by Joyce Grant
The Pirates’ second baseman was yelling to the third baseman. Miguel couldn’t make out what he was saying. It was probably, “Give me the ball!”
All of a sudden, it was no longer about baseball for Miguel. It was about everything. It was about his terrible morning. It was about being worried all the time. And the bakery that his father was fighting to protect. And the unfairness of being a kid who had a job. And it was about rich people.
Miguel had a sudden urge to smash through anything standing in his way. And right now, that was the guy on second base.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Pirates’ third baseman launch the ball to their second baseman. Miguel rose up. With a mighty lunge, he threw his feet forward. Miguel felt like he was moving in slow motion. He felt the gravelly dirt give way as the heels of his cleats carved a trench through it. His hands went up over his head. He flew, nearly horizontal, toward the base.
The Pirates’ second baseman had the ball. He was in front of the base, waiting to tag him out. And then, sickeningly, he wasn’t. Miguel felt the crunch of his cleats against the ankle of the Pirate. He was still sliding as the player came down on top of him with all of his weight. There was a dull thud as they collided. Miguel was still sliding. He realized in a panic that if he didn’t grab the base, he was going to slide right past it. He twisted his body around and clawed at the base. He didn’t want all of this to be for nothing.
Miguel managed to catch the base with his right hand. He held on to it. The umpire towered over Miguel and the Pirate. He spread his arms wide in a sweeping gesture.
“Safe!”
The crowds on both sides of the field erupted. Parents and children were yelling. Depending on which side they were on, they were screaming about how fair or unfair the call was. A few of the parents on both sides were yelling at Miguel for making a “rough slide.”
Miguel barely heard any of it. He was thinking about how much he wanted to win the game. How much he wanted to beat the Pirates. At that moment, those were the only thoughts in his head.
“Time!” he called to the ump. He stood up and brushed off his pants, careful to keep one foot on the base.
That was when he noticed that the player at second base hadn’t gotten up. The Pirate was trying to get up using only one leg. But he couldn’t. Miguel saw that the boy’s pant leg was ripped where his cleat had gone into it.
Miguel stopped thinking about winning. He no longer felt blinded with anger. He held a hand down to the boy to help him up.
“Get away from me!” said the second baseman, through gritted teeth. “Jerk!”
The noise of the crowd washed over Miguel, full force. He had done something terrible. Something that might have resulted in someone getting hurt. Miguel felt his face go red. But he didn’t move his foot from the base.
10
Off Base
Coach Coop sprinted out to second base. He put his arm around Miguel. In a low voice, he said, “All right. All right. You’re good.” Then he went over to talk to Ben, the umpire.
Miguel couldn’t hear what they were saying. The Pirates’ coach was yelling something at Ben. Ben was holding up his hands and shaking his head at both coaches. The umpire took a step back from the coaches.
The Pirates’ coach became more and more agitated. The umpire pointed at him, and then at the dugout. Although Miguel couldn’t hear the words, it was clear that the Pirates’ coach was being kicked out of the game.
Players from both sides poured out of their dugouts and onto the field. Miguel saw Gnash shove one of the Pirates. Stretch hopped onto the field on one foot, carrying one of his crutches. He was screaming and his face was beet red.
Slowly, Miguel took his foot off the base. Then, he walked right into the dugout.
Miguel watched the chaos from the bench. Ben was trying to stop the argument. But things were clearly well past anything the young umpire could do.
“Everybody, get back to your dugout,” he said. He waved his arms at both teams and pointed toward their dugouts. “Get back to your dugout now or this game is over!”
Beside Miguel on the bench was Sebastian. Miguel was shocked to see that the catcher was laughing.
“Nice job!” he said.
“What?” asked Miguel.
“Are you kidding? You slid into that kid like a bulldozer. Did you see his pants?”
“I was going for the base.”
“I know you were. But don’t you think you were going for it a bit hard?”
Miguel felt his face become hot. He got up and walked back onto the field, where the others were taking their places again. The Pirates’ second baseman was in the visitor dugout with ice on his ankle.
In his place was another Pirates player. Miguel nodded to her. She shoved her cap down on her head and looked away from him.
“You’d better not try that crap with me,” she said. “Or you’ll be sorry.”
Her words sent a chill down Miguel’s spine. You’ll be sorry. It was exactly what one of the thugs had said to his father. In fact, it was one of the reasons Miguel’s mother had gone on ahead with the children to Canada.
“Play ball!” Ben’s voice carried to second base.
The game ended in a tie. But Miguel no longer cared about the score. He felt that he had lost. He’d lost control of his anger. He felt like he was losing his self-respect, too.
He just wanted to go home. He wanted to be held by his mother, to have her tell him that it would all be okay. He wanted to stop feeling responsible for everything. He wanted someone to say they were on his side. That he wouldn’t have to work anymore, and that his father would be fine.
But he knew none of that could happen. Not yet.
As if reading his mind, Jock approached Miguel in the dugout after the game.
“I’m with you,” he said simply.
Miguel stopped shoving his equipment in his bag and looked up. “What?”
“I said, I’m with you.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re a good person.”
