Strike Zone

by Mike Lupica

  “Now, I don’t tell you this to scare you or make you worry,” Victor said. “Everything’s fine, and your mom and I are good, hardworking people. I’ve learned my lesson, and if I could go back in time and decide not to jump that turnstile, I would. But moving on, there’s nothing I would do to put the two of you in danger, me entienden?” Victor took Nick’s and Amelia’s hands in his.

  Nick and Amelia nodded solemnly, but on the inside, Nick’s chest tightened and his heart pounded wildly. If his father made one more mistake, it could put the entire family in jeopardy. Because if Victor and Graciela were sent back to the DR, they’d take Nick and Amelia with them.

  Nick knew enough about baseball to know how many major-league ballplayers had come from the Dominican Republic to the United States.

  He didn’t want to be one going the other way.

  8

  The Blazers won their next game, against the Stars, improving their record to 2–0. Their third game, and Nick’s next start, was scheduled for the following Tuesday night against the Bronx Giants.

  Not only would Nick be pitching again, but so would the Giants’ ace, Eric Dobbs. He was tall, left-handed, and one of the strongest pitchers in the league. Nick knew how good he was from pitching against him in the spring. Eric knew how good he was, too, and wasn’t shy about letting everybody know it.

  “You know what they say about guys being born on third base and thinking they hit a triple?” Diego said. “Eric thinks he’s better than everyone because his dad works for the Yankees.”

  It was true. Eric’s dad did work in the scouting department for the Yankees, which everyone knew because Eric never shut up about it.

  Every game in the Dream League tournament felt big because there were so few of them to begin with. But this one felt bigger to Nick, and he knew why. Eric was the opposing starter, and he had his eyes on the same two prizes as Nick: winning the championship and winning the MVP award.

  They didn’t have a practice scheduled for the day before the Giants game. But as far as Nick, Ben, and Diego were concerned, every summer day was supposed to have some baseball in it somewhere. No one was using their field at Macombs Dam Park on Monday morning, so for now, it belonged to them.

  The fields at Macombs Dam Park weren’t the nicest they’d ever seen. They had all played on better fields when they traveled in their All-Star league last summer. But the kids who played on those fields didn’t have Yankee Stadium in their backyard. So Nick, Ben, and Diego never felt cheated growing up in the Bronx. The city worked hard to make this new version of the park even bigger and better than the original across the street. This was prime baseball real estate, in close proximity to the home field of the greatest major-league team in the country. What was the phrase? Location, location, location.

  They brought bats, gloves, and some old baseballs to toss around. When it was just the three of them like this, they invented their own hitting and fielding games to try out.

  Nick wasn’t allowed to pitch on days before his starts. So Ben pitched, and Diego took a few turns as well. As good of a catcher as Ben was, he could have been a star pitcher himself; his arm was that true and strong. But Ben had his own baseball dreams of being a catcher in the big leagues someday. Every time Nick urged him to try pitching, Ben’s response was that he was planning to stay behind the plate until somebody better came along.

  So far, no one had.

  After they’d had enough of hitting, Nick jogged over to second base and Ben went to first, while Diego hit them ground balls. After a while, Diego said he wanted to pitch a pretend inning with Ben catching and Nick acting as the home-plate ump calling balls and strikes.

  After Nick called his first pitch a ball, Diego threw his arms up in mock anger and moaned, “You’re squeezing me, ump!”

  Then Nick said something he’d heard an umpire say once: “When it’s a strike, son, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Man, throwing strikes is hard,” Diego said, “even when there’s no batter.”

  Ben grinned and jerked a thumb in Nick’s direction. “Not for him.”

  An hour or so later, they took their stuff up the hill and sat down with their water bottles, watching the rest of the day go by in their corner of the Bronx.

  “I wish the game with the Giants was starting right now,” Diego said, squinting up at the sun.

  “Careful what you wish for,” said Ben. “The guys we’re facing tomorrow night do not stink.”

  “Are you kidding? Eric’s one of the best pitchers in the tournament,” Nick said.

  “But not the best,” Diego was quick to interject.

  Nick sighed. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow night.”

  “You can go ahead and guess,” Ben said. “But Diego and me? We already know.”

  Nick hoped they were right, but didn’t want to believe it too hard. After all, he wasn’t the only one in the Dream League with a chance to win the MVP this season. Ben and Diego were just as capable as he was, and there were plenty of talented players all over the league. But in Nick’s brain, Eric Dobbs was his biggest competition by far. Without having to know Eric all that well, Nick was keenly aware of how much Eric wanted that MVP trophy. Knowing that Eric’s father worked for the Yankees, Nick could imagine how special throwing out the first pitch would be for him.

  “Hey,” Ben said, waving a hand in front of Nick’s face. “Where’d you just go?”

  “I’m right here,” Nick said.

  “No, you had that faraway look,” Diego said.

  “What?” Nick said.

  “You know—the one where you’ve gone off to visit the planet Nick,” Diego said.

  “You think he was alone on that trip?” Ben asked Diego with a sly look in his eye.

  “Hold up,” Diego said, mouth agape. “You think there might have been a . . . girl on the trip with him?”

