Baseball Great

by Tim Green

  Avoiding her eyes, he took his seat. The bus doors hissed and banged shut. The gears ground and off they went. Before the next stop, Josh felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked back. Jaden didn’t look at him, but she dumped the folded sports section of the morning paper over the back of his seat and into his lap.

  “Congratulations,” she said, speaking the words as though someone were jamming a spoonful of nasty medicine into her mouth at the same time.

  Josh sat looking forward. His fingers closed around the paper and he tapped it lightly against his other hand, thinking. Finally, without turning, he said, “Thanks.”

  Josh couldn’t help smiling to himself the whole ride to school. Every other person who got on flashed their eyes his way, offering up a knowing nod that told him they, too, had seen the big sports page and his picture. When the bus finally pulled up in front of Grant Middle, Josh almost waited for Jaden to catch up to him. Something about Jaden tugged at him the way a campfire drew him close on a dark night in the woods, and he felt as if the newspaper was a peace offering and that she’d talk to him again.

  But when Josh turned, Jaden didn’t get off the bus after he did. He saw her sitting there with her arms crossed as if she was mad that he hadn’t shown more appreciation for her congratulations. So Josh shrugged and headed for his locker, where Benji stood, bouncing on his toes.

  “Hey, dude,” Benji said.

  Josh just looked at him, then spun the dial on his lock.

  “Congrats, my man,” Benji said, patting Josh on the back. “Front page of the sports section. I had breakfast at Denny’s with my dad this morning. He said you’re on your way. His exact words. What do you think about that, huh?”

  Benji’s dad worked on the line at a plastics factory, but he also played for the Salt City Express, Syracuse’s semi-pro football team. Even though Benji’s dad lived on the other side of town and didn’t spend that much time with him, Benji still considered his dad the ultimate authority on sports. Josh had gone to a couple of Express games with Benji. Along with a crowd of about fifty other people, he’d seen Mr. Lido manhandle the opposing teams’ defensive linemen. Even Josh’s father talked about how Mr. Lido had been a starter at Ohio State before he blew out his knee, so the praise carried some real weight for Josh, and he couldn’t keep from beaming at his friend.

  “He said so, even if I’m not your teammate?” Josh said, teasing him.

  “Aw,” Benji said, brushing away the words with a flick of his wrist, “you and me don’t hold grudges. I’m no hater, and neither are you. Speaking of teammates, I want you to talk to your dad about getting me on that U12 team with Esch. They could use my skills, and my dad says that’s the path to the big leagues. You can have all the talent in the world, but you gotta have the right training. I figured he meant me when he said it.”

  Josh took his books from the locker and glanced over at his friend.

  “Right,” Josh said.

  Josh still felt anger at Benji, but his friend’s silly smile and enthusiasm were quickly melting it away.

  “Oh, dude, there’s the bell,” Benji said. “See you in math.”

  Ms. Huxter didn’t give them time for anything in math except common denominators, so Benji didn’t get to really pester Josh about the U12 team until lunch. He started in right away, and even though Josh told him he’d do his best, Benji didn’t let it go. He kept listing his unique skills for Josh and demanding that he repeat them so that when Sheila Conway set her tray down on the other side of him, Josh forgot to be terrified.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “HI, JOSH,” SHEILA SAID, splitting open a carton of milk and removing a pear from her bag. With her golden hair pulled tight into a ponytail, she looked even prettier than usual.

  Benji blinked at Josh from across the table, his mouth open, and miraculously silent.

  “Hi,” Josh said, coughing up the word from the bottom of his lungs.

  Sheila turned the pear, studying it before taking a small bite and saying, “I heard you broke up with Jaden.”

  Josh looked at Benji, whose mouth now opened and closed like a goldfish’s.

  “I, uh,” Josh said, stuttering, “n-never was going out with her to begin with.”

  Sheila looked at him with pale blue eyes as cool and motionless as the ones in the glass cat his mother kept on a little shelf beside the kitchen clock. They reflected the light like jewels, or tiny shards of broken mirror.

