Sliding Home

by Joyce Grant

  The Blues were sending out the signal for a game of Mudball down at the Pits. That changed everything. Miguel put on his rattiest sweatpants and t-shirt. He clambered downstairs, bringing the phone with him.

  “Can you take Claudia today?” Miguel’s mother threw a damper on an already damp day.

  “Today? It’s the weekend!” Miguel said. He handed her the cell phone. “I was going to go play Mudball down at the Pits.”

  “I’m sorry, Miguel,” said his mother. “I was offered an extra shift this weekend. I have to take it.”

  Miguel knew better than to argue with his mother.

  “It’ll be fun, Miguel!” said Claudia. She turned her big eyes up to his. “I’ll give you my lollipop!”

  She held a sticky, green, half-eaten lollipop out to him. Miguel laughed and leaned forward. He took a nibble of it.

  “Keep the rest,” he said. “And go put on your boots. We’re going to play some Mudball!”

  * * *

  Down at the Pits, the Mudball game was already on. At the top of the hill, Miguel and Claudia watched the Blues. They were covered in mud. They rolled crazily down the hill as the rain teemed down.

  “Boy, this really is a mud-pit!” said Miguel, looking down the hill. He squatted down next to his sister. “One kid is it,” he explained. “They’re the Mudball. When that kid yells ‘Mudball!’ everyone on the hill has to freeze. Then, the Mudball rolls down the hill and tries to knock each person down. The last one left standing gets to be the Mudball next.”

  “Hey, everyone!” He greeted his teammates as he led his sister carefully down the slippery hill. “Claudia is going to play too!”

  Jock and Sebastian were lying in a tangled, muddy heap. But they managed to wave to Claudia.

  “No one had better hurt my sister, okay?” said Miguel. He looked pointedly at Sebastian. “Even by accident! Be careful!”

  “I’ll protect her!” said Sebastian.

  “Just don’t get in my way!” said Claudia, her fists on her hips.

  Jock laughed and held up his hands. “I definitely won’t!” he said.

  “MUUUUUUUDBALL!” Sebastian yelled long and loud, from the top of the hill. The gang scattered when they heard him. They froze the instant he’d finished saying the word. Claudia stood like a statue next to Miguel.

  “Here he comes,” she whispered to Miguel, as Sebastian threw himself down the hill toward them.

  “You don’t have to whisper, Claudia,” said Miguel, laughing. “He’s supposed to try to get us!”

  Claudia kept her feet planted in the mud. But she swerved her body over as Sebastian hurtled down the hill. He passed her and collided into Lin.

  “Got you, Lin!” said Sebastian, untangling himself from his teammate.

  “Oh, man!” said Lin. “I thought you were going for Miguel and Claudia!”

  “Hah, that’s what I wanted you to think!” said Sebastian.

  Sebastian turned with an evil grin toward Gnash. He made a giant leap in the air, his arms outstretched.

  There was nothing Gnash could do to avoid the boy landing on him. “Get off me!” he yelled. “You idiot! Get off!”

  But Sebastian already had his eye on his next victim.

  “What about mee-eee?” Claudia taunted in a sing-song, waving her arms.

  Sebastian looked over. “Good idea.” He twirled a make-believe mustache like a villain.

  “Be careful, Claudia,” Miguel warned.

  “I can take care of myself!” she said.

  Sebastian rolled toward the girl and gently knocked her over. She sank onto her knees, sliding on the steep, muddy hill. She smiled at her brother.

  Miguel gave his sister a quick, muddy hug.

  It was pouring rain and he had to babysit his sister, but Miguel felt pretty good. Then he saw that he was the only one still standing.

  “My turn to be the Mudball!” he shouted, and ran up the hill.

  But when Miguel crested the hill he found his mother waiting there. She was soaking wet, with a concerned look on her face.

  “Come, Miguel,” she said, holding out her hand. “You and Claudia need to come, now.”

  13

  Sign Language

  Miguel didn’t waste time asking his mother what the problem was. He slipped and slid down the hill and scooped up his sister. He paused just long enough to tell his friends that he needed to leave.

