Sliding Home

by Joyce Grant

  Sliding Home

  Joyce Grant

  James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers

  Toronto

  For WTW — my home team

  1

  Tagged Out

  Miguel had a big problem. It was standing ninety feet away from him.

  Sebastian, his teammate on the Toronto Blues, was on first base.

  Miguel hitched his bat higher in the air. He circled it above his right shoulder.

  He looked down the baseline. Even from that far away, Sebastian looked huge — stocky and slow. And lazy, thought Miguel.

  Miguel knew he could hit a line drive off the pitcher. But when he did, could Sebastian stay ahead of him around the bases?

  The ball came in soft and low, easy to hit. Miguel swung at it, hard. The ball soared off his bat. Then it dropped like a rock in the outfield. The Red Hawks’ fielders scrambled to pick it up and throw it in.

  Both runners took off from their bases.

  Sebastian was like a freight train. He took awhile to get going but once he did, you wouldn’t want to get in his way.

  Miguel quickly rounded first and looked to see where the ball was. He couldn’t track it, but his coach was windmilling his arms. So Miguel kept running. He reached second base easily and started for third. Halfway there, he heard his coach yelling.

  “Stop! Back!”

  Sebastian hadn’t gone home. The freight train had stopped at third.

  Miguel was glad no one could hear what he said under his breath. He wheeled around, twisting his body. He had to get back to second base. With two out, a rundown — getting stuck between second and third base — would be disastrous for the Blues.

  And it was.

  “Look out! Get back!”

  Miguel dodged the first tag in the rundown. But the Red Hawks’ second baseman tossed the ball to third and pushed Miguel back. The ball got behind Miguel again. He pushed off the baseline toward third to avoid the tag again.

  “Go home!” Miguel screamed at Sebastian. He wanted Sebastian to take home while the other team was distracted by his rundown. But the stocky boy didn’t move.

  And then Miguel felt the ball being pressed into his back.

  “He’s out!” yelled the umpire.

  Silence surrounded Miguel on the long walk from second base to the dugout. The silence drowned out the cheers of the excited Red Hawks celebrating their win.

  It was the Blues’ third loss in a row.

  “Boy, I can’t wait until Jock gets back, eh?” said Sebastian, as they packed up their things.

  “It wasn’t Jock’s fault we lost this game,” said Miguel, his jaw tight.

  “No, but it sure didn’t help. Tami! When does he get back from the States?” Sebastian asked their first-base player.

  “I don’t know,” Tami replied. “But I’m sick of losing to the stupid Hawks. We should have beaten them! Easily!”

  “Hey, you wanna go to Pits Pita?” Sebastian asked Miguel.

  “Huh?” Miguel stopped stuffing his equipment into his baseball bag. “Oh. Uh, sorry, no. I can’t.”

  “You’re mad at me,” said Sebastian.

  “What, because of the play? I was. But hey, it’s over.”

  “You just said it: We didn’t lose because Jock was away. You think we lost because I was too slow,” said Sebastian.

  Miguel wished he had time to sit around talking about things like that. He wished he could go out after a game and grab a pita. He wished his life was more like Sebastian’s — more fun. And more carefree. But it wasn’t.

  Miguel threw his heavy baseball bag over his shoulder. He pulled out his mother’s cell phone. It was old, but he was happy to have it. Its calendar kept track of all his appointments and jobs.

  See you at 8. Kids have been fed. Their bedtime snack is in the fridge.

  The text was from the dad of the kids he was babysitting that night. The screen was so scratched Miguel could barely read it.

  He texted back:

  KK, see you in half an hour.

  What a way to spend a Friday night, thought Miguel. At least he didn’t have to look after his little sister, Claudia, as well. She was at home with his mother. Looking after two kids was enough.

  Miguel trudged up the steep hill to the subway. As he pushed open the heavy door to Christie Station, he heard his teammates chatting and laughing on their way to the pita restaurant.

  2

  Big News

  Two days later, the Blues were back at Christie Pits for a practice.

