And Don't Bring Jeremy

by Marilyn Levinson

  So that was it. He couldn’t get anyone else to help him. I should have figured that was the only reason he was acting friendly all of a sudden. He didn’t really want me. I got that familiar sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach when I thought about making friends here in Glen Haven. Danny must have read my thoughts.

  “I was going to talk to you about it in school, but Eddie said you’d be coming here today so I waited until now.”

  His blue eyes seemed to be begging me to say yes. I decided to give it a chance, since Mom kept urging me to. Not to let that bad feeling take over. Why shouldn’t I help him paint the sets? I liked Danny and I sure didn’t have anything else to do after school. And Mom would be pleased. She’d say I was finally “getting used to my new environment.”

  “I’ll help you,” I said.

  “That’s great!” Danny grinned. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t said yes. Hey, why don’t you come over tomorrow and I’ll show you the sketches I made?”

  “Okay,” I said, grinning back at him. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but I had the definite feeling that I’d just made another friend.

  Happiness must have made me very hungry because I ate all of my pizza plus Danny’s last piece. And I got another Coke.

  “Hey, Adam, where are you putting it all?” Eddie teased.

  Danny giggled. “Adam’s eating so much he won’t be able to run.”

  “Sure I will,” I told him. “You’ll see. I’ll fly—if I ever get to hit the ball.”

  Everyone laughed good-naturedly at that. I hadn’t been doing too much hitting so far.

  “Well, as long as you don’t fall asleep at shortstop,” Mark said. “That would be a disaster.”

  “You know I wouldn’t do that,” I said, beaming at the three of them. It was nice being included after all these months.

  We rode our bikes over to the baseball field, giving ourselves a good half hour before the rest of the team was supposed to arrive. Eddie and I took the lead while Mark and Danny trailed behind, arguing fiercely over who had a better record over the years—Pete Rose or Carl Yastrzemski.

  “I really shouldn’t be telling you this,” Eddie said to me, “but I may as well, since it’s so close to game time.”

  I looked at him, suddenly excited.

  “Dad said you’d be starting pitcher today,” Eddie said, staring straight ahead. I couldn’t tell if he was mad or not, and for once I didn’t care.

  “Yippee!” I shouted, forgetting to act cool.

  Eddie smiled. “I think he wants to surprise you, but I couldn’t help telling you. Don’t let on that I told, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said, only too happy to agree. Starting pitcher! Too bad Dad had to work and couldn’t watch the game. But Mom would be there.

  At the field we tossed the ball around, then practiced catching pop flies and grounders. We took turns batting as Eddie and I pitched. My arm felt great. I was sure I could strike out all nine batters in the three innings I was allowed to pitch.

  Eddie’s father arrived, then the umpire, then Richie, Eric, and Jeff—all seventh graders—and the rest of the team, my age or a year younger. Mom must have come while we were warming up because I happened to look up and saw her talking to Danny’s mother. I waved and she waved back, then she continued her conversation. I was glad to see her talking to Mrs. Martin. Mom worked at the bank all day and hardly knew anyone in the neighborhood yet.

  “’Lo, Adam.”

  Jeremy stood in front of me like he was waiting for me to tell him what to do.

  “Here, Adam!”

  I reached out and caught the ball Mark had thrown to me. Jeremy still stood there.

  “Come on, Adam. Throw the ball,” Eddie shouted.

  “Go on, move,” I told Jeremy. Seeing him standing there like a fool, I wished he’d disappear. He had no business interfering with my game and my new friends.

  “Where should I go?”

  I looked around for a gap in the large circle we had formed. I saw one near Richie and pointed. “Go over there.”

  He stared at the spot for a moment, then shuffled over. I felt like wringing his neck. As usual, he didn’t know what to do. And he always came to me to find out. I was glad when Mr. Gordon finally called us over for positions and last-minute instructions. Why did Mom have to put us both on the same team? Didn’t she ever stop and think about the effect having a brother like Jeremy had on me?

  The first half of the game moved slowly. It was boring, actually. Mr. Gordon had Eddie pitch the first three innings, so I was really disappointed. I mean, didn’t Eddie just tell me that his father planned to make me starting pitcher? Or was Eddie just saying that for some stupid reason? I couldn’t figure it out.

