Stealing Home

by Matt Christopher

  “Wait a minute,” Joey said. “This kid’s name is Jesus?”

  Mrs. Gallagher looked over his shoulder. “Honey, in Spanish cultures, ‘Jesus’ is a pretty common first name. It’s pronounced ‘Hey-SOOS.’”

  “Oh. ‘Hey-SOOS.’ Great, that’s much better. Mom, don’t you think he ought to change his name while he’s here, to something more . . . I don’t know . . . more normal?”

  “Well, honey, what’s normal here in Bordentown is different than what’s normal in Nicaragua, where Jesus comes from.”

  “It’s weird to be named Jesus,” Joey insisted.

  “You know, there aren’t many people of Spanish or Latino heritage in Bordentown,” his mom pointed out. “This isn’t a very diverse community. Even though you study Spanish, you can’t really speak it, can you? Just think what talking with Jesus will do for your language skills!”

  “Great,” Joey said. “I still think he should change his name. You know, when in Rome, do as the Romans do? Ever hear that one?”

  “Now, Joey, I’m sure if Jesus feels awkward here, it won’t be because of his name. It’s our job as his host family to make him feel at home. Remember, we’re the ones who volunteered.”

  We? Joey thought. Just when exactly did I buy into this? But, not wanting to get in a fight with his mom about it, he kept his mouth shut and went back to reading the letter:

  Jesus is thirteen and is ready to begin eighth grade in September. He has some English, but you may experience some difficulties in communicating at first. There may also be adjustment problems. If so, please let us know, and we will do our best to help smooth things out. We will be checking in on you weekly to make sure everyone is having a positive experience. Thank you again for your willingness to share your lives with a young person from abroad. . . .

  Joey picked up the second letter. This one was from Jesus himself. Joey could barely make sense of the handwriting. Then he saw the translation on the second page and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Dear Gallagher family,” it began.

  Please accept most warm greetings from me and my family. I have three older brothers and two younger sisters, and I am so lucky to be the first one to travel outside Nicaragua. Here the people are mostly poor, but it is very pretty, with good weather and nice people, and it is warm all the time. Do you have snow there? I have never seen snow except in photos and the cinema. I like the cinema, science, and sports. I am so happy I will soon come to stay with you!

  Warm greetings, Jesus Rodriguez

  Joey put the letter down and stared at the photo again. Hmmm . . . Jesus seemed like a normal-enough kid. Of course, you could never tell from a photo. And it wouldn’t be like having a brother, no matter what happened. He would only have one brother, ever, and that was Sandy.

  His mom placed the salad bowl in the center of the table. “We’re going to have to get the house ready. I thought we’d give Sandy’s room to Jesus.”

  When Sandy had left for college, Joey’s parents had asked him whether he wanted to move into Sandy’s empty room, which was bigger and had more closets. Joey had refused. It was Sandy’s room, not his. But now Joey was sorry that he hadn’t made the switch. If Sandy’s room was going to be lived in by someone else, at least it should have been him.

  Of course, if he said anything now, his mom and dad would accuse him of making a big stink about it and being difficult and immature. “Sandy wouldn’t make a big stink,” they’d say, and they’d be right. Sandy always did the right thing.

  He wished he’d made a big stink when they’d first brought up the idea of an exchange student coming to live with them. Oh well, too late now.

  “It’ll be great,” his mom said, coming over to him and putting an arm around his shoulders. “You’ll see. You’ll have so much fun showing him everything — school, friends, baseball . . . You’re gonna love it.”

  Joey doubted it. He could picture spending hours and hours tutoring his “new brother” in English instead of hanging out and doing cool stuff with his friends. Nobody would want Joey around anymore, because everywhere he went, Jesus would have to come, too. And as for baseball — the kid had probably never even heard of it.

  Joey picked up Jesus’s letter again. He said he liked sports, but he didn’t say which sport. Soccer, maybe? If so, then he and Jesus wouldn’t have much to talk about.

  Suddenly Joey wondered what they would talk about, or if they’d even be able to talk to each other, since Jesus’s English didn’t seem that good. He pictured the two of them sitting together, totally silent, in Sandy’s room. Then, for a split second, he put himself in Jesus’s shoes.