  “Hush, Claudia,” he said to his sister, who had started to whine.

  “But why do we have to go?” she cried. “You were just about to be the Mudball!”

  “I know,” Miguel replied. “There will be other Mudball games. Don’t worry.”

  “But I wanted to be the Mudball too!” She was crying for real now.

  Miguel puffed as he carried her up the slippery hill. “We’ll come back another day.”

  At the top of the hill, their mother took mud-soaked Claudia from Miguel’s arms. She spoke to her daughter soothingly in Spanish. She kissed the top of her head.

  “So, what’s going on?” Miguel asked his mother. They had wiped off most of the mud with paper towels and were sitting on the bus.

  “It’s the bakery.” She spoke rapidly and quietly in Spanish.

  “Our bakery?” said Claudia. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about, kiddo,” said Miguel. “Mom, where’s the cell phone?” He found it in her bag and handed it to Claudia. “Here. Play a game.”

  “Is it the gangs?” Miguel asked his mother.

  “Yes,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about it in front of Claudia. But we need to get your father over here — soon.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. We have to talk to Mr. Raymond again. That’s where we’re going now. I need you to translate.”

  Miguel thought of his friends back in the Pits, covered in mud and having a great time. They would probably head to Pits Pita afterward for lunch and a smoothie. But he had to go to a stupid lawyer’s office. It wasn’t fair.

  “The gangs came to the bakery last night. They tried to set the building on fire,” Miguel’s mother whispered. Her knuckles were white as she gripped her bag. “Your father is safe, but we need to get him out of El Salvador right away.”

  Miguel grimaced. All thoughts of Mudball were suddenly erased from his mind. Now he felt guilty for even thinking of having fun while his father was in trouble.

  * * *

  “Hey, I just thought of something,” said Sebastian the next day. The team was at Christie Pits on Diamond 1, tossing the ball around. They were waiting for Coach Coop to arrive for their game against the Reds.

  “What?” asked Lin, as she blew an enormous bubble. It burst and she smacked her gum hard, chewing it back into bubble-making form.

  “No school for us on Friday — PA day!”

  “That’s right,” said Gnash. “No school. No grandparents. No homework. A whole long weekend of nothing but baseball.”

  “Jock, can you bring a deck of cards for the bus?” Tami threw the ball to him in a long rainbow.

  “Yeah, if I remember,” said Jock. He caught the ball and fired it back to Tami.

  “Text yourself a reminder!” said Tami.

  “I’m bringing my swimsuit!” said Sebastian, throwing the ball to Miguel. “I checked out the website. Our hotel has a really nice pool!”

  “Gee, that’s great,” said Miguel.

  “Oh, geez,” said Sebastian. “Sorry. I forgot.”

  “Stupid idiot,” said Lin to Sebastian. “Way to make him feel bad.”

  “That’s okay,” said Miguel. He threw the ball back to Sebastian. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

  Miguel saw Lin whisper something he couldn’t hear to Sebastian.

  “It’s really okay, guys,” said Miguel. “I can’t
come. So what? No big deal.”

  But Miguel’s face said it was a big deal. It was a big deal that while the whole team got to hang out and have fun for three days, he would be looking after kids and helping his mother figure out legal stuff. It was a big deal that his family never had enough money or spare time for vacations. It was a big deal that he had never stayed in a hotel in his entire life. And it’s a big deal, thought Miguel, that my teammates take everything they have for granted. Sebastian probably had a swimsuit collection, just like his glove collection!

  But Miguel had no more time to dwell on his problems, because Coop arrived. He called the players to the outfield for their pre-game warm-up exercises. Together, the team moved in a pack from the third baseline, lunging and jumping up and lunging again.

  When that drill was finished, they all turned toward the infield to do side lunges.

  “Come on!” said Coach Coop. “Go down as far as you can. And up. And down!”

  When they were finished with the lunges, Coop told everyone to get down on all fours.

  “Now lift your left knee up,” he said. The teammates lifted one leg up to the side, like a puppy about to pee. They moved the leg around in a circle, to loosen up their hip joint. Then they did the same thing with the other leg.

