“Clearwater?” Matt said.
“It’s where the Phillies’ rookie league team is,” Jerardi said. “You turn pro, that’s the kind of place you’ll go to start out.”
“I won’t be there for long,” Matt said.
“Let me guess who promised you that,” Christine said.
“I’m going to get some ice cream,” Matt said. He stood up and walked away.
The day wasn’t entirely lost as far as Alex was concerned. It was the first weekend of the major league season, and the weather was brisk—an announced fifty-nine degrees at game time—but it was sunny, and the view from the press box was spectacular.
Even sitting in the third row, where there were ample empty seats, they could see the entire field perfectly. They also had a great view of the Philadelphia skyline since the afternoon was as clear as a newly cleaned windshield.
Alex kept score, the way he always did when he went to Fenway Park with his dad. Bryce Harper hit a mammoth two-run home run in the first inning—already his third in only the fifth game of the season—but that was all the scoring for the Nats. The Phillies got home runs in the fifth from Maikel Franco and Odubel Herrera, then scored again in the sixth on a Stephen Strasburg wild pitch. That was enough. The Phillies won, 3–2.
Alex didn’t have any real feelings for either team, but he enjoyed seeing the home team win, if only because he really liked the ballpark. There wasn’t much talk among the group during the game. All of them were into it, and Matt and Christine, born and raised in Philadelphia, were intensely involved in pulling—quietly—for the Phillies. Stevie had explained that the rule about no cheering in the press box was taken very seriously.
Alex had heard about the rule from Christine in the past, but she had told him that at high school football games there were always a few people who cheered anyway. Not so in a Major League Baseball press box. That was fine with Alex because it allowed him to focus more closely on the game without the distractions of people jumping up in front of him.
They stayed until the last pitch and then walked quickly back to the car. Since the media lot wasn’t that far away, they were able to beat most of the traffic back to I-95.
They made small talk in the car, most of it centered on whether the Phillies could break out of their doldrums in the coming season. Finally, as Stevie wheeled the car into the school parking lot, Matt changed the subject.
“Hey, Stevie, thanks for setting the whole day up,” he said. “I don’t want you to think I’m not going to think about what Harper said or about what you guys told me Harrison said, either.”
He paused. “It means a lot to me that you guys care about me—even if I’ve been a bit of a jerk this spring.”
They had pulled into the spot next to Matt’s car.
“Don’t underestimate yourself, Matt,” Jonas said. “You’ve been a complete jerk this spring.”
He was smiling when he said it, but everyone—Matt included—knew it wasn’t just a laugh line.
“I know, Jonas,” Matt said. “I’ll try to do better.”
He popped out of the car with a wave goodbye. As Stevie pulled over to the bicycle rack, Christine asked the question that was on all their minds.
“Think he learned anything?”
“Not a thing,” Stevie said.
Alex was only marginally more hopeful. “I think he doesn’t want to be a jerk,” he said. “But there are a lot of people tugging him in a lot of different directions right now.”
“Yeah,” Christine said. “And a lot of them are tugging him in the wrong direction.”
On Monday, Matt rejoined the lunch table, as did Christine, and it felt like old times to Alex. He and Christine hadn’t had time for any kind of serious talk since their Stark’s lunch a week earlier, but she had been noticeably warmer to him since then, even making a point of complimenting him after French class one day when he had smoothly—for him—recited a fairly lengthy passage from The Three Musketeers.
Matt was his old self during lunch, talking about how Chester Heights stacked up in the conference after the loss to King of Prussia. “Those twins are all stars, but I hear the only good pitcher they have is the guy who pitched on Friday—Anderson,” he said. “They aren’t going to go undefeated. No one will. We’ll get another shot at them.”
“Do we have more than one good pitcher?” Alex asked.
“ ’Course we do, Goldie,” Matt answered. “You had a bad day. It happens. Did you see what happened to Vince Velasquez yesterday?”
Alex had seen that Velasquez, the Phillies’ best starter, had been knocked out by the Nationals in four innings on Saturday—largely because Bryce Harper had homered twice off him.