  One of Sebastian’s arms flung out and clipped Miguel on the ear. “Ow!” Miguel glared at Sebastian.

  “Sorry,” said Sebastian. He ducked to avoid getting hit back.

  The Blues strolled briskly back and forth in a pack. They waved their arms and brought their knees up to their chests. We look like a flock of seagulls, Miguel thought.

  Coach Coop called out the warm-up drill. “Karaokes! One leg crosses in front of the other one.”

  The teammates all turned sideways, in perfect unison.

  This season, Miguel had to practise even harder. He was pitching, along with the regular pitchers, Jock and Raj.

  But he was also a fast base-runner. “Get on base any way you can,” the coach had told him. “A walk, hit-by-pitch, line drive, bunt . . . I don’t care, just get on base.”

  Once Miguel made it to first base, he was almost sure to get all the way around to home.

  Unless, he thought, there’s someone in front of me who runs like a slug.

  He could think of one player who fit that description.

  Miguel was running out in front of the others as they “ran poles.” They ran from the big metal fence pole out in left field to the one on the other side, four times. Even in the hot sun, Miguel was barely breaking a sweat.

  Not Sebastian.

  “You look like you’ve been swimming, Sebastian,” teased Raj.

  “Gross!” said Gnash. “Look at your cap.”

  The band around Sebastian’s blue baseball cap had turned navy. It was stuck on his wet forehead. The navy was outlined by a jagged line of white made by the salt from his sweat.

  “Look at me, I’m a windmill!” Sebastian called out, spinning his arms.

  Miguel was on his way back from his final pole. As he passed Sebastian, who still had one to go, he grimaced. Miguel didn’t dislike the catcher. But he didn’t find Sebastian’s antics very funny, either.

  “I don’t have time for your stupid jokes,” he muttered. These days, he needed to spend every minute of his time getting things done.

  Miguel waited in the dugout for the rest of the teammates to finish their poles. He reached inside Sebastian’s baseball bag and found the water jug. He flipped up the lid to peer inside. He knew it — the jug was empty.

  Miguel picked up his own bottle and carefully poured some water into Sebastian’s jug. When the rest of the Blues arrived at the dugout, Miguel could see Sebastian’s eyes narrow. He knew Sebastian was wondering what Miguel was doing with his water jug.

  Miguel handed it to him. “Here. You need to hydrate.” Sebastian took a big gulp. “Thanks,” he said. Miguel doubted that the bigger boy even realized he’d run out of water.

  “Planning ahead isn’t your best thing, is it?”

  Sebastian shrugged.

  Lin and Tami, the only two girls on the team, arrived at the dugout drenched in sweat.

  “Anyone got a granola bar?” asked Tami. She always seemed to be hungry.

  “No time to eat!” said Coop. “Out onto the field for long toss.”

 
Coop was the Blues’ coach. Miguel didn’t know how old Coop was, but the team thought of him more like a big kid than an adult. When Coop was thirteen, he had helped his own team to victory as a pitcher in the Summer Games. That impressed the Blues players. That and his legendary Mario Kart high score, which none of the kids could get near.

  Last season Coop had sported a faux hawk. But over the winter he’d let his hair grow out — including on his face.

  “Nice hipster beard,” Sebastian had joked at their first glimpse of the coach’s new look. “You got a new girlfriend or something?”

  “Please, no! We couldn’t handle another tragic break-up!” said Tami.

  Miguel was back on the field first. Tami sprinted out too. The rest of the team joined them, lining up in pairs a few feet away from each other. Each one threw and caught the ball, and then took a step back to widen the distance from their partner.

  Tami threw a long toss to Miguel. It hit his glove in one of its many thin spots.

  “Ouch!” Miguel whipped off his glove and shook his hand in the air. “Crap!”

  He rubbed his hand and wedged it back into the glove. Then he tossed the ball back to Tami. It bounced twice before it got to her. In one quick motion, Tami scooped it up and threw it hard and straight back to Miguel.

  “Hey, let’s move in a little,” said Miguel. He took a few steps forward. He shook his hand again.

