by Tim Green
Josh walked away, his ears burning. As he approached the doorway out, his stomach did a backward roll. He dumped the remainder of his lunch, bag and all, into the big trash can.
“Hey,” someone behind him said.
Josh turned and frowned when he saw Benji standing there with his tray of garbage.
“Hey,” Josh said.
“Your mom give you any of those cookies she makes?” Benji asked.
“I guess so,” Josh said. “Why?”
Benji nodded and dug into the trash can, coming up with Josh’s half-empty lunch bag. He fished inside and removed a small Baggie containing three oatmeal-raisin cookies. He took one out and jammed the whole thing into his mouth.
“No sense wasting them,” Benji said, chewing as he spoke so it came out half garbled.
Without another word, Benji turned and walked back into the lunchroom. Josh hung his head and made his way toward seventh-period English class.
To make matters worse, his English teacher called on him twice and his social studies teacher three times. He had no idea what to say any of the times. He lost interest in his lessons and could only think about one thing: making the Titans. The half of him that had wanted to return to his friends now knew that he had no friends. The best thing that could happen to Josh would be to make the Mount Olympus Titans and travel the country, honing his skills and letting the world see that no matter what else, he would be a baseball great.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE LAST BELL FINALLY rang, and Josh sprinted for the school’s main entrance. Outside, clouds surged overhead, and the warm breeze smelled of spring rain. His father waited, as usual, just beyond the buses. After Josh climbed into the car and slammed the door, he slumped down in the seat and stared straight ahead. His father said nothing and put the car into gear, driving off toward the Mount Olympus Sports Complex.
After a time his father said, “Would you really want me to force you onto this team? Have them keep you because I’m your dad?”
Josh kept his lips rolled tight against his teeth.
“Tell me,” his father said. “I doubt Rocky will do it, but I can sure try. If it means that much to you, Josh, I’ll do it.”
Josh let his face relax. He sighed deeply and shook his head.
“No,” he said, then let silence have its way again.
“Because—” his dad began to say.
“Dad, did you recruit Kerry Eschelman away from the school team?” Josh said, blurting out the question.
His father glanced at him and nodded his head. “Of course I did. I told you Rocky had me working on putting a team together. I got Silven from Liverpool and Macauly from Solvay, too. Supposedly the three best twelve-year-old pitchers in the city. Why?”
“You ruined the Grant team,” Josh said, his eyes on the road straight ahead.
“What about Eschelman?” his father asked. “You think about him? His talent? He could be a college player with the right development.”
“Weight lifting and Super Stax?” Josh asked.
“In a couple years, if he’s still there. When the time is right,” his father said. “I told you—you’re different. You’re way more advanced.”
“Well, we’ll see if I am, right?” Josh said, looking over at his father. “And if I’m not, I’m going to play Titans U12.”
“And they’d be damn lucky to have you, Josh,” his father said.
“’Cause I can’t play with the school team anymore.”
“You think Coach Miller knows a bat from a bunt?” his dad said.
Josh clamped his mouth shut and looked out the window.
“Looks like rain,” Josh said.
“Another good thing about practicing in the bubble,” his dad said as they pulled into the circle. “You see that limo?”
Josh looked at the Cadillac stretch limo, so clean it reflected the trees and the cloudy sky above.
“What’s that?” Josh asked.
“Sponsors,” his father said. “From Nike.”
“Nike sneakers?” Josh asked.
“And cleats, and sportswear,” his father said. “They’re breaking into baseball equipment—gloves, balls, maybe even bats. They’re sponsoring five travel teams across the country at every level. Rocky’s signing the contract with them today. If I get this U12 thing put together and looking good, he says we might get them to do that deal, too.”
“What kind of deal?” Josh asked.
“They pay Rocky a hundred and twenty thousand dollars a year to manage it, plus the team’s expenses, coaches, practice facility—the entire budget,” his father said. “That means Rocky gets to pay himself for having the team practice at Olympus.”
“Wow,” Josh said.
“Not a bad business, huh?” his father said. “All right, you get going. And Josh?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“You’re my boy. Be great.”
Josh jumped out and scooted inside with the rest of the players. If he didn’t make it, it wouldn’t be because he didn’t try. He growled and yelled his way through his weight workout in a way that made the other kids steal glances at him. When they hit the field, he blew everyone away in the agilities and fired his throws to first so hard, he saw Jones wince at least twice. When he got into the batting cage, he attacked the ball, smashing it wildly around without concern for where it went, only wanting to bust its yellow rubber seams.
Sprints came, and Josh blew their doors in. No one bothered griping at him because no one could catch their breath to do it. Rocky came out of his office as they finished running. When he called them in, Josh gasped for breath himself but kept his head high. He watched as Rocky huddled up outside the half circle of players with his three assistant coaches, whispering among themselves. If Josh didn’t make it, he wasn’t going to have anything to be ashamed of. Still, his stomach jumped when Rocky cleared his throat.
