“And if Dodger can’t find a friend?”
“Then he must be banished over and over again, for all eternity.”
I gulped.
The Great Lasorda snapped, “All right, enough of this little meeting, this powwow, this rendezvous, this—argh! I can’t stand spending too much time with you, Rodger! Anyway, stop dillydallying and get over here!”
Rodger removed his arm from my shoulder and gave me one last look. It was like he was trying to send me a secret message with his eyes. Unfortunately, I don’t speak chimp-eye, so I had no idea what the message was. Rodger looked away and started loping over to the Great Lasorda.
I trotted in behind him with gritted teeth. I would not show Lasorda how sore I was. I just wouldn’t. As we all headed off the field, the genie said, “William, are you pleased with the assistance you received from Rodger today?”
“Yes, I am,” I said.
“Good.” He snapped his fingers. “Rodger, here is a nice banana for your efforts. Now, say good-bye to William.”
“So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good—”
The Great Lasorda snapped again, and Rodger was gone. The genie turned to me and said, “Well, that was surprisingly entertaining, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Greatness,” I replied. But I was thinking, Jeepers! What’s with this guy and the sudden-banishing thing? Why can’t he just let people hang out for a while? And another part of my brain was saying, Come on, Willie! Lasorda didn’t banish Dodger—you did!
The Great Lasorda sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d like me to make you into a baseball superstar now, would you? Then I could just pop off into my hot tub for, oh, about a hundred years!”
I said, “No, I think I’ll just see how things go with the game tomorrow. I can always make my wish in the middle of the game, right? So I guess we’re stuck with each other until then.”
He sighed again, much more loudly this time. Then he said, “Well, I suppose if I’m going to be stuck with you for another day, we might as well both be comfortable.” With that, he waved his hand in a little circle. Suddenly, I was back in my street clothes, he was in his genie outfit, and we were standing in my backyard. And, flexing my arms and legs, I noticed my blisters and soreness were gone.
“Hey,” I said. “Did you just—”
“Yes, I did,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied.
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t mention it. I’m serious—don’t mention it. I have spent thousands of years building up my reputation for being firm with the humans I serve. I would hate it if word got around that I’m losing my edge. And now, farewell until the morning. I might not have a hundred years’ worth of free time right now, but I can still squeeze in several hours in the hot tub before bed.”
As soon as the Great Lasorda POOFed his way out of there, I trudged inside the house. Even though my aches and pains were all gone, I was still totally exhausted. And, between the next day’s game, Lizzie, Rodger, and Dodger’s bet, I had way too much to think about. Somehow I got through dinner and a shower, but I could barely keep my eyes open long enough to brush my teeth and stagger to bed. My last thought before sleep overtook me was: I only have one wish left, and I don’t know what I want.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Going Down Swinging
I HAD TO BE at the baseball field by noon. I woke up around ten with my usual pregame jitters, only today they were way worse than they had ever been before. Somehow I knew that the whole season would come down to me. I had no idea whether I could come through in the clutch without using up my last wish. And I felt a little bit like it would be cheating to beat out the rest of the league by magic. Plus—and I never would have believed this a week before—I found myself thinking it wouldn’t be the same without Lizzie in the stands rooting for me, embarrassing cheers and all.
I spent the first half hour of my day lying in bed trying to get a handle on all of these thoughts that were tumbling around in my head. Eventually I realized that I couldn’t solve my problems without getting up and facing the day, so I went to the bathroom, got dressed in my baseball uniform, and headed downstairs for breakfast. My parents and Amy had already eaten, but they were still hanging around the dining room table. Mom was reading the newspaper, and Dad was looking over a letter from the editor of his newest book: My Marriage Is Perfect: What’s Next? He turned to my mom and said, “I can’t believe this! My editor says we have to change the title!”
Without looking up, Mom asked, “Why, dear?”
“He says nobody is going to believe a book called My Marriage Is Perfect. And he thinks all my fans will want to know when I started writing fiction!”
Meanwhile, Amy was getting ready to make me feel sick.
I got myself a bowl of instant oatmeal and sat down. “So,” Amy said cheerfully, “today’s your big game, huh? I bet you’ll hit a home run. Or maybe two.”
I tried hard to smile at her.