“No, I’m not,” said Miguel. His voice trembled. “I nearly broke that kid’s ankle.”
“But you didn’t,” said Jock. They could see in the visitor dugout that the hurt Pirates player was up now, walking gingerly on both feet.
“But I could have.”
“But you didn’t,” Jock repeated.
“Maybe I wanted to,” said Miguel. His bottom lip quivered.
Jock put his arm around Miguel’s shoulders. “No, you didn’t want to,” he said. “You were angry. But you’re not that kind of guy. You’re not someone who hurts other people.”
“How do you know?”
“I know, because I know you. And I’ve been there. I’ve felt like I was under pressure to do everything. To help my mom, to get good grades. To be the best ball player. To have to stand up for everyone in the world who is gay.”
Miguel was fighting to hold back tears.
“You didn’t want to hurt that guy. But you’re hurting. And you want it to stop. Am I right?” Jock was practically whispering now.
Miguel nodded.
“Dude, you’re a good guy. You have too much going on, sure. But you’re a good guy.”
They were interrupted by the other Blues crashing into the fence and pouring noisily into the dugout. Gnash shoved Miguel as he went past him. “Nice job, Crusher!” he said.
“No!” said Miguel. “Don’t call me that! That’s horrible.”
Gnash smiled at his teammate. “Hey, I meant it as a compliment!”
“That kid’s going to have a nice bruise,” said Tami.
“Yeah! Who knew Miguel had it in him?” asked Sebastian with a laugh.
Miguel looked from one teammate to the next. “No!” he said. “Stop it!”
“Aw, relax,” sa
id Sebastian. “It happened. You didn’t mean it. But it happened. We’ve all done it!”
Miguel’s expression showed that he didn’t believe him.
“Really!” said Sebastian. “Hey, Lin, remember last year? When I smashed into that kid at home plate?”
“Yeah, catchers beating up catchers,” said Lin. “Not your finest moment.”
“And remember last year?” asked Gnash. “When I nearly pummelled the crap out of Jock?”
“Hey!” said Jock. “I think you mean I pummelled you!”
Jock gave Gnash a playful shove.
Coop stuck his head in the dugout and said, “Pack up. Now. Go home, everyone. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” Then he rejoined the parents.
11
Trading Up
“This piece of inari for a pupusa,” said Tami.
“A whole pupusa? For one little inari? No deal,” said Miguel.
The Blues were trading lunches. Tami, who loved to eat, was trying to trade up. She was trying to swap every piece of sushi she had for something bigger and better.
“My perfect lunch would include something from everyone else’s,” she said. So far, she had an eggroll, two small samosas and a piece of Gnash’s pizza. She was trying to finish off her meal with one of Miguel’s pork-and-cheese-filled pupusas.
Unlike empanadas, which were half-moon shaped and crispy, pupusas were round and soft. Miguel thought his mother made the best pupusas. “It’s worth more than just one of those rice-filled tofu things,” he said.
“Speaking of tofu . . . where’s Sebastian?” Tami asked, looking around the lunchroom.
“He said he was going to try to get in another quick workout,” said Jock.
Miguel was impressed. The catcher’s new workout routine seemed to be paying off. “He’s already a lot faster off the base than he used to be,” said Miguel.
“Yeah, and he doesn’t get all sweaty and gross when we run poles,” said Lin. “Well, he still does, but he doesn’t stink as much.”
Sebastian came sprinting through the cafeteria and crashed into the table to join the gang. “You keep this up and you might become a real athlete, Sebastian!” said Jock.
“But I can’t say the workouts are making you any more graceful,” said Lin, laughing.
“What did you bring for lunch?” asked Tami. She looked at the paper sack in his hand.
“I have no idea,” said Sebastian. He opened it and peered in.
Jock looked at Miguel. “Did you hear that?” he asked.
“Yeah, but I don’t believe it,” said Miguel.
“What?” asked Sebastian. He took a bundle of carrot sticks out of the bag and put it on the table. He pulled out some raw green beans and some ranch dip.
“You don’t know what’s in your lunch?” asked Jock.
“Yeah, when’s the last time you didn’t know what was in your lunch?” asked Tami. She picked up the carrot sticks and sniffed them.
“Hey! Give me those!” Sebastian snatched them back.
“Carrot sticks?” said Gnash, his eyes wide. “I’ve never seen you eat those before.”
The whole table watched as Sebastian took a crunchy bite of carrot.
“Whoa!” said Lin.
“I feel like I’m looking at something no one has ever seen before. Like, like a new planet. Or a sea monster!” said Tami.
“Or a dragon being hatched . . .” agreed Gnash.
“Or a . . . miracle!” said Lin.
“Hey, am I going to have to find another table to sit at?” asked Sebastian. “Because you idiots are making me lose my appetite!”
“Well, he still has an appetite,” said Miguel. “At least that’s normal.”
“Hey, Miguel,” said Sebastian. “To change the subject — have you decided whether you’re going to Ottawa with us or not?”
“Not,” said Miguel.
“Oh geez. Your mom won’t let you go because of what you did yesterday at the game?” asked Sebastian.