“Maybe Velasquez went easy on Harper, as requested,” Christine said.
“Yeah, right,” Matt said. “Point is, if Vince Velasquez can give up six runs in four innings, it can happen to a high school kid.”
“Bryce Harper is a little better than the King of Prussia hitters,” Jonas countered.
“I don’t know,” Alex said. “Those twins were pretty good.”
They all laughed, and Alex felt as relaxed as he had in a long time. That feeling lasted all the way through Monday’s practice, where he worked on his slider and felt like he was getting more consistent with it, and all the way through the start of the game at Haverford Station the next day. With Matt on the mound, the Lions were a different team. The opposition was different too. No one in Haverford Station’s lineup resembled the Herman twins in any way, shape, or form.
Matt retired the first eight hitters before issuing a walk to Haverford Station’s catcher, the number nine hitter in the lineup. The walk came on a 3–2 pitch that Matt thought was a strike. Even from left field, Alex could hear him shout “Really?” at the umpire as he came down off the mound to take Lucas Mann’s toss back to him.
Okay, Alex thought, let’s not start this again. Matt must have had the same thought because he took the return throw and walked back onto the mound without another word. By then, Chester Heights had a 2–0 lead, thanks to Alex, Matt, and Jonas. Alex had singled with one out in the first, and Matt had promptly doubled to the left-center field gap. Running all the way, Alex had scored. Jonas then poked a single up the middle to score Matt.
Alex’s sense was that the two runs would be enough, but in the bottom of the fifth, Cardillo walked, Alex walked, and then Matt hit a long home run to left to make it 5–0.
The only real suspense at that point was whether Matt would finish off his no-hitter this time. He walked two more hitters in the fifth but ended the inning by striking out the catcher, whom he had walked earlier. It was his ninth strikeout of the day.
In the bottom of the sixth, Haverford Station’s leadoff man, Eddie Kenworthy—Alex didn’t know his name until later—took a called first strike. Then, with the infield playing back, he squared and pushed a perfect bunt between the mound and third base.
Caught by surprise, Matt bounced off the mound, picked the ball up, and turned to throw in one motion. But his back leg slipped, and he threw wildly to first. There was little doubt that Kenworthy would have beaten the throw even if it had been perfect. With the wild throw, he ended up on second. Alex heard the PA announcer say, “That is a single and an E-1.” E-1 meant an error on the pitcher—Matt.
As the next hitter stepped into the box, Matt stood on the back of the mound, hands on hips, staring at Kenworthy, who was standing with one foot on second base.
“You’re down five–nothing and you bunt just to try to break up a no-hitter?” Matt said, loudly enough that Alex could hear him from his position in shallow left field.
Kenworthy spread his hands and said, “I’m on second base, pal.”
“Yeah, because you’re playing —— baseball,” Matt said, using a word that was very much banned in the Myers household.
The second base umpire moved between the two players, pointed a finger at Matt, and said, “That’s enough, son. Get up on the mound and
pitch.”
Matt paused for a moment, nodded, and went back onto the pitching rubber. Alex breathed a sigh of relief.
Billy Twardzik stepped in. Twardzik was the only Haverford Station player Alex knew. He was the Hornets’ best basketball player by far, and he and Alex had become semifriendly during their two basketball games that winter.
Twardzik had come the closest of anyone to getting a hit off of Matt prior to the Kenworthy bunt, hitting a long fly ball that Jonas ran down in deep center field. Now he stepped in, waving the bat, wanting to get Kenworthy home.
He never got the chance.
Matt’s first pitch was a rising fastball that went straight at Twardzik’s head. From where Alex was standing, it looked as if Twardzik was just a tad slow trying to duck. No doubt, given Matt’s pinpoint control most of the day, he was surprised to see a pitch heading right for him. Alex heard the thunk of the ball hitting the side of Twardzik’s head. He was wearing a batting helmet that protected his ear, but it appeared the pitch had caught him just below the flap. He went down as if he had been shot, his face in the dirt, arms outstretched.
