Home Run

by Dave Lawrence

  “Ball,” Brad insisted.

  “I said, what’s for lunch?” Jordan repeated. The bus driver watched the scene in his large rear view mirror, unsure whether the incident had finished or whether further trouble was brewing.

  The boy with the nose ring turned to his friends around him, confused about Jordan’s question. What Jordan said next confused him even more. “Give your lunch to the kid whose bag you tried to take.”

  “Rack off!”

  “All four of you give your lunch to the kid, then get off the bus.”

  Brad knew Jordan wasn’t going to back down and he suspected the kid with the nose ring wasn’t going to do what Jordan asked. Knowing Jordan, he figured the best chance of trying to diffuse the situation was to try and get these four bullies to hand over their lunch. “Look,” Brad said, feeling like an idiot, “you did the wrong thing by that kid. Why don’t you make it up to him by giving him your lunch?”

  “Like I said, rack off!”

  Jordan walked towards him. Nose-ring stood up and in the same motion flicked out his switch blade and pointed it at Jordan. Within an instant Jordan grabbed the school bag of a nearby kid and swung it hard into the side of Nose-ring’s head, knocking him off balance and sending him sprawling into his mate. School kids yelled and girls screamed. In one swift movement Jordan yanked Nose-ring’s hair and slammed his head onto the floor. Brad quickly grabbed the shell-shocked kid’s collar and dragged him away toward the front of the bus. Jordan pointed to the other three. “Your lunch... now!” They scrambled to their schoolbags. “Hand it over.” Jordan moved back to allow the three bigger boys to give their lunch to the gobsmacked year seven kid. “Apologise,” Jordan ordered. Each of them apologised. “Now follow me.” Frightened and leaderless, they followed Jordan who in turn followed Brad as he dragged Nose-ring off the bus. “Don’t catch this bus again,” Jordan said. After the last bully trundled off the final step, Brad instructed the driver to continue. The pair sat down to whistles and cheers from the thrilled passengers.

  “You need to stop that, Moose,” Brad said. “You’ll get us into big trouble one day.”

  “So what? Besides, they deserved it.”

  The students spilled out untidily from the bus. The story would circulate around the school in no time. Brad wouldn’t have been surprised if he and Jordan were called to the principal’s office, which happened last period. Before that though, Jordan got into another altercation, and nearly a brawl, with some year twelve students who happened to be having a contest as to who could land a pebble in the middle of a group of girls sitting in front of the D-block classrooms.

  “Stop it now!” Jordan warned them with uncharacteristic aggression.

  “Come here and say that,” one of the year twelve kids, surrounded by his mates, threatened. Jordan promptly did. Brad rapidly sidled up to him and told the year twelve kid to stop being so stupid and blocked Jordan in a gesture of appeasement. Brad and Jordan’s reputation as outstanding baseball stars had been well and truly established at the school. They were both respected and popular. Both were packed with muscle. Brad stood six foot four, or 193cm. Jordan was not as tall, but broader and more thick-set. To make matters worse, Brad’s pitcher’s arm was understood, rightly or wrongly, to possess the equivalent force of a professional boxer. His quiet confidence unnerved his opponents. The group of year twelves sullenly moved away.

  “Jordan, what’s got into you lately?” Brad asked as they made their way to their usual playground haunt.

  “It’s just recently occurred to me that schools are crap places. Take our school. There are fights nearly every lunch time. Bullying never stops, whether it’s in the playground or cyber. The language is disgusting. There’s vandalism, violence, threats, aggro, suspensions. It’s a school, for crying out aloud, not a prison.”

  “We go to a pretty rough school,” Brad conceded. “Besides, you can’t really complain. You could have gone to any school in Melbourne.” Brad and Jordan simultaneously recalled Mr Tory’s reaction and the fighting that followed when Jordan refused to go to Scotch College or Melbourne Grammar so he could be with Brad.

  “Yeah, are schools really that different?” Jordan asked.

  “Of course they are. My aunt teaches at a Christian school just down the road. She reckons it’s different.”

  Jordan stopped. “Is she just saying that because she teaches there?”