“No, it’s not that,” said Miguel. He pulled out his mother’s phone and clicked on its calendar. He opened up the weekend of the Ottawa trip and put the phone on the table so everyone could see.
“What’s ‘Sit’ mean?” asked Lin, pointing to a calendar entry. “There’s a lot of that.”
“It’s his relaxing time,” said Sebastian.
“It’s short for babysitting,” said Miguel. “Those are my babysitting jobs.”
He pointed to one entry in the calendar after another. “And that’s walking Claudia and Alejandro home from school on Friday — I get paid pretty well for that. And that’s helping my other neighbour with her grocery shopping on Saturday morning. And I’m babysitting that night, and . . . oh, look, how wonderful. On that Sunday, I’ve got not one but two babysitting gigs.”
“Miguel!” said Sebastian. “You’ve got something every day!”
“Yep,” said Miguel.
“But you’re going to have to cancel them all!” Sebastian crunched down on a carrot stick. “So you can come on the trip!”
“Nope,” said Miguel.
Gnash put his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. He drew him around until he was looking him in the eye. “Miguel can’t cancel his appointments,” he told Sebastian. “He needs the work.”
“He does?” asked Sebastian, still not getting it. “But why?”
“He. Needs. The. Money,” said Gnash slowly.
“Money? Why don’t you just ask your mom for some?” asked Sebastian, his eyes wide.
The teammates were now all talking over themselves, trying to get Sebastian to understand.
“I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth,” said Miguel. “Like some people.”
“Neither was I,” said Jock. “When my mom and I were living in New Jersey, she had two jobs and I had a job at the Cineplex. And we still couldn’t make ends meet!”
“Rent is a lot,” said Miguel. “And then there’s telephone and electricity and water and . . .”
“Yeah, but why can’t you afford that stuff?” asked Sebastian. “Doesn’t your mom have a job?”
“When you come from another country, sometimes you have to start at the bottom,” said Gnash. “Like, I know a doctor from Guatemala who drives a taxi.”
“Yeah, and my friend is from Syria,” said Tami. “Her mom has a degree in civil engineering. But she’s working in Canada as a cleaner.”
“Why?” asked Sebastian. “We need doctors here in Canada. We need . . . engineer-whatsits.”
“Well, yeah,” said Miguel. “But when you have a degree from one country, it’s not always accepted in another one. Sometimes you have to do your schooling all over again, even though you are perfectly good at your job.”
“Like my friend’s dad,” said Tami. “He’s going to night school so he can take most of his degree over again in Canada.”
“In El Salvador, my mom and dad ran a bake shop,” said Miguel. “They were doing okay. But there were these bad people they had to pay so they wouldn’t wreck the bakery.”
“What?!” exclaimed Tami.
“Yeah, well, it gets worse,” said Miguel. “Everything was okay — or relatively okay. But then the bakery started doing better. We even got some celebrities buying our stuff.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” asked Sebastian.
“Yeah, except then the bakery caught the attention of the really bad gangs. They started demanding more and more money. It’s a long story. But basically, we ran out of our savings. And if my dad doesn’t get out of the country . . .”
“That’s terrible!” said Lin.
“Yeah, couldn’t you just call the cops or something?” asked Sebastian.
“It’s probably not that simple, is it?” asked Jock.
“No. I don’t even understand it all.
There’s a lot of stuff my parents won’t tell me. They don’t want me to worry. Too late!” said Miguel, rolling his eyes.
“So is your dad going to be okay?” asked Sebastian.
“I think he is. If we can get him to Canada soon,” said Miguel. “But that’s really expensive. There are lawyers’ fees and fees to file all the forms. Everything costs money.”
Sebastian dug his hand into his paper lunch sack and came up with half an egg sandwich. He unwrapped it and bit into it.
“Man,” he said. “I had no idea.”
“Yeah, most people don’t,” said Gnash. “If you don’t have money problems, you probably think no one else does.”
Sebastian was still thoughtfully chewing his lunch when the bell rang. Everyone got up from the table.
“Hey, Miguel,” said Sebastian, as they walked out of the cafeteria together.
“Yeah?”
“Do you want a carrot stick?”
He held one out.
“Sure,” said Miguel, taking it.
12
Mudball!
From his bed the next morning, Miguel could hear the sharp tick, tick, tick of raindrops on the roof outside his window. Rain. That meant baseball practice would be cancelled. Whenever it rained, the water streamed down the steep sides of Christie Pits and pooled on the diamonds. Once the diamonds were soaked, they weren’t playable. Not until the puddles were dried up by the sun or by the coaches and umpires with rakes and brooms.
But neither of those things could happen until the rain stopped. Looking out his window, Miguel could see that the rain wasn’t going to end anytime soon.
Miguel ignored the painful feeling deep in his guts that he had woken up with again. The bad weather seemed to make it worse. He wouldn’t be able to play baseball. And that made the day seem hopeless. Baseball always took his mind off his problems. Without it, what did he have except work and worry?
A buzz on Miguel’s nightstand caught his attention. Another buzz, and he picked up the cell phone to look at messages, one after another. He scanned the goofy Snapchat photos of his friends making silly faces. He smiled. The messages all said the same thing: MUDBALL!