  I played shortstop and didn’t get to field one ball. Jeremy was far back in the outfield, along with the fifth graders. Eddie began striking out the other side one by one. Big Bob, the Lawson Cleaners’ starting pitcher, did the same. At least there was some excitement in the third inning. With two outs, Eddie gave up a walk, a single, and another walk. Another guy singled and drove in a run. Finally, with all of us holding our breath, Eddie struck the third man out.

  By the time I got to pitch in the fourth inning, the score was tied at one apiece. Mark had hit a homer in the bottom of the third inning with no one on base. I wasn’t nervous when I got to the mound, just excited.

  I was off to an excellent start, striking out the first two men. Then one of their big hitters bounced a hard ball in my direction. I fielded it to Eddie on first for the last out. Everyone clapped and cheered. Boy, did that feel great!

  We picked up a run in the bottom of the fourth inning, and the other team came back strong, determined to score. Two men singled back to back, then a third hit a pop-up and we doubled up the man at second. Two outs. When I struck the next guy out, I walked off the mound with a sigh of relief. Three more outs and we had the game.

  Only it didn’t happen that way.

  I did strike out the first man. Then walked the second. No big deal, I thought. But Big Bob, their strongest hitter, was up again at bat. He slammed the first ball I threw him over my head. The guy I walked was nearing second base. I turned and saw Jeremy waving his hands above his head like a crazy man.

  “Go away, go away,” he was shouting to the fifth graders running toward him. “I’ve got it. It’s mine!”

  He cupped his other hand to his mitt and the ball landed—right at his feet.

  “Dammit, Jeremy,” I shouted.

  One of the other fielders picked up the ball to throw it to Danny on third. But it was too late. Big Bob was reaching home plate.

  “Who cares?” Jeremy said as he walked off the field. “It’s only a game.”

  That did it! I jumped on his back and threw him to the ground, punching all the time. Eddie’s father came and separated us. He sent Jeff in to pitch the rest of the game, and we lost 4–2.

  CHAPTER 3

  As soon as Mr. Gordon told us when he was holding our next practice, I took off. Just got on my bicycle and rode around. At first I thought I was getting lost, but then I passed Gino’s and I realized that I wasn’t very far from home.

  Home. Hah, that was some joke. It was a nice enough house, I guess. The rooms were large and the backyard sunny, but I still couldn’t think of it as home. Home was the small ranch on Chestnut Street, about an hour’s ride away. It was the only home I could remember; we’d moved there when I was just born. My friend Kenny lived around the corner and Billy was across the street. Boy, did I miss them. Mom kept promising she’d take me back there one Saturday so I could see them, but she never got the chance to, with all her errands and fixing up the new house.

  I pedaled uphill, standing in order to get the bicycle to move. I was only a few blocks from the house, but I wasn’t ready to go there yet. I was still steaming mad at Jeremy. I knew the real reason we had moved. Because of Jeremy. Everything always came back to Jeremy. Mom had been saying the other house w
as too small and too dark, but one night I heard her talking it over with Dad. She thought that the school system here in Glen Haven was better and that Jeremy would get more out of their special classes. Well, big deal. Maybe he was getting more out of his special program, but I sure wasn’t benefiting in any way.

  The kids were all right, I guess. Pretty much like the kids where I used to live, except they had more toys and video games. But it was hard making friends. I tried to explain to Mom that by sixth grade kids were set with their friends. She said that was nonsense, that with my personality I’d have no trouble making new friends, because I was outgoing and interested in sports.

  Well, she was wrong. The kids were nice enough in school. But that was it. Once the weather turned warmer I got into the habit of going over to the school yard and joining in ball games there. The kids always let me play, but it never went further than that. Of course I wondered if I was having trouble making friends because all the kids knew Jeremy was my brother. Eddie was the first guy to call me to get together.