  “I’m so glad,” she said.

  Josh swallowed even though his bologna and lettuce sandwich remained suspended halfway to his mouth without a fresh bite since she’d sat down. He glanced across the lunchroom and saw Jaden sitting by herself in the far corner.

  “Because I broke up with Bart,” Sheila said. “I did it yesterday. I mean, it didn’t have anything to do with your picture in the paper. I want you to know that. He’s too controlling.”

  Josh heard some air escape Benji. He looked down at his sandwich, willing it toward his mouth. He had no idea what she meant, but it wouldn’t do to say so. If he could only take a bite, he’d have something to do other than gawk at those eyes.

  “So, I was thinking,” Sheila said without so much as a glance at Benji, “you and I could go out now.”

  Benji squeaked and stuck a knuckle into his mouth, nodding at Josh to say yes, but Josh couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t talk. It took every ounce of will he had just to keep breathing. He was both thrilled by the direct attention of the beautiful older girl and horrified by the thought of what her ex-boyfriend might do.

  Sheila munched at her pear, taking small sips from her milk between bites. Benji began to eat again, chewing wildly, his eyes darting from Josh to Sheila and back again as though he were watching a tennis match. When she finally finished, Sheila stuffed her empty milk carton and the core of her pear into her lunch bag before reaching out and covering the back of Josh’s left hand.

  He went rigid, but she only patted his hand and said, “This is going to be so cool. You’re so cute, Josh. I love how you’re just quiet and cute.”

  Josh watched her get up and walk away. Benji pounded the table with his fist.

  “Dude, you are so going out with her!” Benji said. “She is the bomb! Sheila Conway! Dude, you are my hero!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  JOSH FELT THE BLOOD return to his face, red hot, and he glanced around, horrified at the staring faces.

  “Be quiet,” he told Benji.

  “No, dude, it is so cool. She asked you out. She’s the bomb!”

  “Be quiet, Benji,” Josh hissed, grabbing his friend’s wrist as he glanced all around. “I’m not going out with her.”

  “You so are,” Benji said, laughing. “And she is so hot. Ow, dude! That hurts.”

  “Stop it!” Josh said, tightening his grip.

  “Jeez,” Benji said, pulling away. “You act like you caught a disease. Are you nuts?”

  “I am not going out with her,” Josh said, keeping his voice low. “I am not going out with anyone. Why? Why would I do that? What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Benji said, rubbing his wrist and looking hurt. “You hold her hand. You go to the dance with her. You send her a couple notes and text message her on a daily basis. Maybe you kiss her, dude.”

  Josh felt a chill go through him, and he shook his head. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “But she did,” Benji said. “And you didn’t say no, and who would believe it if you did?”

  “She’s got a boyfriend who was ready to kill me when I wasn’t going out with her,” Josh said.

  “You’ll crush that guy,” Benji said. “He’s a beanpole. You’ll snap his neck like a candy cane.”

  “Would you stop that, Benji?” Josh said. “Just stop it. Do you think this is a movie? Do you think I’m Bruce Willis or something? This is real. That guy’s gonna come after me.”

  “The only way to stop a bully is to punch him right in the mouth,” Benji said
. “That’s what my dad says. That’s why you don’t see anyone giving him any cheap shots on the football field. Bam. Right in the mouth. That’s what my dad does.”

  “I’m not your dad,” Josh said.

  The bell rang, and Josh threw his half-eaten sandwich down on the cellophane wrapper.

  “I didn’t even get to eat,” he said.

  Benji grinned at him, held up both hands palms up, shrugged, and said, “You don’t need food, man. You can be like Romeo and live on love.”

  “Bam,” Josh said, extending his fist into the air between them.

  “What’s that?” Benji asked.

  “For you,” Josh said, letting his fist drop. “Right in your mouth.”