  It couldn’t be easy, being pulled away from your family to go stay with complete strangers in a different country for a whole year. Much as his parents bugged him sometimes, he wasn’t sure he’d want to trade them for someone else’s.

  I guess the least I can do is try to make the guy feel welcome, Joey thought. And if we don’t click, well, no one will be able to blame me.

  3

  The next day at school, Joey caught up with his Marlin teammates in the cafeteria at lunch. “Nicky’s arm isn’t broken,” Pete Alessandra told him.

  “All right!” Joey said, pumping his fist. “You talked to him?”

  “Last night. It’s a bad bruise and a confusion or contusion or something like that.”

  “Man, I thought it was broken for sure,” said Charlie Morganstern. “Did you hear that ball hit him? I thought I was gonna puke, it was so sickening.”

  “Shut up, I’m trying to eat here, you dweeb,” Jordan Halpin said, poking Charlie.

  “How long’s he gonna be out?” Joey asked.

  “Three or four weeks,” Pete replied. “They told him he’s gotta take it easy till the swelling goes down.”

  “Man, that’s like the whole rest of the season,” Jordan moaned.

  “Don’t worry,” Joey said. “We’re gonna be okay.”

  “Uh, yeah, listen, I don’t wanna jinx you or anything,” Charlie said, putting a hand on Joey’s shoulder, “but you got those Oriole hitters out with smoke and mirrors.”

  Joey was stung, even though he knew Charlie meant it as a compliment. “What, you don’t think I can do it again?” he asked.

  “You’d better!” Pete interjected. “The whole team’s counting on it.”

  “Counting on you, Gallagher,” Jordan said, ruffling Joey’s hair. “You’d better be good. Keep fakin’ ’em out.”

  Joey didn’t feel too well all of a sudden. Before yesterday, nobody knew he could pitch, so the Oriole game had been a no-lose situation. Now, it was a no-win situation. His teammates were counting on him, even though they thought he’d just gotten lucky last time. They knew — and so did Joey — that he wasn’t going to overpower anybody with his fastball. After a while, word would spread around the league, and hitters were going to start figuring him out. Three weeks was a long time to stay one step ahead of them.

  On the other hand, if he could somehow manage to do it, Coach Bacino might make him the number-two pitcher behind Nicky, instead of Matt Lowe. Matt threw fast, but he was all over the place. He walked as many batters as he struck out. Joey felt he had a real chance — if he could just hang in there under all the pressure.

  “Yeah, you da man now,” Pete was saying. “Mr. Junkball to the rescue.”

  “Mr. Junkball,” Larry Levine repeated as he came up to their table, carrying his tray. “Dude, that’s good. That’s so good, I’m amazed someone besides me came up with it!”

  Larry Levine was the funniest kid on the team. Because of this, even though he was a lousy athlete, Larry was very popular with his teammates. He rode the bench most of the time but didn’t seem to care much. For him, baseball was all about hanging out with friends and having a few good laughs.

  Joey waited until all the others had gone off to get dessert, then sidled over to Larry. “Um, I don’t know if I ever mentioned this to you,” he said, “but my family’s getting this exc
hange student for a year.”

  “Oh yeah, I think you said something about that once a long time ago. Like third grade?”

  “Yeah, well, it’s happening now,” Joey told him. “He’s coming in a few days. So, like, I’m gonna have to hang around with him a lot, you know, get him used to everything, everybody, like that.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “I don’t know,” Joey said, sighing. “I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s just . . .”

  “What?” Larry asked, his mouth full of chicken salad. “Just spit it out, okay? We’ve known each other a long time; you can tell me.”

  “Look, he’s like, from this foreign country, okay? Nicaragua or someplace.”

  “Does he even speak any English?”

  “It says so on the papers, but he wrote me this letter, and it was in Spanish.”

  “So?”

  “So, I stink at Spanish.”

  “You want me to translate?”

  “Look, all I’m asking is just, like, don’t make fun of him, okay?”

  “Me, make fun of somebody?”

