Center Field Page 4

  It took them almost half an hour to unhook four desktops and their accessories and pack them into padded boxes. Zack and Kat did most of the work. She was wearing loose warm-up pants but he could see the outline of her knee brace. She limped slightly, but she carried heavier weights than Zack. They really didn’t need me, Mike thought. He carried the boxes out to the van; as much as he didn’t want to be here, some part of him wanted to do his share.

  He rode in the back of the van to Bergen Falls, to an apartment building near the railroad tracks. He’d passed the three-story heap of yellow brick hundreds of times on the way to ball games but never really seen it.

  He carried the boxes into the basement of the building and helped Zack and Kat unpack. They began reassembling the desktops. They worked quickly and precisely. Kat pointed to stacks of wooden folding chairs against one chipped green wall. “You might want to set them up, maybe twenty, facing the computers.”

  Where do you learn to talk like that, he thought. You might want to set them up. And then I might not. And you might want to stick them…

  Suck it up, hoss.

  He nodded. He really didn’t mind having something physical to do.

  About nine thirty old people began coming in. Kat said to him, “You might want to stand by the door if anyone needs help.”

  “I just might want to do that,” he said. He turned before he saw her expression. That was stupid, he thought. But what do you expect from a dumb jock?

  Gray heads bobbed past, a zombie parade, he thought, a lot of them shuffling behind canes and walkers, but a surprising number bouncing in on running shoes. He watched a shapeless old woman lurch forward gripping the silver pipes of her walker. She wore a lot of makeup caked in her wrinkles. Dyed red hair stuck out from under her New York Yankees cap, which she wore backward. One of those crone characters out of a sitcom. Somebody’s nutty grandma.

  A couple of kids from school showed up to help the old people send emails and pictures. One of them was a skinny Goth kid who looked familiar. Mike caught them looking at him and whispering. He glared back. They looked away.

  Mike’s mind drifted. Monday and Tuesday were going to be big days, the last two practices before Wednesday’s opening game, the last two chances to show Coach he was a better center fielder than Oscar Ramirez. How good is Ramirez? If he fields as well as he hits, pretty damn good. Got to focus, get into the right mood. The way Billy would. Billy had all the right instincts, he always knew what to do, on the field and off. Having all the tools, even the tactical smarts, isn’t enough. You need to be zoned. Billy is always zoned. Billy is perfect.

  It’s too hard to model yourself on perfect. In Youth Group, Pastor Dan would say that you can’t really be like Jesus but you can take inspiration from Him. Billy might have been in a basement like this—he did a lot of charity work. But he’d be here because he wanted to be here, not because he shoved some skinny nerd.

  There was a low hum of talk in the room, interrupted every so often by laughter or a shout. The zombies seemed to have come alive. The Ridgedale kids were having a good time, too. Some part of Mike wanted to be part of this, not just alone in a corner. He plugged himself into his iPod and listened to a playlist Lori had made for him as a six-month anniversary present. Too many love songs. He hadn’t gotten her anything because he hadn’t even remembered they had an anniversary. They’d drifted into being a couple early in the football season. She and her twin sister, Tori, were twirlers on the cheerleading squad. Really good. It was rare for sophomores to do as many routines as they did. Ryan had hit on them first and then dragged Mike along as his wingman to a concert the twins had scored tickets to. They had all gotten along well. Mike was never sure how they decided who got which twin. It took a while to tell them apart. Lori’s giggle helped at first, then their personalities emerged. Lori was sweet. Tori was tough. Lori liked to read books and talk about them. Tori was addicted to gossip—school and celebrity. Ryan seemed to like being bossed around by Tori. Mike liked how Lori let him stay in his zone. Respected his space.

  He tried to think about Lori, but there wasn’t all that much more to think about. He realized he wasn’t looking forward to seeing her tonight. He heard Kat urging an old man to try moving his mouse a little more firmly. It was the first time he hadn’t heard a sharp edge to her voice. She was smiling as she leaned over to guide his hand. Her breasts brushed the back of his head. The old man didn’t notice. Mike felt warm. He looked away.