He twitched briefly and then stopped moving. Alex felt his heart go into his throat. He knew instantly that this was serious. Very serious.
Lucas Mann and the umpire were the first ones to get to Twardzik, with Matt right behind. The Haverford Station dugout emptied, and Alex wasn’t sure if it was to see how badly Twardzik was hurt or to go after Matt. There was no doubt in Alex’s mind that Matt had thrown at Twardzik in retaliation for Kenworthy bunting to break up the no-hitter.
While the coach leaned over Twardzik, Alex could hear several players yelling “Are you crazy?”—and a number of other things that weren’t nearly as polite—at Matt.
Alex saw everyone leaving the Chester Heights dugout and the rest of his teammates heading in the direction of the plate. He began running in too, if only because that’s what everyone else was doing. As he reached the infield, he heard the Haverford Station coach say, “We need a doctor!”
A couple of people began heading down from the stands in response. The scene was chaotic, with several Lions holding off several Hornets who were trying to get at Matt.
“It was an accident!” Matt was yelling. “I didn’t mean to hit him in the head!”
“You threw at him on purpose!” Alex heard Kenworthy say. He had rushed in from second base, only to be cut off by Jeff Cardillo before he could get to Matt. “Your control’s been spot-on all day—you did that on purpose!”
Before Matt could answer, one of the doctors who had come out of the stands and was now leaning over Twardzik pulled out her phone.
“I’m calling 911,” she said. “He’s still out. Best case, he’s going to have a serious concussion.”
“And worst case?” Alex heard the Haverford Station coach ask.
“I honestly don’t know,” she said. “But we need to get him to the hospital—”
She broke off. “This is Dr. Elaine Somers,” she said into her phone. “We have an emergency on the baseball field behind Haverford Station High School.”
She paused for a second. “Yes. Player knocked unconscious.”
She nodded and clicked off the call. “They said five minutes. Meanwhile, let’s turn him on his back—gently. He’ll breathe easier that way.”
A couple of the Hornets leaned down and gingerly turned their teammate first onto his side and then onto his back.
A second doctor had now arrived, carrying a black bag that Alex assumed he had gone to his car to retrieve.
“Let me check his vitals,” he said to Dr. Somers. She nodded and moved aside.
Everyone had stopped yelling and pushing and shoving and was now watching the two doctors. The call to 911 had made it clear that this wasn’t the time for a fight.
“His pulse is fine—strong, actually,” the doctor announced.
Alex could see a trickle of blood coming out of Twardzik’s ear and from his cheek.
The doctor did some more checking. “He’s breathing okay. A little labored but steady.”
Alex heard a siren in the distance. Jonas was standing next to him. He noticed that Steve Garland and Christine, who he knew had been watching from the press box, were now standing a few yards away. There were also a couple of TV cameras recording the scene. No one seemed inclined to tell them to stop.
“Man,” Jonas said softly. “What in the world was Matt thinking?”
“He wasn’t thinking,” Alex hissed back.
He glanced over at Matt. He still had a wall of teammates between him and the Hornets, but the shouting had stopped. Matt had his cap off, and it looked to Alex like he was staring into space.
The siren grew louder. A moment later, an ambulance came around the end of the bleachers and down the left field line. The two coaches yelled for everyone to clear some space, and players from both teams hustled out of the way as it pulled up. Two men jumped out of the back and quickly removed a stretcher. The driver also came around.
“Who’s the doctor here?” he said.
“I made the call,” Dr. Somers said. “It was Dr. Allynson who checked his vitals.”
The driver looked at Dr. Allynson. “What’ve you got?” he said.
“Hit in the head with a pitch about seven minutes ago,” the doctor said. “He’s still out, but his breathing is okay and his heart’s very strong.”
The two men with the stretcher were now both kneeling next to Twardzik. Alex couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, but he heard one of them say, “He’s coming out of it a little bit. Let’s get him up and moving ASAP.”