She continued. “On the other hand, maybe you’ll get hit by a pitch. Maybe it’ll get you right in the forehead. Maybe the pitcher will get confused and aim right for the old plus sign—did you notice it’s turning yellow and green now? And maybe your helmet will fall off at just the right moment. And when the ball nails you right on the cranium—cranium, right? We’re learning bones this week in school!—maybe your brains will start to dribble out your ear. Actually, it’ll prob’ly look a lot like your oatmeal. Did you know brains are gray? And mushy. And they float around in your head. I mean, unless they’re coming out your—”
“MOM!” I shouted. “Can you please make her stop?”
“Dear,” my mother said, “you know we don’t like to interfere when you kids are expressing yourselves.”
What? She had always LOVED to interfere when we kids were expressing ourselves. Jeepers, one stupid wish, and suddenly it was like I was living with Martians.
After I finally managed to choke down my oatmeal—which did kind of look like brains, actually—I had a crazy idea. Maybe I could call Lizzie and ask her to come to my game. I mean, I had never called her or anything, even before she totally forgot she knew me. Come to think of it, I had never even called a girl on the phone. But her number would be in the school directory. And I couldn’t help thinking that the old Lizzie wouldn’t have wanted to miss my last game, especially after our big practice and everything. Plus, I just kept remembering how she had helped me with that major, hideous nosebleed. I tried to imagine my old pal Tim doing that, but there was no way: He would have just said, “Oh, man, I’m not touching your nose!” Or he would have run all the way home gagging.
Holy moley. It was almost like, for a little while there, Lizzie had been a real friend. Without giving myself any more time to think, I raced upstairs, grabbed the school directory from the side of my parents’ bed, found her number, and dialed. My hand sweated all over the phone as I listened to her phone ringing. One ring … two … three … four … Then her machine picked up. Oh, boy. I hate talking to answering machines! But at least I didn’t have to talk to Lizzie’s parents. Or Lizzie, come to think of it. When the beep came, I found myself talking really, really fast: “Hi, Lizzie, this is Willie. From your class. I was just, uh, wondering whether you might want to come to my baseball game today. It’s at twelve-thirty. It’s a pretty big deal. Uh, I mean, if we win, we’ll be the champions of the league. It’s at the field.” I paused to smack myself on the forehead. What was I saying? It’s at the field. I was a moron. Where would she think it was: on the lake? “And, uh, I’d be really happy to see you there.” I hung up, and then I heard a little giggle behind me. Amy was standing there.
“Ooohhh, Willie likes a girl! Willie likes a g-uuurrrr-uuulllll! Mom, guess what? Willie—”
I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Shut up!” I hissed.
She nodded. When I let go, she said, “Well, it’s true. You do like a girl.”
I said, “I do not like a girl. I just asked Lizzie if she wanted to come to my game.”
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“I know,” Amy said. “So you asked her out. It’s like a date.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well, that’s what Lizzie is going to think. Wow, an English girl. You have an international date!” She burst into a giggle fit again and ran out of the room.
I was horrified. I grabbed the phone again and hit redial. This time the machine picked up after only one ring. As soon as I heard the BEEP, I said, “Uh, it’s not a date or anything. I mean, I’m not, like, asking you out. You’re nice and everything, but—” Jeepers, I had no idea what to say. Then I realized I hadn’t even said my name. “Uh, this is Willie again. By the way.”
Then I hung up. I heard a shuffling noise behind me. Amy had snuck back into the room. She had both hands on her mouth and was clearly trying to hold back a massive explosion of giggles. As I pushed past her, she said, “This is Willie again. By the way!” Then she doubled over, laughing.
I got my cleats and my mitt as fast as I could, then rushed out of the house. Why stay home and embarrass myself when I was so good at doing that at the ball field? I decided to cut through the forest. Now that I knew the way, I felt pretty comfortable in there. I thought about Dodger. I wondered what he was up to. If the lamp had transformed itself again, who knew where he was or what was happening to him? For all I knew, it had turned into a pizza box, and he was all bent over sideways with a lump of cold cheese stuck to his head.
But that was his own fault, right? He had messed everything up, not me. And he had lied to me. Well, not lied, exactly. But he hadn’t told me the whole truth, either.