  The drills continued for another ten minutes.

  “Okay,” said Coop. The team was done and on its feet again. “Pitchers over here.”

  Jock and Miguel were slated to pitch against the Reds. They followed Coop off to the side. Sebastian ran over, too, pulling his mask down over his face. He joined the pitchers in the bullpen.

  Miguel stood on the bullpen mound and threw a slow, easy pitch to Sebastian. It was just wide of the plate.

  “Hey, Sebastian. Even though it’s just bullpen, you’ve got to frame those,” Coop said.

  “What’s framing?” asked Miguel.

  “That’s when I make your terrible pitches look like strikes,” said Sebastian.

  “It’s when the catcher moves the ball over really fast when it hits his glove. He makes it look like it caught the edge of the plate,” said Coop.

  “When really, it was a ball,” said Miguel.

  “Right,” said Coop. “The best catchers can do it really fast and really subtly, so no one even knows it’s happening. But it only works if the pitcher and the catcher are working together, as a team. That’s why a lot of pitchers insist on working with just one catcher.”

  Sebastian and I could never team up that way, thought Miguel. They were too different. Sebastian was the kind of kid who got new baseball gloves whenever he wanted. Who went on vacations with his family and slept in hotels.

  And Miguel was the kind of kid who worked.

  Miguel shook his head to clear it of the depressing thoughts that were starting to cloud his mind.

  “Hey, what was wrong with that?” asked Sebastian. “Fastball down the pipe!”

  “Oh! Sorry!” said Miguel. He realized that Sebastian thought he was shaking off his sign for the next pitch. That he didn’t want to throw the kind of pitch Sebastian was signalling.

  “I wasn’t shaking off your sign,” said Miguel.

  “Geez. Then watch it, will you?”

  Sebastian squatted down again and held out his glove.

  Miguel threw the ball as hard as he could. It slammed into the centre of Sebastian’s glove with a satisfying slap.

  “That’s better,” said Sebastian.

  “So are we good with the signs?” Sebastian asked Miguel as the two of them walked onto the field to start the first inning.

  “Yes, I told you. It was an accident.”

  “Okay,” said Sebastian.

  But Miguel could tell that Sebastian didn’t trust him. Well, it was mutual.

  “Mr. I-Have-Everything,” Miguel whispered under his breath, when he was on the mound. He looked at Sebastian. “You have no idea,” he said quietly. “No idea about real life.”

  14

  Perfect Pitch

  The Reds’ first batter stepped into the box. Miguel looked at Sebastian for the sign.

  Fastball. The same pitch Sebastian had called for during the warm-up.

  Miguel shook his head. The first batter was a small, short boy named Ethan. He had long, curly hair that flowed out from under his baseball cap nearly to the middle of his back. And he could run. When Ethan rounded the bases, he ran so fast that his hair billowed out behind him. It reminded Miguel of a superhero with some kind of spectacular cape — but he would never admit that out loud.

  Miguel was picturing the boy hitting his fastball and then running, like a blur, to score.

  Sebastian called for a fastball again. Again, Miguel shook off the sign.

  Sebastian stood up and turned to the umpire. The umpire called “Time!” and held up his hands. Sebastian shoved his mask onto the top of his head and slowly walked out to the mound.

  “What are you doing?” Sebastian asked Miguel.

  Miguel had his glove over his face so he could talk to the catcher without anyone on the other team overhearing.

  “Ethan’s small,” he said. “He’s got a small strike zone. I can’t hit that.”

  “Yes, you can,” said Sebastian.

  “But all we need is a pop-up to get him out,” said Miguel. “If I throw him something slow and inside, he’ll pop it up. Perfect. That’s better than throwing him a fastball.”

  “But that’s not what will happen,” said Sebastian. “He’ll pull the ball to left field on a slow-and-inside pitch. Don’t do it.”

  “But I told you, I can’t hit that tiny strike zone,” said Miguel.

  “Yes, you can,” said Sebastian. “You’ve been doing it all week in practice. And I’ll help you. I’ll frame it.”