  “No way. She’s ace. We don’t see her much because my old man doesn’t like her, but she’s great. She’s full-on into churchy stuff.”

  “I’d love to chat to her. Can we?”

  Jordan’s intensity surprised Brad. “There’s something weird going on, Jordan. What is it?”

  “Nothing. How about tonight? We don’t have training.”

  Brad took out his mobile and got straight through to his aunt who volunteered to pick them up that afternoon. Brad noticed the satisfaction on Jordan’s face as they went to join their friends.

  Fellow students threw baseballs at each other. Others clubbed baseballs into a batting cage. When Brad and Jordan made the national team the school obtained a grant from the State Government to build a baseball facility. Baseball had become much more popular over the years, especially with two such charismatic, home-grown heroes in their midst. Since then more grants and sponsorship money had gained the school better facilities and sporting opportunities. Consequently, Jordan’s frequent absences and even more frequent misdemeanours often drew a blind eye from school administrators, especially because of his legendary friendship with Brad. Brad was the school’s poster boy, and a walk-in certainty for school captain the following year. The bell rang.

  Brad and Jordan sat in the principal’s office. Earlier, the bus driver had commended them to the principal for their role in defending the lad bullied on the bus that morning. Apparently the driver had chosen to leave out Jordan’s lunch incident and the unauthorised eviction of the bullies from the bus. Brad and Jordan decided not to fill the principal in. “Good work, boys, we’re proud of you,” beamed the principal, shaking their hands vigorously.

  Brad, Jordan and a colleague donned mitts and threw long balls to each other on the oval as they waited for Shirley Newton, Brad’s much-admired aunt. Leaving their colleague to wait for his mum, Brad and Jordan bundled into the car. “Thanks for picking us up, Miss Newton,” Jordan said from the back seat.

  “Not at all, Jordan. I’ve heard a lot about you. And call me Shirley. So what do you want to know?”

  Brad turned from his position in the front seat to see Jordan’s reaction to his larger-than-life aunt. He knew Jordan would like her, and Jordan’s expression showed it. “Well,” Jordan began, “I hear your school is a good place.”

  “A great place. It’s a Christian school in name and fact; great morale, great kids, great education. A good place to be.”

  “Can Brad and I go there?” Jordan asked.

  “What?” Brad cried. “Since when have you wanted to leave our school?”

  “Today,” Jordan said simply. “What’s the big deal? Neither of us care where we go. Why not somewhere pleasant? We may not even finish school in Australia, if we get our way.”

  “Boys,” Aunt Shirley said in her booming, husky voice. “Let’s take a step back here. Jordan, are you a Christian?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to be?”

  “I do if it gets me into your school.”

  “Sweety, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but only committed Christians are admitted to the school.”

  “But aren’t Catholic schools the same as Christian schools?” Jordan asked. “Our baseball mates from Catholic schools never go to church.”

  Aunt Shirley turned the corner without slowing down, forcing Brad and Jordan to extend their arms to avoid colliding into the door. “How can I say this? If students and parents are indifferent or antagonistic to religious faith, which unfortunately is sometimes the case, that school won’t be much different to a good state
school. But if families are committed to Jesus and their Christian faith, the school will be different. It won’t be perfect, of course. Nothing is, except your pitcher’s record, eh, Brad?”

  “So there’s no chance of getting in?” Jordan asked, his dejection clear.

  “Afraid not, Jordan.”

  “Well, that was a waste of time,” Jordan said thoughtlessly.

  “I’ll try not to take offence.” Aunty Shirley winked at Jordan through the rear view mirror.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Jordan explained.

  “I know, doll. Look, if you do want to, let me know.”

  “Want to what?”

  “Become a Christian.”

  “Wow!” Jordan exclaimed, impressed by Shirley’s unabashed simplicity.

  Brad turned sharply. “Shirley, you can’t say that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why would I want to become a Christian?” Jordan asked ingenuously.

  “Because it’s the truth,” Aunty Shirley responded simply. She turned another corner with the same disregard for the laws of gravity. She accelerated to overtake a woman with two kids in a 4WD who was going way too slowly for the likes of Aunt Shirley. Brad said nothing but kept a firm grip on the dashboard. Jordan, too, was strangely quiet in the back seat as he struggled to keep his balance.