  “Here we go,” Nick said, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop this runaway train.

  “You think they play tennis on the planet Nick?” Diego said. He could hardly hold in his laughter.

  Ben was already rolling in the grass, cackling.

  “You just crack yourself up, don’t you?” Nick said to Diego.

  “Not just myself, from the looks of it,” Diego said, gesturing to Ben.

  “But did you notice I wasn’t laughing?”

  Ben gave him a shove. “You never think it’s funny when we talk about Marisol.”

  Diego feigned surprise. “I didn’t mention any names. Were we talking about Marisol?”

  Nick felt himself blush at the sound of her name, and instantly regretted it.

  “The girl who I heard might be coming to watch you pitch tomorrow night?” Ben said.

  Nick whipped his head around toward Ben. “How do you know that?” So much for saving face. “Is she really coming? Or are you messing with me?”

  “Her brother may have mentioned she had plans to stop by,” Ben said, clearly enjoying this torture session.

  Diego grinned. “Did the game just get bigger for you?”

  “It’s big enough already,” Nick said, because it was.

  They decided to get in a few more swings before breaking for the afternoon. Then the three of them headed toward Ben’s building and spent the rest of the evening in his apartment watching one of their favorite old baseball movies, The Sandlot. They’d seen it about a thousand times apiece, and practically knew it by heart. But they loved how the star of the team, Benny “the Jet” Rodriguez, ended up making it to the big leagues, with his best pal, Scotty Smalls, growing up to be a professional sports announcer.

  It was a good baseball movie to end a good baseball day.

  Unfortunately, that very same night, Nick’s parents had to take Amelia to the hospital.

  9

  It was a clinic, actually: the Einstein Community H
ealth Outreach Free Clinic on Walton Avenue, called ECHO by the people in the neighborhood. The clinic took in patients who couldn’t afford costly health insurance or hospital stays. It was why the free clinic, Nick’s mom said, was one of the blessings of their lives.

  “Someday we will have the best health insurance money can buy,” Graciela García had once said to Nick. “But for now you have to be like your father and me.”

  “I always try to be like you and Dad,” Nick said.

  His mom had kissed him on the cheek and said, “I meant that for now you must remain healthy, mi hijo. La salud es la mayor riqueza.” She was right. His health was the most valuable thing, and Nick couldn’t argue with that.

  Amelia hadn’t fainted this time, something that’d happened to her on several occasions. But tonight, she started to feel light-headed while watching TV, and was experiencing shortness of breath. In the past, she had just waited for the symptoms to pass.

  But this time the symptoms didn’t pass. It was only about a fifteen-minute walk to the free clinic, but walking wasn’t an option. So Graciela called Mrs. Gurriel, whose nephew was an Uber driver. He’d just dropped someone on River Avenue, and agreed to come straight to 164th Street. As always, Mrs. Gurriel said her nephew would accept no payment.

  “I keep telling you, we’re not a charity case,” Nick’s mom said to Mrs. Gurriel in front of their building, after helping Amelia into the back seat of the car. “My husband and I both have jobs.”

  “Think of this as a family rate,” Mrs. Gurriel said, winking. “Now go.”

  Mrs. Gurriel sat upstairs with Nick after his mom left with Amelia. Victor, who was just finishing his shift at the restaurant, said he would meet them at the clinic. It was usually a short visit for Amelia after having one of the doctors examine her. But if the clinic was crowded, his sister would be there longer. So far, she’d never had to stay the night.

  As a former nurse, Mrs. Gurriel had seen plenty of cases of lupus, and assured Nick that Amelia’s was a milder version than most. But that didn’t do much to ease Nick’s concerns.

  “Is she ever going to be normal?” he said.

  They were sitting in his living room with the Yankee game on in the background. Nick was barely watching it, though he caught Mrs. Gurriel sneaking looks at the screen.

  “What am I always telling you?” Mrs. Gurriel said. “Your sister isn’t normal, and neither are you.”

  She was tall and thin, with a full head of pearly white hair tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck.

  “But I want us to be normal!” Nick said, a bit impatiently. “I want everything to be normal.”

  “When I say that you and your sister aren’t normal,” Mrs. Gurriel said, “I don’t mean it in a bad way. It’s my way of telling you that you are both destined for great things.”

  “You always sound so sure of that,” Nick said, not altogether certain why he was so angry to hear her say it.

  “It’s because I can see the future,” she said, and that frustrated Nick even more. He didn’t believe anyone could predict the future—at least not accurately—but he decided to humor Mrs. Gurriel anyway.

  “Okay, so when you see our future,” Nick said, “do you see all of us living safely in America?”

  “I do.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because that is the way your family’s story is supposed to end,” she said.

  “But when do we get the happy ending?” Nick persisted.

  “I can’t see everything,” she said. “When I was a little girl in Mexico, my mother used to read me a poem. It was about doing the right things to get into heaven, so that one day God could answer all our questions about why things in our life happened the way they did.”

  “I have a question for you, Mrs. G,” Nick said. “Do you think Amelia is okay right now?”

  She nodded without hesitation.