  Tami was easygoing. She was happy to go along with Miguel’s suggestion. She moved toward him and got ready to throw the ball again.

  Miguel cringed at the thought of another painful catch. But before Tami could throw the ball, the coach rounded up the team.

  “Let’s bring it in!” shouted Coop. “Come on, everyone!”

  Miguel joined the crowd. Like the other players, he went down on one knee in a semi-circle in front of the coach.

  “Okay. You’ve all heard the rumours,” said Coop. “And now I can confirm . . .”

  Coop didn’t even get to finish his sentence before the Blues broke into cheers.

  “Hey, settle down!” said the coach. “Anyway, it’s all set. We are definitely going to the tournament in Ottawa.”

  No one seemed to notice that Miguel wasn’t cheering.

  3

  Charity Case

  “Ottawa! Awesome!” said Sebastian. He punched Tami in the arm. She smiled and punched him back — slightly harder.

  Sebastian rubbed his arm, but his smile said it all. An away tournament! Just what the team needed. “We’ll be playing some of the best teams in the province,” said Sebastian.

  This was the team’s first away tournament. Now that they were old enough, they would finally get to travel.

  “When do we leave, Coach?” asked Tami.

  “In three weeks,” said Coop. “We have one game on the Friday and at least two more on the Saturday. If we do really well, we won’t be home in time for dinner on Sunday.”

  “Good!” said Gnash. “I hate Sunday dinner.”

  Sebastian looked at him in surprise. “Geez. I can’t think of a dinner I hate,” he said. “No, wait — tofurkey. My cousin served that once at Thanksgiving. She’s a vegan. That thing was made of tofu! It just isn’t right.”

  “The trip is in three weeks?” Miguel interrupted before Sebastian could continue his bitter rant about tofu.

  “Yep. Since that Friday is a PA day, we can leave Thursday after school. Our first game is at 9 a.m. on Friday.”

  Miguel mentally ticked off the weeks. This week he had three babysitting jobs, and every night he had to look after Claudia after school. The next week he was going to see the lawyer with his mother so he could translate. And the week after that, two more babysitting jobs. Plus, he got paid to walk a kid in his neighbourhood to daycare every morning. On the weekend of the tournament, he already had several jobs booked, plus his regular ones. His heart sank. He knew there was no way he could go on the trip.

  Miguel watched his teammates high-five each other.

  He wondered what it would be like to be able to take off for three days to play baseball. No work, no one to take care of. Being totally free. Never mind having money for a hotel room and restaurant dinners. He couldn’t imagine it.

  Sebastian saw Miguel’s serious face and laughed. “Oh, man! You’re bummed because Coop put us in the same hotel room, aren’t you?” Sebastian had already read the page of travel details that Coop was handing out.

  “Yeah, that would really suck,” said Miguel. He didn’t want anyone to know how disappointed he was. Coop handed him a piece of paper, which Miguel folded and slipped into his back pocket.

  He didn’t even look at it. There was no need.

  * * *

  The next day kicked off United Way Week at Mid-Toronto Public School, where most of the Blues were in Grade 8. Groups of students had set up tables to raise money for the charity.

  Sebastian was at the bake table buying a cupcake topped with a huge blob of pink icing. He held it in front of his face and eyed it greedily before shoving as much of it as he could into his mouth. Beside him, Tami was doing the same thing.

  “Oh man, Miguel,” said Tami through a mouthful of vanilla and sugar. “You’ve gotta try one of these!”

  “No way,” said Miguel. “I’m getting an empanada.”

  “An empa-what-a?” mumbled Sebastian. Miguel could clearly see the icing and cake covering his teeth.

  “Oh, gross, Sebastian!” said Lin, giving him a shove. “At least swallow before you talk!”

  Sebastian shovelled pink icing from the sides of his face back into his mouth. Then he licked his fingers, one at a time.

  “Gross!” Lin repeated. She walked away.

  Miguel bought a half-moon-shaped meat pastry from the bake table. He took a big bite.