“As I said a couple weeks ago,” Rocky said, “we only keep eighteen. That’s all we have room for, and that’s the way it is. The other coaches and I got together on this, and we all agree. We also think it’s important to make this announcement as a team. For the guy who didn’t make it, well, I hope you’ll use it as a valuable lesson when you’re trying to do it to it in other areas of life. I know you’ll have other opportunities to do things down the road, and it’s important that you use this experience as a lesson to motivate you to work even harder.”
Rocky looked Josh directly in the eye, and Josh stopped breathing.
“The guy who didn’t make it is…” Rocky said, and cleared his throat.
Josh closed his eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“BOBBY PERKINS,” ROCKY SAID. “Sorry, Perkins. You tried your best.”
Perkins inhaled so quick it became a sob. He hid his face in the crook of his arm, stood up, and walked off the field, his shoulders shuddering so hard that Josh felt bad for the kid. A sudden burst of elation buried his pity, and Josh had to fight to keep his mouth from pulling into a monster smile. He bit down on the inside of his lower lip to keep his composure, but nothing could prevent his eyes from stretching wide with joy.
The sour looks he got from his new teammates dampened his spirits, but they could do nothing more than what a brief rain shower does to an active volcano. Josh searched for his father up in the small set of concrete stands overlooking the field. In the gloomy light underneath the bubble’s soiled canvas, his father sat alone with his back straight and his arms crossed in front of his massive frame, like a man defying a snowstorm.
Josh glanced around, then snuck a thumbs-up to his dad.
His dad broke out in a gleaming grin and returned the thumbs-up.
“I don’t care if you don’t like it,” Rocky was saying to the team. “You’ve got a new teammate. If you don’t want to be replaced yourself, you’ll treat Josh like he belongs. I don’t care about his age. That’s not a factor now. He’s one of us, and he earned it.”
Rocky’s three assistants b
egan to applaud, and the kids around Josh joined in unenthusiastically. Rocky seemed not to notice. He winked at Josh and called the team together for their chant of “Do it to it.” Josh secretly thought the saying was stupid, but this time he said it with gusto, then jogged off the field to hug his father.
When the two of them separated, Josh’s dad said he thought they should celebrate with hot dogs from Heid’s. Josh said he’d hurry and made his way into the locker room. Perkins sat in front of his emptied locker with his face buried in his hands. A couple guys tried to talk to Perkins, but he shrugged them away. No one would even look at Josh.
Out in the car, Josh asked his dad, “Did you know all along?”
His father shook his head and said, “I didn’t even want to ask. But while you were in the locker room, I talked to Rocky. He said you had it made after the first week, but the way you worked today made the decision even easier.”
“What’ll happen to Perkins?” Josh asked.
His father shrugged. “That’s life, buddy. He can try to find another team or go back and play high school ball next year. Everybody you play with is going to drop out of this sooner or later. The key is for you to stay in, and from what I’ve seen, that’s gonna happen.”
“Thanks,” Josh said, warm all over even though the rain outside had brought with it a spring chill that seeped into the car.
When they arrived at the hot-dog place, Josh and his dad ordered up four each, dousing them with mustard and relish and mixing big paper cups full of white and chocolate milk together. They sat down in a booth by the window and dug in, talking between bites about the tournament on Long Island and the players his dad had recruited for the two new Titans teams.
After a pause, Josh wiped a glob of mustard from his cheek and asked, “What do you think I should do about the rest of the guys?”
“Meaning what?” his dad asked.
“I mean, Rocky told everyone that I’m part of the team and they should treat me the same as everyone else,” Josh said, “but I don’t know.”
“Don’t know if they’ll accept you anyway?” his dad asked.
“Yeah.”
His dad finished the last bite of his last dog and drank his milk through a straw until slurping sounds filled the air and he set down the cup. He wiped his mouth on a yellow paper napkin and said, “You just ignore it. Pretend like everything’s fine.”
“Even if it isn’t?”
“A team’s a funny thing,” his dad said. “You can’t force your way in; you have to let it happen. The biggest thing you can do is play well. You just keep your mouth shut and do it to it at the tournament this weekend. You’ll see. Everything will change. Everybody loves a winner, Josh. Everybody.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE TITANS GOT ON a bus at 2:30 the next day after school. The ride to Long Island took about seven hours, but that included a stop for dinner on the way. Josh sat in a window seat in the back reading, and occasionally gazing out at the rolling green Catskill Mountains. After they crossed the George Washington Bridge, Rocky got on the intercom and announced that in a couple minutes they’d be passing the new Yankee Stadium on the left. The bus fell quiet.
Josh cupped his hands and put his face to the window. The sun had dipped behind the clouds, but the stadium glowed with white light, as though a giant treasure lay sparkling within its walls. In fact, it was a treasure, the only true treasure for Josh and his teammates. The heart of Major League Baseball. One of only a handful of places anyone who ever loved the game dreamed they would someday play in.
The bus stayed quiet until they crossed the Triborough Bridge and the towering glitter of Manhattan loomed alongside the dark East River. Chatter about the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, and the jets gliding their way through the night as they piled into La Guardia gave the rest of the ride a festive air. The prospect of the morning’s competition made them giddy, and as they stepped off the bus and walked into the hotel, laughter rang across the Marriott’s lobby.