  “What do you mean?” Jordan enquired after a time.

  “Being Christian brings joy and hope. It sets you free. It teaches you to live; to make good choices; to love. It’s good for you and for everyone around you. It’s the best way to be and I’ll defend what I say to anyone. Only God can truly satisfy the human heart. Come on, you boys must be hungry. Let’s get ourselves some hamburgers.”

  Brad nodded energetically. Two things Aunty Shirley knew about Brad; his love of baseball and his insatiable appetite.

  Chapter Three

  Brad and Jordan endured Otto and Sylvia spending the entire drive to the baseball stadium debating whether the New York Yankee talent scouts would be at the game. It was Saturday. The sun shone brightly, though large black clouds covered the northern sky way off into the distance.

  As the car pulled up, they noticed a girl hunched over facing the wall. “What’s she doing?” Jordan said as he got out the car, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

  “Dunno,” said Brad. “Looks like she’s crying. Let’s see what’s going on.”

  Otto gently pushed his son forward as Sylvia strode purposefully toward the stadium entrance. This was how Brad arrived at all his games, club, state or national. His parents drove him earlier than everyone else to prepare. Jordan often came with them, unless his dad volunteered. That was if Jordan could stomach him at the time, which wasn’t always the case. On this particular occasion, Jordan’s dad was on yet another business trip and his mum was at some social function or other, or gallivanting around with some bloke probably not much older than Jordan.

  “Hurry up, Brad, you need to warm up.” Otto cast an indifferent look at the girl and continued on.

  As they passed, it became clear she was crying. Otto turned. “Come on, Brad. You need to strap that ankle.”

  At the sound of voices, the girl spun around. She involuntarily screamed at the sight of four large strangers suddenly appearing within ten feet of her. Jordan couldn’t help but laugh.

  “It’s okay,” Brad said reassuringly. Then he recognised her. “Hey, you’re Javed’s sister.”

  The girl’s sharp eyes sized up Brad. “How do you know?”

  “We saw you at the nationals over summer,” Brad explained, intrigued by her bright headscarf. “Jordan and I know a lot about you already. Javed’s told us.”

  “He’s told us everything,” Jordan teased playfully.

  The girl snapped her head to the left and right, a frightened look filling her eyes. Brad looked around expecting some threat. “You have to go,” she suddenly whispered, as if something sinister was about to happen. “My parents will be here any minute.”

  “So what?” asked Jordan.

  “They don’t like me talking to strange boys,” the girl explained, creases on her forehead betraying a hidden fear.

  “Tell them to mind their own business,” Jordan said.

  She looked at him and shook her head. “You have no idea, do you, Jordan?”

  “Hey, how do you know my name?”

  “I know both of your names. Javed’s told me. You’re Brad.”

  Brad frowned. “Is Javed here? Why are you crying?”

  “Come on, you two,” Otto yelled from the entrance gate, his wife beside him. “Hurry up.”

  “Hang on, Dad,” Brad yelled back.

  “You better go,” the girl said. Brad found himself in a dilemma – to strap his ankle and begin warming up, or continue his conversation with this mystifyingly beguiling girl.

  Jordan turned from the girl to Brad. “Brad, what’s going on? Don’t tell me you’re falling for Javed’s sister?” He laughed good-naturedly and softly punched Brad in the arm. Brad shrugged off Jordan’s jibe.

  The girl seemed amused by Jordan’s deliberately inappropriate comment, which placed both her and Brad in an awkward silence. After a moment, she spoke. “My parents will be here any moment. Javed went to the toilet.”

  “You miss your parents that much?” Jordan asked mischievously.

  “Cut it out, Jordan,” Brad snapped, partially irritated and partially amused by the banter.

  “You must be very bored,” the girl said to Jordan, looking him straight in the eye, “always trying to get your kicks somehow.” Jordan pulled a face, feigning offence.

  “She’s got you in one, Jordan,” Brad laughed.