  I smacked the handlebar and hurt my fist. It was all Jeremy’s fault. Why did I have to have a brother who was different? Even in my old school, as soon as people found out he was my brother, they’d snicker and smile that nasty know-it-all smile. Or worse, sometimes they’d make comments about “that retard.” Jeremy wasn’t retarded, but he sure could look and act weird. A long time ago, when I was five or six, Mom explained to me about his problems. “Neurological impairment” was the fancy term for why he acted the way he did. I guess deep down I knew that he couldn’t help acting the way he did, and I felt sorry for him. But usually I forgot to, because he got me so angry most of the time—with all of the dumb things he pulled. Mom never should have put him on the same Little League team as me. In fact, he had no business being on any baseball team. He didn’t even like baseball—or any sport, for that matter—and couldn’t play if his life depended on it.

  I rode into the school parking lot, a few blocks from our house, and watched some older boys playing stickball. Then, without even meaning to, I turned down our block and rode up the driveway. Both Mom’s and Dad’s cars were parked there. Suddenly it occurred to me that they could be worried about me. The game had ended almost an hour ago. And if I knew Mom, she’d be angry at me for going after Jeremy like that.

  I put my bike in the garage and rang the doorbell. Nobody answered, so I decided to go around to the back. There they all were, Mom stretched out on a lounge chair knitting, Dad and Jeremy planting vegetables. For a minute they didn’t know I was there. I looked at the three of them, suddenly feeling they were strangers—a family I was watching, like in a movie—not people I belonged to.

  “…and you’ll have to remember to water every few days,” Dad was saying. “Especially if it doesn’t rain much. Can you remember that?”

  “Sure, Dad.” Jeremy looked all excited.

  “And we’ll have to spray the plants soon to keep the insects away. Maybe I should do that.”

  “I can do it,” Jeremy said stubbornly. “Just tell me which stuff to use and I’ll take care of it. I can, you know.”

  “I know you can.” Dad happened to turn and see me standing there. “Hi, Adam.” He didn’t sound angry.

  “Hello, Dad.”

  Mom popped up from the lounge chair, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun. “So there you are,” she said. “We were worried about you, disappearing like that.”

  “I just went for a ride,” I mumbled.

  Mom and Dad exchanged glances. They did that often when Jeremy was involved. I gathered they’d decided not to give me a hard time.

  “I’m dropping out of baseball,” Jeremy announced, as though nothing had happened between us. But that was Jeremy. He didn’t hold a grudge.

  “Good idea,” I muttered under my breath.

  “We’ll talk about that later,” Mom said firmly. “We only agreed that we’d discuss it, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah, but I told you. I want to drop baseball. I don’t like it.”

  Dad sighed. “Helen, I think we should let Jeremy decide. Especially after what happened today.”

  Mom put her hands on her hips. “And we just finished saying that he’d give it another week or so. Jeremy has to learn not to give up every time something doesn’t go right.”

  Something doesn’t go right? With Jeremy, things never went right.

  “I’m not going to play another game,” Jeremy insisted.

  “We’ll see,” Mom said, having the last word.

  * * *

  It all didn’t seem half as bad the next day, which was Sunday. For one thing, I could enjoy the rest of the Little League season without Jeremy. My brother was the stubbornest person I knew, regardless of his problems. If he said he wouldn’t play in another Little League game, I could take him at his word. I thought over what Eddie had told me—about his father making me starting pitcher—and decided that Mr. Gordon must have changed his mind. Coaches often did that at the last minute. It wasn’t Eddie’s fault. I wouldn’t even mention how disappointed I’d been. Eddie would probably tell me I was making a big deal out of nothing anyway.

  Since we weren’t going out for a while, I decided to call Danny and tell him I was free to come over and look at the drawings he’d made of the sets.

  “Great!” he said. “Come right over. We can play some ball, too.”

  I jotted down his address and went into my room for my mitt. Dad was in the den reading the newspaper when I passed through.

  “I’m going to Danny Martin’s house,” I told him. “He’s a kid in my class and on my ball team.”

  “Fine,” Dad said. “But be home by three. Your mother wants to go over to the mall and pick out carpeting for your bedroom.”

  I made a face but knew better than to argue. Mom believed that Jeremy and I should “take an active part,” as she put it, in decorating our rooms. That way we’d have nothing to complain about later on. I guess she was right, but I hated shopping.