Rocky handed out the keys, and teammates raced up the side stairs or pestered the elevator button to be first to their rooms for the bed by the window. Josh got his key last and took his time, not caring which bed he slept in because he didn’t really expect to sleep. By the time he got to the bank of elevators, he was able to ride his own car up to the second floor. The door to the room stood ajar. Josh peered in, then stepped slowly, wondering who his roommate for the next two nights would be.
The answer couldn’t have been worse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“I’M TAKING THE WINDOW.” Jones was already laid out on the bed with his shoes still on, staring at the ceiling. He scrunched his pale eyebrows, and the freckles on his cheeks and nose danced in a red soup of anger. In one hand he spun a baseball around and around with the flick of his fingers and wrist.
Josh put his bag on the other bed. He took out a paperback copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, fluffed up the pillows, and sat down to read. After a couple minutes, Jones jumped up and walked out, spinning the ball in one hand.
“And don’t touch my stuff,” Jones said on his way, slamming the door.
Josh stared at the closed door for a moment, sighed, and returned to his book. At ten, a knock on the door preceded Moose, who stuck his head into the room and asked where Jones was. Josh shrugged. Moose looked at him blankly for a moment, then disappeared. Several minutes later the door flew open and Jones stormed into the room, throwing himself down on the bed. Moose shook his head and told them to turn out the lights before saying good-night.
Josh looked at his older teammate, waiting to see what he’d do. Jones yanked two pillows free from under the bedspread, sandwiched his head between them, and turned to face the window.
“You heard him,” Jones said, still facing the window. “Turn the lights off.”
Josh sighed again and went to use the bathroom and brush his teeth. By the time he got out, Jones had begun to snore.
Josh kept the light on and lost himself in his book, finally falling asleep sometime after Edmond Dantès escaped from prison and had a knife fight with pirates on the Isle of Monte Cristo. He woke to the sound of Jones banging around in the bathroom. The book lay open on his chest. Jones emerged from the bathroom in full uniform. He pulled his cap on tight, picked up his glove, and walked out of the room without a word.
Josh got ready, too, and made his way downstairs to the dining room, where most of the team had already sat down to a breakfast buffet. Josh put a scoop of scrambled eggs on a plate along with some cantaloupe and a Danish. He filled a glass with juice, then took a seat in a booth by himself. From the corner of his eye, he watched his teammates, all of them apparently as nervous as he was. Rocky sat as silent as a block of marble in a corner booth surrounded by his coaches.
When the coaches rose from their table, the rest of the team followed without speaking, and they streamed out through the lobby and onto the waiting bus. As they rode toward the Garden City Town Park, the sun poked its nose above the rooftops, blinding Josh with its early rays. He looked away, blinking. They turned a corner, and there lay the green fields, spread far and wide across more than a dozen acres of flatland amid the buildings and houses of the small city.
Two other buses were already in the parking lot, and the Titans’ bus pulled up alongside them. Waiting in the back of the bus while the others unloaded, Josh spotted a silver Taurus pull into the parking lot, pass their bus, and come to rest in a spot near the concession stand. The warmth of familiarity filled his chest before his father emerged from the old Taurus. Even three hundred miles from home he’d sensed—rather than actually seen—the dent in the rear bumper and the white scrape of paint where his mother had nicked the garage. Still, his smile didn’t break loose until he saw his father’s face under the shadow of his thick black hair and eyebrows, darkened even more by stubble from a nightlong drive.
By the time Josh stepped out onto the pavement, his father stood close enough to shake
his hand, which he did.
“How’d you get here?” Josh asked, knowing Rocky had assigned him to a business dinner with the athletic director of a Syracuse-area college the night before.
His father rubbed at the stubble on his chin and grinned in an apologetic way—a way Josh wasn’t used to—and said, “I wasn’t going to miss your debut when the only thing between us was a couple extra-large coffees.”
Josh hugged his father, burying his nose in the comforting smell of his denim shirt.
Josh jumped at the sound of Rocky’s whistle and hustled off toward the field, where the team had already begun to warm up. Josh nearly forgot about his father when their first opponent, the Hempstead Eagles, arrived. He gawked at the sight of their players. They had a pitcher taller than Jones and a catcher with muscles as big as Tucker’s. While Josh had grown used to the size and muscles of his teammates, it seemed almost frightening to see the same thing in kids he didn’t know.
The other thing Josh couldn’t stop marveling at was the distance of the outfield fence. Because the Titans practiced inside, Josh hadn’t yet played on a regulation field. He’d been an occasional batboy for the Syracuse Chiefs and always thought the distance of the outfield fence was something only a grown man such as his father wouldn’t find intimidating. All the home runs Josh had hit in his life up till now had been in parks where the fence stood about two hundred feet from home plate. The field on which they were getting ready to play looked twice as big.
When it came his turn to warm up his bat on some ball tosses hit into the backstop, Josh asked Moose how far it was to the fence.
Moose tugged on the bill of his cap, looked down the first-base line, and said, “Looks like three twenty. Why?”
“No reason,” Josh said, swallowing and turning his attention to the drill.
When Rocky called the team together, his voice rasped as if he’d been up shouting all night.