  “Save it for Bart,” Benji said, still smiling and giving Josh’s arm a friendly squeeze. “You’ll need it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  IF THE TITANS THOUGHT Rocky would ease up on their practices after the big win, they were wrong. Monday and Tuesday left Josh so sore and tired that his mom had to dump a Dixie cup of cold water on his head to get him up on Wednesday morning, and he had to take three aspirins before he could pick up his cereal spoon. In math class, he actually fell asleep until Ms. Huxter’s ruler exploded off his desktop.

  “Dude,” Benji said, tagging along as they moved through the hallway toward lunch, “what’s up?”

  Josh groaned and told him that Rocky was trying to kill them.

  “Don’t you have another tournament this weekend?” Benji asked. “Did you know the U12 team has its tryouts Saturday?”

  Josh glanced at him. “Yes, we have a tournament, and why wouldn’t I know about the tryouts? I’m the one who begged my dad just to get you into those tryouts.”

  “Aw,” Benji said, waving his hand, “he was gonna ask me anyway, you know that. A hitter like me?”

  Josh shook his head.

  “Anyway,” Benji said, “my point is, Rocky will probably start taking it easy on you guys now with the tourney coming up on Saturday.”

  “I hope so,” Josh said.

  As she did on Monday and Tuesday, Sheila plunked herself down right next to Josh at lunch and started talking to him as if she’d known him for years. He’d grown used to her presence enough to eat and even had worked up the courage to respond to her questions with a muted yes or no. The one question he wanted to ask he could never seem to get out: How was Bart handling the breakup?

  Josh still insisted to anyone who asked that he wasn’t going out with her, but no one listened. Jaden wouldn’t even look at him, and on the bus ride to school, he saw her in the back, one time trading shoves with one of the regular troublemakers before cracking open her book.

  On the way to practice, Josh’s dad talked excitedly about a sale he’d made to supply the baseball team at the local community college with a year’s supply of Super Stax.

  “Do you know that if this Nike deal goes through, I could make more money working for Rocky in one year than I averaged in my last four seasons?” his dad said. “They’re talking now about sponsoring the U12 team, too.”

  “Great.”

  “But nothing like what you’ll make in the big leagues, buddy,” his father said excitedly. “I just want to be your agent.”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  His dad reached over and tousled his hair. When they arrived at Mount Olympus Sports, Josh hopped out and dashed inside, only to find the locker room empty except for Moose, looking grim.

  “Just head out to the field,” Moose said.

  “But lifting,” Josh said.

  Moose angled his head toward the door that led to the field and said, “You don’t need your stuff.”

  Josh’s insides tightened, and he walked through the locker room in a trance, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong, frantically searching the past few days for something that could have resulted in his being let go. It didn’t seem possible.

  When he swung open the door, he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the rest of the team, also in their school clothes, in a half circle around Rocky. Josh took a knee and waited. Two more players came out after him, and Rocky cleared his throat.

  “Do it to it,” Rocky said. “That’s what you did in Garden City.”

  Instead of smiling, Rocky scowled as he continued. “But instead of letting you pat yourselves on the back, I wanted to see how you’d respond to some tough sessions. Well, you did good. You did real good, and so today, we’re gonna have some fun.”

  Rocky’s assistants broke out in smiles, and even Rocky himself looked kind of happy.

  “Instead of working your tails off again, I rented out the laser tag place at Destiny USA.”

  Josh joined the rest of the team, hooting and clapping his hands.

  “We got a couple vans, so load ’em up and move ’em out,” Rocky said, pointing a finger in the air and lowering it like a loaded pistol toward the front doors before firing with his thumb. “Do it to it.”

  Josh followed the surge of players out the doorway and piled into the second van with eight other guys, Moose, and another assistant. When they got to the mall, Josh suited up in his laser pack and dove into the maze with a whoop. The team chose up sides and played hard, running for cover, sprinting in all-out assaults, and dodging enemy fire. By the time it was over and Rocky led them toward the food court, sweat drenched Josh’s shirt. He spotted the restrooms off to one side. He told Moose where he was going, and the coach asked Josh if he wanted fries and a soda. Josh said Sprite would be great and that he’d be right back.