  “Another vision?”

  Mrs. G laughed. “No,” she said, “just my training as a nurse.”

  Amelia returned home not long after the Yankees won their game. The doctor gave her some medicine to help her breathing, but it also caused drowsiness, so a half hour later, she was fast asleep.

  Nick had just finished brushing his teeth when he came out of the bathroom and heard his parents talking in the kitchen. They were trying to keep their voices down, but if Nick stood behind the wall in the hallway, he could hear them faintly.

  “I’m glad you called me,” Victor García said.

  “I didn’t think it was serious this time,” Nick’s mom said. “But I know you hate it when I don’t call.”

  “Knowing is always better than not knowing,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “It’s just that you have so much else on your mind.”

  “And you don’t?”

  Then there was a pocket of silence, until Nick heard something he didn’t often hear.

  The sound of his mother crying. It was like a punch to the gut.

  He wanted to comfort her. Tell her everything was going to be all right for their family, even if he didn’t believe it himself.

  Instead he walked softly across the hall to his sister’s room. At least she was home, in her own bed. At least for tonight she was better. That was enough for him.

  Amelia’s face was illuminated only by the streetlights outside her window. She snored lightly, even though she’d deny it if Nick ever brought it up.

  But there was a half smile on her face. Nick wondered if she was healthy in her dreams, if she was able to go outside whenever she wanted. Sometimes he’d write stories about her transforming into a bird, flying across New York City, free from illness and fear and limitation.

  As he stepped out of the room and tried to shut her door without waking her, Nick heard her say, “Don’t worry about me.”

  “There’s no possible way you’re awake right now. I can hear you snoring.”

  “Liar.”

  Nick threw his hands up in defense. “All I’m saying is, I heard what I heard.”

  “Well, obviously you can’t hear very well, because then you’d know how loud you were stomping around my room,” she said.

  Nick gasped for effect, and Amelia giggled under her blanket.

  “Night, sis,” he said.

  “Night.”

  10

  The Blazers’ game against the Giants was scheduled for six o’clock Tuesday night. Nick, Ben, and Diego were at the field promptly at four thirty.

  “No lie—if I stayed home one minute longer, I was going to lose my mind,” Diego said.

  “Didn’t that happen a long time ago?” Ben said.

  Diego turned and looked at Nick. “Aren’t you going to defend me?”

  “From the truth?” Nick asked, slapping Ben five above Diego’s head.

  Of the three, Diego was the funniest. Nick and Ben could hold their own, but Diego’s humor just came naturally. Ben was the quietest and most introspective of the group. He said he got that from his dad, who’d told him it was best to talk only when you had something to say.

  Nick wasn’t quite as loud as Diego, or as shy as Ben. He was somewhere in the middle, but that was why they made such a good team.

  A team within a team now, with the rest of the Blazers at Macombs Dam Park. The Giants players were now trickling onto the field to warm up.

  “We could end up playing these guys in the championship,” Diego said.

  “I’d sign up for that right now,” said Ben.

  “Let’s just win the game tonight,” Nick said, “and worry about later later.”

  Diego snorted. “Later later?” Then to Ben, “And this kid calls himself a writer?”

  It was common knowledge that Nick’s favorite activity, other than baseball, was writing. He was the only one of his friends who actually enjoyed the ass
ignments from their English teacher.

  “You know what I meant,” Nick said, elbowing Diego in the ribs.

  “Hate to interrupt this precious moment,” said Ben, “but are we ready to do this?”

  “You don’t have to ask me twice,” Nick said.

  Ben reached down and pulled Nick to his feet. Then Nick grabbed Diego and they set off down the hill toward the field.

  11

  The Blazers were designated as the visiting team tonight, which meant they batted first.

  It also meant Eric Dobbs got to pitch first.

  “Eric say anything to you when he got here?” Ben asked Nick.

  They were seated on the Blazers’ bench, on the third-base side of the field tonight, watching Eric take the mound to begin his warm-up pitches.

  “Nah,” Nick said. “But it’s not like we’ve ever been boys.”

  “Knowing him,” Diego said, “I doubt he feels that way about any of his own teammates.”

  “Guy does have filthy stuff, though,” Nick said, sounding almost jealous.

  “Not filthier than yours,” Ben was quick to say.

  “Seriously, though? I can’t treat this like a game of one-on-one with Eric,” Nick said.

  That made Diego laugh.

  “Yeah,” he said to Nick, “keep telling yourself that.”

  Coach Viera waved the rest of the Blazers over to the bench and knelt in front of them in the grass.

  “I’m gonna get right to it,” he said. “We all know who we’re playing. And we know how good their pitcher is. But here’s what I know. Our pitcher is better, and our best game blows theirs out of the water. Now we just have to go out there and play it.”

  Diego was leading off. Andy Friedman, the Blazers’ shortstop, was batting second. Ben was third. Their first baseman, Darryl Taylor, was at cleanup. Nick was batting fifth.

  Nick studied Eric as Diego stepped into the batter’s box. Unbelievably, he looked even taller than he had in the spring, but was still just as skinny, with wisps of blond hair coming out the back of his cap.