  “You know how you like to make cracks about people.”

  “Hey, man, if they can’t take a joke —”

  “No, but this is different, okay? This kid’s coming from a foreign country. He doesn’t know about anybody or anything, so just . . . take it easy on him, okay? If you don’t start, nobody else will.”

  “How do you know that, dude? It’s a free country. People say all kinds of stupid stuff. Whatever comes into their feeble brains, they say it. So don’t go blaming me if somebody else rags on him.”

  “Just don’t you do it, okay?”

  “Okay! Take it easy, dude, it’s no biggie.”

  “You promise?”

  “Sure, whatever. So what’s this kid’s name?”

  Joey hesitated. “Hey-SOOS.”

  “Gesundheit,” Larry quipped. “Seriously, his name is WHAT?”

  “I told you. Hey-SOOS. It’s spelled J-E-S-U-S.” “His name is JESUS?!?” Larry said, doubling over with laughter. “Hey, guys, listen to this!” Before Joey could stop him, Larry was blabbering to whoever could hear him. “Jesus is coming! This is not a drill. Everybody confess your sins!”

  “Shut up, Larry!” Joey said, grabbing him by the shirt.

  “Whoa, watch it,” Larry said, removing Joey’s hand gingerly. “Just a joke, dude. Gotta have a sense of humor, right?”

  “It’s not funny,” Joey insisted.

  “What’s he talking about?” Pete asked.

  “I’ve got an exchange student coming to live with me for a year,” Joey explained.

  “For a whole year?!” Jordan exclaimed. “Man, that’s a long time to put up with somebody you don’t even know.”

  Joey secretly agreed, but he didn’t let on. He needed his friends to accept Jesus — because if they rejected him, it would mean they were rejecting Joey, too.

  “Get this. The kid’s name is Jesus!” Larry exclaimed with a laugh.

  “Yeah, right,” Pete said. “Tell me another one.” “No, it’s true!” Larry insisted. “Right, Joey? Isn’t that his name?”

  “It’s Hey-SOOS,” Joey corrected him.

  “Spanish for ‘Jesus,’” Charlie said. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Man, you’d better hope he’s not as weird as his name.”

  “But bring him around, so we can check him out,” Jordan added. “Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if his parents were Mary and Joseph?”

  They all laughed, except Joey. “That would be Maria and José,” Larry corrected them, and everyone laughed again.

  Joey walked away, shaking his head. His friends were being idiots, and he didn’t like the feeling he was getting. Okay, so most of them had never met a foreign kid before. That was reality in Bordentown. But did they have to be such jerks about it?

  Joey pushed open the stairway door so hard that it banged into the wall. What did he care, anyway? Maybe those morons couldn’t see it, but being the one kid in town who had a real foreigner living with him was pretty cool. At least that’s what he hoped.

  At practice that afternoon, he kept thinking about Jesus. Joey figured if he could teach him how to play baseball, it would make it a whole lot easier to fit in. The Bordentown pecking order was mostly determined by athletic ability. Maybe Jesus is fast, Joey thought. Then he remembered the photo of the kid with the knobby knees and bowlegs. Not likely.

  Joey did some pitching, played some center field, and took his swings at the plate, but his heart wasn’t into practicing. He was still mad at the kids for making fun of Jesus. It was as if they were making fun of him. And if they were already starting in, then what was going to happen when Jesus actually arrived?

  4

  Two days later, on Thursday, another handwritten letter arrived from Jesus. Joey’s dad handed it to him, and Joey tore it open and read the translation out loud:

  Dearest family,

  Warmest greetings from Managua, my city. Here it is hot, and there has been much rain. On the other side of the city, there was a slide of mud and ten houses were broken, with twenty-five people killed. Many times we have disasters here. Hurricanes, earthquakes. Before I was born, my family lost their house in a big earthquake. For two years they lived in a tent before my uncle built them another house, where I live. Here is a picture of me from one year ago at my house where we live now. It is a very nice house I think, but maybe not nice like yours. My uncle says everyone in America is rich.

  Joey laughed and, looking at his parents, said, “Yeah, that’s us. Rich. Ha.”