  “Mmmm,” he said, as he chewed. “Not as good as the ones at our family’s bakery back home. But not bad. Not bad at all.”

  “Hey, that looks good,” said Sebastian. “Let me try a bite.”

  Miguel broke off a piece and gave it to Sebastian. “I thought you just had dessert.”

  “What, the cupcake? That was an appetizer!” he said. “Hey! This is really good!”

  “Told you,” said Miguel.

  The bell rang. The students scattered, heading for their classes. Sebastian dropped a dollar into the jar on the bake table and grabbed an empanada.

  “It’s a long walk to math class,” he said, taking a big bite. “Don’t want to get hungry!”

  Miguel stopped by a table staffed by the gym teachers. A sign on the table said: Workouts, $2.

  “Sebastian, that’s what you need,” said Miguel. “Especially after a cupcake and an empanada!”

  “Two cupcakes,” said Sebastian, grinning. “I got here early.”

  Lin and Tami turned to see why the boys had stopped.

  “I would totally chip in to get Sebastian sweating,” said Lin. She pulled a five-dollar bill out of her coat pocket. “Can we watch him?” she asked the gym teacher. “To make sure he actually does it?”

  “I’m in!” said Tami. She tossed a handful of change on the table. “There! That’s enough for three workouts for Sebastian!”

  “Hey!” said Sebastian. “Do I get a say in this?”

  “No!” the others said in unison.

  “Can you throw in an extra workout for free?” Miguel asked the gym teacher. He handed over a fistful of coins. “Buy five, get one free? It’s for a good cause. I don’t mean the United Way, I mean the Blues.”

  “You’ve only bought four workouts,” said the gym teacher, counting the money on the table.

  They turned to Sebastian, who was picking his teeth with his fingernail. When he saw everyone staring at him he stopped mid-pick.

  “What?” he said. “I just spent all my money on cupcakes!”

  �
�Oh, geez, Sebastian!” said Lin, laughing. “Okay, Tami, you and I will chip in another dollar each! You owe us, Sebastian!”

  “Owe you for what?” said Sebastian, looking hurt. “For calling me a fat slob?”

  “You’re not fat, Sebastian,” said Tami.

  “No!” said Lin. She was quick to rise to their friend’s defence. “Not at all!”

  “Just lazy,” said Miguel. “Very lazy!”

  “Extremely lazy. Sooooo lazy,” said Lin.

  “Well, yes, that is true,” said Sebastian, nodding. “So what makes you think I’ll actually go to this workout thing? It’s in the morning before school, right? You know how I like my sleep!”

  The gym teacher looked Sebastian up and down. “You’re probably, what, a catcher?” he asked.

  “That’s right,” said Sebastian.

  “You’re already powerful,” he said. “I can tell that by looking at you. But did you know that one of the most important things for a catcher is fast footwork? I played baseball in college — I know a ton of great drills for catchers. Plyometrics, that’s what you need!”

  “Plyo —” began Sebastian, looking confused.

  He was cut off by the late bell for class. Miguel grabbed the workout coupons and thrust them into Sebastian’s hand. “Here!” he said. The teammates scrambled, breaking into a run to get to class.

  “Sebastian, you’d better go to those workouts!” Miguel shouted over his shoulder. “I don’t want to be hung up at second because of you ever again!”

  “See, I knew it! I knew that was still bugging you!” called Sebastian.

  “I’m booking you for next Monday morning before school! North gym!” the gym teacher hollered down the hall to Sebastian. “We’ll work on your footwork. And thanks for supporting the United Waaaaaay!”

  4

  Frayed Leather

  The next afternoon, the Blues were back at Christie Pits, their home away from home.

  Miguel loved the place. He knew it was named Christie Pits for two reasons. First, it was shaped like a giant mixing bowl — a huge scoop out of the ground, with steeply sloping sides. A gigantic pit. Second, Coach Coop had told Miguel it had started out as a gravel pit. Now it was a beautiful park in the middle of Toronto. It had three baseball diamonds, a big soccer field, a hockey rink, a big swimming pool, basketball courts and a playground.