  “All right,” I agreed. “I’ll be back by three.”

  Jeremy stopped me as I was getting my bicycle out of the garage. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To visit Danny Martin.”

  “He’s nice,” Jeremy said. “Can I come, too?”

  “No, Jeremy,” I said firmly. “We’re going to play ball and work on the sets.”

  “What sets?”

  “For the sixth-grade play.”

  “I have nothing to do,” he complained, frowning.

  “Go work in your garden,” I suggested. I didn’t want him tagging behind.

  “There’s nothing to do, not even water.” Suddenly his face brightened. “I know. I’ll go for a ride on my bike.”

  I watched him push up the kickstand and wheel his bike out of the garage. I squeezed my hands together so I wouldn’t grab his shirt and stop him. I knew that Mom and Dad didn’t like him to ride around the neighborhood. They worried that he didn’t watch out for cars. Sometimes I worried, too. But they were afraid to stop Jeremy because he would get very angry, saying, “Adam rides his bike all over, why can’t I? I’m older, aren’t I? And I’m not dumb, you know.” And he was right, in a way. Even Mom knew she had to let him ride around sometimes.

  “Can’t you do something else?” I asked.

  “No. What should I do?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea. “Well, tell Dad if you’re going out.” At least I wouldn’t be responsible if anything happened to Jeremy.

  “Okay,” he said. “See you.” Jeremy smiled and went back into the house. One thing about my brother: it didn’t take much to make him happy.

  * * *

  Danny lived about five blocks away, on the other side of the school from my house. His mother opened the door as soon as I knocked. She seemed to be expecting me. “Hi, Adam. Danny’s in his room going over those sketches of his for the hundredth time.” She looked like Danny when she smiled. “I’m glad you’re going to work on them with
him.”

  “We’ll have fun,” I said, feeling comfortable with her right away.

  “You’re some pitcher,” Mrs. Martin said. “I watched you yesterday afternoon.”

  “Thanks,” I said, my ears growing warm from her compliment, and from remembering what did happen during the game.

  Just then Danny’s little sister came running past us, a bag of potato chips in her hand. “I’m taking these outside for Mamie and me,” she told her mother. She was a cute kid, about eight years old, with red ribbons in her braids. She turned to me and started giggling. “Hi, I’m Michelle and you’re Adam.” Then, before I could say a word, she ran off.

  Danny was sitting at his desk in the corner of his bedroom, staring at some papers in his hands. He looked up as soon as I came into the room.

  “Hi, Adam. Take a look at these drawings and tell me what you think.”

  I looked at the three sketches. It was plain to see that one was a living room, one a garden, and the third an office. “Hey, they’re pretty good!” I exclaimed, actually surprised at how good they were.

  Pleased, Danny grinned. “I thought so, too, to tell the truth. Only”—he pointed at the office—“I can’t decide if this should stay a door or if I should put in another file cabinet.”

  I studied the drawing. It looked fine the way it was. “I’d say leave the door.”

  “See,” he said, “you’re a big help already. And that takes care of that. Mrs. Casey wants to see them tomorrow so we can start working on the actual sets.”

  “She’s nice,” I said, picturing our thin, elderly art teacher who never raised her voice, even when the kids got rowdy.

  “Actually, she’s the one who suggested that I ask you to work with me,” Danny said.

  “She did?” I really wasn’t that good at art.

  “She said you had a good eye and that you could color between the lines.”

  We both had a good laugh over that one.

  Danny got up. “Enough of this. Let’s go outside and play ball.”

  We grabbed our mitts and a hardball and went to play catch in Danny’s backyard. Then, after a while, Danny went into the house to get a bat and we took turns hitting. I liked playing ball with him. He didn’t make any comments when I fumbled an easy pop-up. And I did belt out some good line drives, even though we were only tossing the ball up ourselves and hitting it. Danny told me he thought I’d make a good batter once I stopped stepping away from the ball during games. We started talking so much, I lost my concentration and hit the ball backward. It bounced off the wall next to the kitchen window. Mrs. Martin came right out, but she was nice about it.