  Joey’s dad was a teacher at Bordentown High School, and his mom sold cosmetics to ladies at parties. They were far from rich, like some of the people in town. The Canelos, for instance, had a big mansion up on the hill. And the Alessandras — forget it. Their house was like some big hotel. Pete sometimes had pool parties there, and it was always the big event of the summer.

  “We’re rich next to most people in the world,” his dad said.

  “But Jesus’s family got up the money to send him here,” Joey pointed out. “They must not be too poor.”

  “Wrong, honey,” his mom said. “Most of the money is donated through local church groups and the Community Action Fund here in town. His family only pays a small percentage.”

  Joey looked at the photo that Jesus had sent. It showed him standing in front of a cement house — more like a box, with windows and a corrugated tin roof. The box looked big enough for about two good-size rooms. Was that Jesus’s family’s house? Was that what he called big? Did he and his parents and sisters and brothers all live in that little concrete box?

  Joey had never thought of himself as rich before. It was a weird feeling. Suddenly he felt embarrassed about showing Jesus their house here in Bordentown. It was huge by comparison — maybe five times bigger.

  At the bottom of the photo, Jesus had written his name in bold print: JESUS JAIME RODRIGUEZ. “Jamie?” Joey read. “Hey, his middle name is Jamie!” he said happily. “Jamie” would be an okay thing to call him. No problem there with his friends. Not like introducing him as Jesus, or even Hey-SOOS.

  His dad came over to look at the photo. “See — Jamie,” Joey pointed out. “Only he spells it weird — J-A-I-M-E.”

  “Um, that’s pronounced ‘Hymie,’” his dad informed him.

  “Hymie?” Joey repeated, slumping into his chair. “HYMIE?”

  Hymie was even worse than Hey-SOOS. “Why can’t

  I just call him Jamie?” Joey asked.

  “Because that’s not his name, son,” his dad said firmly. “Look, Jesus’s being here is not just for him to learn about us. It’s for us to learn about him, and his language, and his culture. It’s an opportunity for this whole town, not just our family. We ought to take advantage of it.”

  Of course his dad was right, Joey knew. Still, that didn’t solve his problem, or Jesus’s, for that matter. “They’re gonna make fun of his name, Dad,” he said.

&nb
sp; “Why don’t you let him decide what he wants to be called?” his father suggested. “I’m sure he’ll be the best judge of that.”

  “I’m just trying to help him out.”

  “Good. You stick to helping him out. Remember that from now on, and as long as he’s staying with us, he’s your brother. Got it?”

  “Yes, Dad,” Joey said, sighing. “I’ve got it. My brother.” Oh, brother, he thought. This had the potential to be a really long, bad year.

  Joey and his family spent Saturday morning getting the house ready, especially Sandy’s room (his parents were already calling it Jesus’s room, but Joey wasn’t going to forget his real brother that easily). They fixed up Sandy’s old ten-speed bike, too, although Joey wondered whether Jesus even knew how to ride a bike. Did they even have bikes in Nicaragua?

  That afternoon was the Marlins’ next game, against the Cubs, who were 2–2 so far this season. One of the losses was to the Orioles, a team they’d beaten already, so most of the Marlins were going into the game with a lot of confidence. Most — but not Joey.

  The game started well, however. In the second inning, he dove and caught a fly ball, then threw out the overeager Cubs runner, who’d tried to advance to third without waiting to see whether Joey caught the ball. That double play ended the inning, and Joey got a lot of mitt slaps on the head and on his behind.

  Then, in the third, he hit a bloop fly ball that dropped in between three fielders. Joey wound up on second and scored the game’s first run when Charlie Morganstern lined a double to right field. Charlie later scored to make it 2–0, Marlins.

  But as he stood out in center during the third inning, Joey started to get nervous. Next inning, and for the rest of the game after that, he’d be pitching. And this time, his whole team was expecting him to succeed. What if he lost his control and couldn’t get the ball over the plate? What if he couldn’t fool the Cubs hitters the way he’d fooled the Orioles? He knew he didn’t have the stuff to blow the ball by anyone — and there was no backup for him if he failed.