They lowered the stretcher down to the ground and gently moved Twardzik onto it. Alex could see that his eyes were open now, but they looked glassy and unfocused.
“Who wants to go with him?” the driver said. “We can take one adult in the back of the ambulance.”
“I’ll go,” Haverford Station’s coach said. “What hospital we going to? I want to call his parents.”
“Penn,” the driver said. “It’s closest and the best.”
The Haverford Station coach looked at Coach Birdy while the two EMTs were wheeling the stretcher to the back of the ambulance.
“Al, what should we do?” he asked.
“We’ll figure it out later,” Coach Birdy said. “I don’t know what to say, Rod. I’m sorry. Anything we can do to help at all, just let me know.”
Rod nodded and jogged over to the ambulance.
Coach Birdy turned to the home plate umpire. “Obviously, we aren’t playing any more baseball today,” he said.
The umpire nodded. “I’ll leave all decisions on how to proceed to the schools and the conference,” he said. “If you do resume the game, though, your pitcher is ejected.”
“I know that,” Coach Birdy said. “I’ll deal with all that.”
The ambulance was pulling away, siren blaring. A lot of people had now come out of the stands.
There was little conversation between the two teams. Alex finally walked over to Matt.
“What happened?” he asked, knowing his tone was incredulous.
“I lost my mind,” Matt said. “For one second, I lost my mind. And look what I’ve done.”
He had tears in his eyes. “What have I done?”
Alex didn’t know the answer to that one.
Even though there were media people all over the place, Coach Birdy ordered all the players back to the locker room as soon as the ambulance pulled away. “I’ll deal with the media,” he said. “All of you get dressed and be on the bus in fifteen minutes. You can shower back at school.”
“Coach, we’d like to know how he’s doing,” Jeff Cardillo said, meaning Twardzik.
“I know, Jeff,” Coach Birdy said, raising a hand. “I want to know too. As soon as I finish here, I’m going to go to the hospital. When I know something, I’ll text all of you.”
“I’d like to go to the hospital too,” Matt said.
For a moment, Coac
h Birdy said nothing, thinking about what Matt was proposing. Finally, he shook his head. “Not tonight, Matt,” he said. “Let’s find out how serious this is, and then maybe you can go see him tomorrow—if he’s still there. Right now, let’s just leave it to his family to be there for him.”
Matt didn’t argue. He still had a sickened look on his face. It occurred to Alex that if he felt queasy about what had happened, he couldn’t possibly imagine how Matt felt.
As the team started to leave for the locker room, several camera crews began racing in Matt’s direction. Coach Birdy cut them off.
“Guys, I’m going to be the one talking to you today,” he said. “I want to get the kids out of here and back home as quickly as possible.”
There were protests, but Coach Birdy was firm. One TV guy was angry. “Coach, he might have just killed someone. He should talk to us.”
Alex saw Matt visibly sag when he heard those words. Coach Birdy pointed a finger at the TV guy and said: “First, the young man was conscious when he left here. Second, how dare you make this about what you want for the six o’clock news. The kid’s sixteen, and he’s shaken up enough as it is.”
“Maybe he should have thought about that before he threw the pitch,” the TV guy said.
For a moment, Alex thought Coach Birdy was going to start a fight. He took a step in the TV guy’s direction, and the TV guy—not so brave now—retreated quickly. It was Steve Bucci, whom Alex recognized as Channel 3’s sports anchor, who stepped in front of the guy with the camera.
“Cool it, Tim,” he said firmly. “Coach, we apologize. This is a tough situation. We’d be grateful if you’d take a few minutes to talk to us.”
That calmed things down. Coach Birdy walked to a spot where everyone could gather around him. The players headed—finally—toward the locker room. Cardillo had an arm around Matt as they walked.
“You weren’t trying to hurt him,” Alex heard him say. “You were throwing inside to make a point. They’ll all know that when things settle down and he’s feeling better.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Matt said. “One minute, I feel great about things; the next, I’m mad at the world.”
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