  And then Zack was thanking them for coming. Next week, he said, they would join internet groups. There was applause. Mike was surprised to realize it was already past one P.M.

  While the old people took their time leaving, he helped Zack and Kat unhook the computers and pack them up. He carried the boxes out to the white van.

  The old lady in the backward Yankees cap was one of the last to leave. He held the door for her. She said, “You don’t look like a computer brainiac to me.”

  “I’m the dumb jock bodyguard,” he said.

  She threw back her head and laughed. She repeated the line to a few people before she shuffled out.

  Back at school, after they unloaded and rehooked the computers, Kat said, “Wonder why we have to do all this? The school can spend a hundred thousand dollars on sports equipment, a new weight room, indoor and outdoor batting cages, you believe that? But they can’t come up with more money for secondhand laptops for outreach programs that benefit the entire community.”

  Zack said, “He can read it all on RidgedaleReform dot org.”

  “Like he can read,” said Kat. “Or cares.”

  Zack turned to Mike. “You coming next week?”

  The question puzzled him. “Coach Cody said you wanted me for three weeks.”

  Kat and Zack exchanged glances again.

  “Fine,” said Zack. “Same time and place.” It had started raining. “You want a ride home? There’s room for the bike in the van.”

  “I’m okay.” It came out more sharply than he had intended.

  “He can get wet,” said Kat. “He’s a dumb jock bodyguard.”

  TEN

  “I know Zack Berger,” said Lori. “He’s very intense.”

  Ryan made a slurping sound. “And tastes so good.”

  Lori’s twin, Tori, hit Ryan with a French fry. “He comes to more cheerleading shows than you.”

  “To hand out propaganda,” said Andy.

  “So at least he considers them important,” said Lori.

  “To dump on America,” said Andy. “Tell me why some geek who thinks he knows everything can say anything he wants and get away with it and if I say certain things I’m a bigot.”

  “We love you but you’re a bigot,” said Lori.

  “If Mike had slugged me, he’d of gotten a medal,” said Andy.

  “I’d give him one for that,” said Ryan.

  “Mike shouldn’t have hit him,” said Tori.

  “He must have been provoked,” said Lori. She sounds like Mom.

  “Now shut up,” said Ryan. “It’s on.” He tapped the mute button on the remote and a cage fighter who looked like a gorilla started explaining the rear naked choke like an English teacher might explain Melville.

  “Are these guys actors?” said Lori without moving her head from Mike’s shoulder. They were on the big leather couch. She was playing with Mike’s hair. He was enjoying it and annoyed at the same time. She always had her hands on him. He didn’t feel into it right now.

  “Mixed martial arts is the latest weapon of mass distraction,” said Andy. He lowered his voice and continued talking to Lori, who nodded, wide-eyed. He loves to hear himself, thought Mike, and she thinks he’s so smart. I don’t even feel jealous.

  He didn’t feel like being with them or watching the fights. If his sore ankle wasn’t propped on the arm of the couch, wrapped in an ice pack, he would get up and leave. Then what? He didn’t feel like being with himself either.

  And where would he go? They were in his house, in
one of the best media rooms in town, an eighty-four-inch pull-down screen in front of them, a high-definition video projector on the ceiling, decks of DVD, CD, and iPod players, speakers angled off the ceiling and walls. Dad had set up the basement rec room as a place to entertain politicians, clients, and suppliers when he opened the first store in better days, but he didn’t use it much now. There was a popcorn machine and a refrigerator stocked with soda, white wine, and beer. The liquor cabinet was locked but Mike knew where Dad hid the key. Could use a belt of Captain Morgan right now, but he didn’t dare open the good booze. Ryan and Andy knew how to soak it up.

  Lori whispered, “Whatcha thinkin’?” She was always trying to get closer. Inside his mind.

  He shook his head, thinking he’d be fine with everyone leaving right now. Andy and the twins wanted to meet up with some other kids in Nearmont, but Ryan wanted to watch some of the cage matches first and Mike said he needed to rest his leg. He really didn’t, but just thinking about a crowded party filled with new people had darkened his mood. He wanted to walk into a room as the center fielder of the Ridgedale Rangers, not just another jock scrambling for a starting spot on the varsity.