  “Hurry up, Brad,” Otto yelled, immediately followed by Sylvia’s echo: “Hurry up, Brad.”

  “Why were you crying?” Brad asked, ignoring them.

  “Never mind,” she replied, but Brad could see something in her eyes that longed to tell him.

  “Come with us,” Jordan suggested. “You know you want to.”

  She straightened up as if slapped. “I know that look anywhere,” Jordan laughed contemptuously. “It’s the petrified, defeated look of a teenager who wants nothing more than to fly from the suffocating tentacles of its parents yet is too petrified to try. No wonder you and Brad have this secret thing going.”

  “Please, Jordan,” Brad said, turning on his friend.

  The girl clearly found the interaction entertaining. “It’s okay,” she said.

  “What’s your name?” Brad asked.

  “I thought you knew everything about me,” she teased. “Azra.”

  “Come with us, if you dare,” suggested Jordan.

  “My parents will kill me,” Azra objected.

  “Over my dead body!” Jordan’s sudden seriousness surprised her. “And over Brad’s dead body, too, of course,” Jordan added. “And as I’m sure you’ve noticed, he’s got some body.”

  Azra and Brad spontaneously burst out laughing. A fiery defiance suddenly lit up Azra’s flawless face, her dark eyes blazing beneath her pink headscarf. She knew what she was about to do would have serious repercussions, but the sheer unexpectedness of her conversation with Jordan and Brad, the exhilaration it ignited within her, lead her to the brink of the new world she had ached to enter for years and was ready to pounce into. She would take this chance.

  “Let’s go,” she said simply, and followed Brad and Jordan past Otto and Sylvia down the stairs into the stadium change-rooms.

  “Javed’s not here,” Brad noticed. “He must have gone the other way around.”

  “My father will kill him if he finds out I’m lost. He was meant to look after me til they came back. They had to rush off to get something. I insisted I stay with Javed, who promised not to let me out of his sight.”

  “You’re right I’m angry, Azra. Where have you been?” Javed rushed into the change-rooms, panting furiously.

  “Relax, I only went outside.”

  “Don’t do that again,
” Javed ordered.

  “Relax, Javed,” Jordan said. “She’s safe.”

  With some convincing, Javed allowed Azra to stay in one section of the change-rooms behind the lockers while the three players changed into their baseball gear, wearing the green and gold of Australia. Peeking out, Azra’s inexperienced eyes never left Brad. This was their first Under 18 exhibition match the peak baseball body had organised with Japan to promote the sport in Australia. Although Brad’s parents knew nothing was riding on it, Otto and Sylvia could not let the chance go by to watch their only child in action. In any case, as they invariably hoped, this could be the day the talent scouts arrived. Otto and Sylvia would be there to give them every confidence they would relocate at the drop of a baseball cap to America. Brad would have their unconditional support.

  As more of the players ambled into the change-room, greeting each other and getting changed, a loud argument broke out in Urdu between Azra and Javed. Brad and Jordan exchanged looks and approached the pair. “She has no right to be in a male change-room,” Javed said. “And she can’t wait outside without supervision.”

  “Exactly, so what do you suggest, o master?” taunted Azra, winning the argument.

  “What if she stays with my folks outside?” Brad suggested.

  “That’s fine,” Javed said. Brad approached his parents who were sitting down on a bench together, watching with increasing concern the uncharacteristic pre-match movements of their son.

  “Mum, can you please sit in the stands with Azra?”

  Otto pushed his head back in surprise. Sylvia shook her head. “This is none of your business, Brad.” “That’s right,” Otto interrupted. “You need to focus on the game, not that stupid girl.” Brad was about to argue. “We’re not here to baby-sit strangers, Brad. Leave her and get on with your preparations. This is an important game.”

  Brad walked back to Jordan, Javed and Azra. “They won’t do it.” Azra raced outside. Javed let her go, waving her off angrily. “Thankfully I won’t have to put up with her for much longer.”

  “What do you mean?” Brad enquired as casually as he could.

  “My parents are sending her to Pakistan. Finally there’ll be peace at home. She needs to be reined in – too many liberal ideas.”