed in Katie’s glove with a little thunk. I’m sure the umpire said something about us advancing to the tournament in Indiana, but none of us were listening. We were all running to Katie, high-fiving all over the place. Good thing she was wearing all that padding; otherwise, she would’ve been covered in bruises.
Katie squealed when I got to her, my raised hands up for double high fives. “We did it!” she screamed, hugging me.
“Watch out, Indiana!” I said.
“You did great, kiddo.” Coach patted me on the back. It was hard to tell under all that beard, but I’m pretty sure he was smiling.
“Thanks.”
“I think a win this special calls for an extra-special treat. Who’s down for some pizza at Antonio’s?” Coach asked.
People all the way in Indiana could probably hear us screaming.
Casey’s mom came over and squeezed my shoulders extra-hard. “Geez, Mrs. Sanders. Watch out for my arm,” I said, laughing.
“Wouldn’t want to mess with that,” she said. “Your mom and dad must be awfully proud of you.”
Well…maybe, I thought. I knew Dad was, but sometimes I wasn’t so sure about Mom. Sure, she’d come to my games and cheer, but it never felt like she cheered as loud as Dad and Haley. I wondered if she wished I was in the drama club or on the math team instead, like her when she was my age.
“They’re coming to the tournament, right?”
I nodded.
When we first realized we’d be going to Indiana if we won this game, Mom and Dad scheduled the time off from work. They wanted to make sure they would be there for my really important games. But what if we hadn’t won today and were eliminated?
As I learned when Haley disappeared on me, you never know when you’re going to have a big moment until it’s happening.
“Let us know if you need a ride to Antonio’s,” Mrs. Sanders said.
“I will.”
I checked my phone to see if Haley had called or sent me a text message during the game. She had special plans for her friend Gretchen’s birthday today, but she was going to come pick me up afterward since Mom was working and Dad had an out-of-town meeting. Haley told me she felt bad about missing my game but that it wasn’t up to her when Gretchen scheduled her birthday bash. I guessed that was true.
No missed calls. No new text messages.
By the time I had taken off my cleats, put on my flip-flops, and gathered up all my stuff, half the team had already left with their families.
“Is Haley coming to get you?” Katie asked. She chewed on the plastic straw of her water bottle.
I glanced out at the parking lot, expecting to see her car pull in. “Yeah. She should be here any minute.”
“Do you want us to wait with you until she gets here?”
I shook my head. “No, that’s okay.” I checked my phone again.
“See you at Antonio’s,” Katie said. “I’ll save you a seat.” As she followed her parents off the field, I carried my bag over to the edge of the parking lot and sat down on the bench. It was bad enough that Mom or Dad couldn’t pick me up like all the other parents, but now Haley had to be late, too? And where was Gretchen having her party, anyway? I didn’t remember Haley telling me.
Cars pulled out of the parking lot one by one. I dialed Haley’s number and pressed the phone to my ear. It went straight to voicemail. “Haley, everyone’s leaving. I’m the only one who hasn’t been picked up. Are you coming?”
I held my phone in my lap so I wouldn’t miss the call or text back. There was only one car left now. Coach’s.
I had the worst feeling in my stomach, like I’d eaten way too much ice cream.
Where are you, Haley? I wondered, folding my legs up against my chest and hugging them tight.
Coach’s car door opened and he walked out toward me.
“Your folks running late?”
I shook my head. “My sister,” I said. “I called her, but nobody answered.”
“Haley usually comes to the games, right? Rainbow chair?”
“Yeah,” I said. “She used to.”
“Did you try calling your parents?”
I shook my head again. “No. I guess I can try.” I dialed Dad’s cell phone number. It rang and rang. I was about to leave a message when he picked up.
“Quinnen?”
“Dad? My game’s over, but Haley isn’t here. She didn’t come to pick me up.”
“Did you try calling her?”
“Yeah,” I said. “But her phone is turned off or something.”
Dad’s voice got a little higher. “I’m at least an hour away, Quinnen. I’m sure Haley’s on her way. Maybe she just got tied up.”
“Daddy, Coach has to stay with me until someone picks me up. Everyone’s at Antonio’s by now.” I couldn’t hold them in any longer. Tears splashed out
onto my cheeks. I turned my head away so Coach wouldn’t see me cry. There’s no crying in baseball—everybody knows that. I rubbed my fist against my face so Coach would think I was scratching an itch on my nose.
Music blared out the window of a car coming down the road. I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. “Never mind,” I told Dad. “Haley just got here.” I hung up the phone.
Coach patted me on the back. “Don’t worry about this. I had a teenage brother, too, when I was your age. See you at Antonio’s, kiddo.”
Haley hadn’t said she’d be bringing all of her friends, but the car was full of them. I dragged my bag over to her car and tossed it in the trunk. I didn’t even know which back door to open. It didn’t look like there was room in the backseat. Or the front seat.
Haley rolled down her window all the way. The music was so loud I could barely hear her. “Whose lap do you want to sit on?”
I didn’t want to sit on anybody’s lap. I glanced in the backseat. Gretchen, Larissa, and some other girl I didn’t know took up all the spots. One of the other camp counselors, Heaven, was in the front seat next to Haley.
I opened the door on the side with Larissa. She was always nice to me.
“Hop on,” she said. “At least you don’t weigh much.”
“There’s no seat belt,” I said once I got settled in on Larissa’s lap. I hadn’t sat on a lap since I was little and used to sit on my grandma’s lap. Larissa was a lot bonier than Grandma.
“We’re not going far,” Haley said.
“Are you giving everyone a ride home?” I asked, hoping somebody’s house was just down the street, so I could sit buckled in on a seat like a normal person. I didn’t think Mom would be cool with this seating arrangement.
“I’m taking everyone to the movies,” Haley said.
The movies?
“But my whole team is at Antonio’s,” I said. “I thought we were going to…” But there was no point in finishing my sentence. Haley had her blinker on to turn right. Left to Antonio’s. Right to go to the movie theater. “Haley, come on.”
“Majority rules, Quinnen. If you want to go to the movies, raise your hand.”
Everyone but me raised a hand.