  I need sunlight, he thought, a new season. Put me in, Coach. Center field.

  Tori said, “So what did they make you do?”

  “Move stuff around,” said Mike. “They went to a senior center.”

  “The Crumblies,” said Lori. When everybody looked at her, she said, “That’s what they call old people in this book I’m reading about the future where they make everybody pretty and dumb at sixteen.”

  “Sounds like the present to me,” said Andy.

  Lori giggled, a tinkly sound that once had seemed cute to Mike.

  “So what did you do there?” said Tori.

  “They showed them how to send pictures to their grandkids,” said Mike.

  “It’s a cover to spread left-wing propaganda,” said Andy.

  “I’d rather spread left-wingers,” said Ryan.

  “That’s demented.” Tori poured popcorn on his lap.

  Ryan laughed. “Now you gotta eat it, no hands.”

  I wish they would just disappear, thought Mike.

  “Zack give you a hard time?” said Andy.

  “Why would he do that?” said Lori. “Mike was helping out.”

  “Geeks are into payback,” said Andy. “Weak bullies are the worst.”

  “Tigerbitch there?” asked Tori.

  “Who?” said Mike. But somehow he knew. Felt excited.

  “Katherine Herold,” said Tori. “The guys on the track team call her Tigerbitch.”

  “Why?” said Mike.

  “Mood swings,” said Tori. “She can be nice one day, nasty the next. Same day sometimes.”

  “Sounds like our cat,” said Mike. He wanted to hear more.

  “Maybe she’s like bipolar,” said Lori. “I read this…”

  “She just hates men,” said Andy.

  “She just hates you,” said Ryan.

  “I thought she was Zack’s girlfriend,” said Mike. Why am I fishing for information? Zack didn’t have girlfriends.

  “You sound interested,” said Lori in her cutesy voice. Must be jealous, Mike thought.

  “She’s too complicated for Mike,” said Andy.

  Lori’s face got soft and hurt while Tori’s tightened up. They were identical twins, short, dark-haired with pretty faces and pert butts and boobs, but they didn’t even look like sisters when Lori got that wounded look and Tori leaped to defend her.

  “What does that mean, complicated?” snapped Tori.

  “She’s political, she’s smart,” said Andy. “Although misguided in her beliefs. A terrific athlete. You know, she’s also a really good filmmaker?”

  Lori looked like she was going to cry.

  “I bet it was Tigerbitch’s idea to make Mike work for them,” said Ryan. “To keep him away from twirlers.”

  Lori relaxed and laughed but Tori kept glaring at Andy.

  “It was Cody’s idea,” said Andy. “Everything he does is designed to keep us off balance and retain his totalitarian control of the school.”

  “The Chocolate War,” said Lori. “I read that last year.”

  “If it’s in a novel,” said Andy, sneering, “it must be true.”

  “You should read more,” said Lori. “It helps you understand relationships.”

  “Andy doesn’t need to understand relationships because he doesn’t have any,” said Ryan.

  Mike was trying to think of a way to get the conversation back to Kat when Tori said, “Can we go now?”

  “The twin has spoken,” said Ryan, rising.

  Lori untangled herself from Mike and helped Tori straighten up the room.

  I’ll bail out by complaining about my ankle, thought Mike, and then I’ll feel angry at myself for lying. But I’ll explode if I have to be with them much longer.

  He could predict what would happen next. Andy, Ryan, and Tori would head off to Nearmont. Lori would stay but she wouldn’t make a fuss when he said he was in pain and wanted to get to sleep. She’d be disappointed, which would make him feel bad, but she’d say she was in the middle of a good book to make him feel better. She’d wait to be sure her sister and the guys were gone before she went home. She wouldn’t want them to think she was getting kicked out, too.