  Miguel could see that Sebastian really believed in him.

  “Okay,” said Miguel.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes. I’ll trust you.”

  “Okay,” said Sebastian, leaving the mound. He stopped and turned back to Miguel. “You got this,” he said.

  “Play!” cried the umpire.

  Ethan stepped into the batter’s box. His long, curly hair wafted over his shoulder. He loaded up his bat and looked expectantly at Miguel.

  Sebastian flashed the sign for a fastball.

  Miguel nodded. He straightened out his front foot so it was pointing toward the batter, just as Jock had taught him. He brought his hands together in front of him, almost like a prayer. He dropped his throwing arm and then drew it back behind him. Loading onto his back foot, he brought his front knee up high. Then he suddenly shifted his weight and brought his arm forward and down, using it like a slingshot to propel the ball toward Ethan.

  “Strike!” Miguel pushed his cap up on his head and then brought it down, tighter. He couldn’t believe he’d hit his mark. He brought his hands together again.

  Sebastian signalled for another fastball. Miguel hesitated. Hit that spot twice in a row? Not possible, thought Miguel.

  Sebastian gave him an urgent look. He signalled for another fastball.

  Miguel nodded reluctantly. He drew his arm back and shot the ball.

  This time, he knew, it was going outside. But when Miguel looked at the ball in Sebastian’s mitt, it was over the plate.

  “Strike!”

  Sebastian gave Miguel a nod. Holding his gaze, he signalled fastball again.

  Miguel pictured the blur that Ethan would be as he ran to first base — maybe even second. Hopefully not third, thought Miguel. He pictured himself throwing wildly, completely missing the plate. He pictured a come-backer off Ethan’s bat hitting him right in the head. All of those things seemed possible. His stomach hurt.

  Miguel shook his head to get rid of the thoughts crowding his mind. When he saw Sebastian grimace, he realized he’d done it again. He qu
ickly nodded, to show Sebastian that he agreed to throw a fastball.

  “Strike THREE!”

  Ethan looked in disbelief as the fastball streaked past him into Sebastian’s glove.

  “Yerrrr out!”

  Miguel pitched most of the rest of that game. Sebastian called the shots and framed his pitches. By the end of the fourth inning, Miguel had thrown just fifty-six pitches.

  “Fifty-six in four innings. Wow, that’s low,” said Sebastian, as the Blues were getting ready to bat.

  “Thanks,” said Miguel. “You really helped me.”

  “Naw, it was all you,” said Sebastian.

  “How’d you know I could hit my targets?”

  “I’ve been watching you. You’re not a bad pitcher. All you need is a bit more confidence.”

  Confidence boosted by the last person I would expect, thought Miguel. Sebastian. Sebastian, who he always thought was lazy and slow. But now he looked at the catcher, putting his shin pads and face mask in a neat pile on the bench. And he had to admit that the boy seemed different. More athletic, maybe, thought Miguel.

  “You know, those morning drills seem to be working for you,” he said.

  “Thanks,” said Sebastian. “Here.”

  He threw Miguel his batting helmet.

  Sebastian strode out to the batter’s box while Miguel chose a bat. He went into the on-deck circle and watched the pitcher. When the pitcher threw, Miguel swung at the same time Sebastian did.

  Swish!

  “Strike one!” said the umpire.

  A second fastball came in and Sebastian — and Miguel — swung again.

  “Strike two!”

  Both boys swung on the third pitch. Miguel’s bat sliced through the air. Sebastian’s bat connected with the ball. There was a loud smack and the ball bounced toward the shortstop. The freight train got going, down to first. But this time, Sebastian reached the base before the shortstop’s throw. It was the fastest Miguel had ever seen Sebastian run.

  It was Miguel’s turn. He stepped into the batter’s box.

  “C’mon, Miguel!” yelled Lin from the dugout.

  Miguel loaded up his bat. The first pitch came, a low fastball. It looked like it was floating, just begging to be hit. Miguel brought his bat around and smashed the ball, taking off running almost at the same time. Miguel flew to first and began to round the base toward second.