  Josh walked into the bathroom and smelled the stink of cigarette smoke right away, then saw a little cloud float up from one of the stalls. He wrinkled his nose but stepped up to a urinal, eager to get back. When the door to the smoky stall banged open, Josh looked up into the mirror from washing his hands.

  “Well, well, well, I come to the mall looking for a new hoody and what do I find? A little rat who likes sniffing where he shouldn’t, a rat gonna get snapped up in a trap. Smack, like that.”

  Josh spun around, then backed up, bumping the sink—no place to go.

  Bart Wilson had him cornered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  WITHOUT ANOTHER WORD, BART grabbed a handful of Josh’s sweaty T-shirt and flung him backward into the stall. The door crashed in and Josh stumbled, slipping on the slick floor, lucky to catch himself on the toilet, his head missing the pipe by an inch.

  “Fight me, don’t fight me,” Bart said, growling and grabbing for Josh. “I don’t care. I’m wiping the floor with you, you little rat.”

  Josh gritted his teeth and shook his head. Instead of turning away, he steadied himself, clenched his hand into a fist, and reared it back like he was going to throw to first base.

  When a hand appeared from nowhere and snatched Bart by the collar out of the doorway to the stall, Josh froze in amazement, still balanced against the toilet. Two quick smacking sounds and Bart shot back past the opening, banging into the next stall hard enough to rattle the walls. Josh could see Bart under the dividing wall, squirming on the floor and crying out in pain.

  Josh jumped up and peeked out.

  Jones stepped forward and delivered a kick to Bart’s stomach with the thud of a punted football. Bart grunted and wretched, then scrambled into the corner, covering his face with his hands, cringing, and sobbing for Jones to stop. Bright ribbons of blood leaked from beneath Bart’s hands and dribbled from his chin onto the small, white floor tiles.

  Jones loomed over Bart, his fists clenched and raised as if he had no intention of stopping. The veins in his neck bulged like Rocky’s. Josh put a hand on Jones’s shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” Josh said.

  “It’s not okay,” Jones said, directing his snarl at Bart. “You don’t touch Josh again. He’s twelve, you jerk. You got a problem, you come see me. You don’t even look at him, you got that?”

  Bart nodded and whimpered, but it wasn’t enough for Jones, and he shouted, “You got that!”
r />   Jones lunged at Bart, ready to strike.

  “Yes!” Bart said, nodding furiously and covering his head, his voice nasal and drowning in blood. “Yes! I got it! Yes. Yes.”

  Jones let his hands fall to his sides, but he stood panting and glowering at Bart.

  “Not ever,” Jones said, stabbing his finger. “Or I’ll come looking for you.”

  “I won’t,” Bart whined, shaking his head.

  “Come on, Jonesy,” Josh said, tugging on his teammate’s arm and dragging him out of the bathroom.

  Jones shook Josh free and said, “I gotta wash my hands. You better wash yours, too.”

  “What about him?” Josh asked in a whisper, afraid someone would come and they’d be in trouble.

  “Forget him,” Jones said loudly with disgust, stepping up to the sink and soaping up his hands. “Anyone asks, he slipped.”

  Josh followed Jones’s lead and washed his hands, scrubbing up past his elbows and drying off with paper towels.

  Bart stayed in the corner, bleeding and sniffling.

  As they marched out of the restroom, Josh thanked his teammate.

  “I never liked that guy anyway,” Jones said, cracking the knuckles of his fingers one at a time.

  “I was gonna hit him,” Josh said, feeling suddenly foolish.

  Jones looked at him and smiled, “Yeah, well, it looked like he ambushed you.”

  “He kind of did,” Josh said, nodding vigorously.

  “So, you got back up, that’s all,” Jones said. “I’m sure if I wasn’t there, you’d have done the same thing to him. Might have taken you a little longer.”