  He knew he’d be glad to be alone, but he’d be lonely, too. He could take a Vicodin for the pain in his ankle or a shot of Captain Morgan for the pain in his head. Never both, a deadly combination. How about neither? Suck it up.

  What’s wrong with me? Why do I treat Lori like this? Because I can? Never get away with being like this with Tigerbitch.

  ELEVEN

  Coach Cody pulled him out of his last class of the day, a study hall for jocks, and walked him toward the front offices. “Talk to me. Saturday. Zack Berger.”

  “We took computers to the senior center in Bergen Falls, brought them back.”

  “What were they computing?”

  “I think they were teaching them to send emails and pictures.”

  “Think? What were you doing?”

  “I wasn’t paying much attention.” Thinking about center field. He wondered if he should ask about that.

  “Got to stay in the now, wherever you are,” said Cody. He put a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “A lot of intangibles go into how I set my roster, you know what I mean?”

  “No,” said Mike. He looked Coach in the eye, but broke contact first.

  “There are a lot of ways to help the team,” said Coach. “Stay awake next week. I want to know exactly what they’re up to. Go get ready for practice.”

  By the time Mike dressed and ran out to the field, Coach Cody and his assistant coaches were running positioning drills. They would be repeating them all season but never as intensely as now. Coach always said that fatigue lost games and fundamentals won them. Maybe he’d read Billy’s book, too. The basic drills taught you what to do and how to do it while the Ranger Runs made sure you had the stamina in the late innings to concentrate and execute.

  Today they were drilling outfielder positions on balls hit to infielders. It was routine on most plays, backing up the infielder in front of you. Follow the ball. It would become more complicated soon, Mike knew, depending on the score of the game, how many outs, how many runners on base. He loved that part of baseball, the thinking and remembering part, the math and science of it, as much as the pure athletics of running, catching, throwing, and hitting. He twisted his fist in the oiled pocket of his glove.

  Oscar was all over center field, moving at the ping of the ball against Coach Cody’s silver bat. Oscar was quick enough to back up Eric in left and Ryan in right, and he charged in so fast on balls that scooted through the hole that he often had the chance to throw out the runner at first. His arm was a live whip. Oscar was always in the right spot.

  Mike wondered if he had attended one of those baseball academies in the Dominican Republic he had
read about in Sports Illustrated. They were operated by major league clubs. They were set up like real schools except kids didn’t study much besides baseball.

  After a while Coach Cody waved Oscar in and sent Mike out to center. As they passed near second base, Oscar gave Mike a wink. Hector Ortiz saw the wink and said something in Spanish. Hector and Oscar laughed.

  Mike pushed down his anger and focused on Cody at home plate. “Sharp now. One out, runner at third.” He signaled Oscar to run at third.

  One out, thought Mike, sacrifice fly, tag-up situation. Depending on the batter and the score, he might play deep or shallow. Just be ready. Easy drill. Done this a hundred times.

  Soft fly to center. Ryan and Eric ran over to back him up. Mike moved in, set himself, felt the ball settle into his glove. Oscar was running. Andy had moved over from first to set up a line from center to home, to guide the throw. He’d cut it off if Oscar went back to third, otherwise get out of the way.

  Should be an easy out.

  Hector ran to his right to cover second in case Mike dropped the ball. That was right. But Hector was yelling at Andy, what the hell was he saying? For an instant Mike lost concentration. He paused in his throw as Andy got out of the way. The catcher was crouched at the plate, waiting. Mike pegged home.

  Oscar was sliding under the tag. He bounced up, dusting off his pants and laughing. Hector was laughing, too.

  Had he distracted Mike to make him look bad? Come on, that’s really paranoid. You let yourself get distracted. But Andy was yelling at Hector and Cody was shouting, “Stay alert, Mike.” Just what he needed to hear. Now say it in Spanish for the illegal.

  It didn’t get better. Oscar ran out to replace Eric in left and beat Mike to a soft fly in short left center. Could have been either fielder’s ball, but the center fielder, the stronger fielder, usually takes those. Then Coach Cody waved Mike to left and Oscar back to center. Give me a chance to get settled into my position. It is my position, right?