On the other hand, we had kind of had a good time together. I mean, when he wasn’t injuring me, getting me in trouble, or destroying my house.
But he couldn’t grant me any wishes.
But my wishes were turning out all weird.
But, but, but. It was all so confusing. I wished—
POOF! Oh, no. I had summoned the Great Lasorda. He grinned hugely at me, showing what looked like an endless ocean of perfect white teeth. “William,” he intoned, “are you ready for me to make you a star?”
“Well,” I replied, “why don’t you just stick around and we can see how the game goes, okay?”
His smile disappeared, and he started muttering under his breath about wishy-washy humans who didn’t even know what they wanted. He stayed, though.
At the field, there were already a couple of guys from my team warming up. I said, “Hey, dudes!” They ignored me completely, except for the guy I had stranded on third base the week before. “Hey, Wimpy. I was kind of hoping you’d be home sick today. But since you’re here, do you wanna play right field for a while?”
As I trudged out to right field, the Great Lasorda whispered in my ear, “A star, William. Just say the word!”
We warmed up for a while. Or the rest of the team warmed up. I just stood there in right field, where the balls never go, and scanned the crowd. No Lizzie. About ten minutes before game time, my parents and Amy appeared. But that wasn’t quite the same thing. Besides, my parents had changed so much, I almost didn’t even recognize them. And as far as I was concerned, Amy hadn’t changed enough.
Looking at my parents gave me an idea. I mumbled under my breath, “I wish …”
Just as I had hoped, the Great Lasorda appeared next to me. He was chowing down on one of the greasy hot dogs from the snack stand. I tried to sound all casual as I asked, “Hey, the Great, can I ask you for a favor? Not a wish, but a favor?”
He considered this for a moment, then said, “I can’t promise anything, but I will listen. Just make it snappy. I’m dying for some french fries!”
“Um, I was just wondering whether you could maybe adjust my first two wishes a little.”
“Adjust them? Why in the world would I adjust the results of your wishes? That would be like admitting I might have made a mistake. And the Great Lasorda never, ever makes mistakes.”
“No,” I admitted. “You didn’t make any mistake at all—you did exactly what I asked for. But it turns out that what I asked for and what I really needed aren’t the same thing.”
He stroked his chin in some sort of wise-man gesture. Or maybe he was just checking for ketchup. Then he said, “Speak to me. I will consider your request while I am enjoying the second course of my snack-bar feast. I haven’t eaten anything this deliciously greasy since the Greek health inspectors closed down the funnel-cake stand at the first Olympics!”
Quickly, in the last moments before game time, I told the genie what I wanted. Then my team’s coaches waved us into the dugout, the umpire shouted, “Play ball!” and the Great Lasorda got himself an order of fries.
The first two innings were uneventful. In right field, I had nothing to do but slap at mosquitoes and look through the crowd for Lizzie. Both teams were held scoreless, and my team didn’t even have a hit going into the third. As usual, I was batting ninth, so I got up in the bottom of the inning with a guy on second and one out. Incredibly, with two strikes, the pitcher served me up a total meatball. The pitch was straight over the heart of the plate, moving too slowly to be a fastball but too quickly to be a decent change-up. I thought, I can hit this! I swung, and the bat met the ball with a sharp CRACK! It was my first-ever line drive. Unfortunately, the ball went screaming straight into the second baseman’s mitt. The runner had taken off as soon as I hit the ball, so all the second baseman had to do was step on the bag for the force-out.
Perfect, I thought. The first time I hit a ball hard, and it’s an inning-ending double play.
As I started my long, sad walk out to right field, the Great Lasorda appeared next to me again. Through a huge mouthful of cotton candy, he said, “William, just say the word and you’ll be in home-run city!”
“Not yet,” I said. “I smacked that ball. I can do this without magic! But what about my request? You know, adjusting the first two wishes?”
He rolled his eyes and gestured to the stands. My heart jumped in my chest. Lizzie was sitting on the bleachers. When she saw me, she waved and shouted, “Hi, Willie!” But she didn’t cheer. This was excellent!
“Thanks, the Great,” I said. “That takes care of Lizzie. And how about the other adjustment I asked for?”
“You’ll see,” he said mysteriously.
The next three innings were scoreless for both teams, and we only got one more hit that whole time. Needless to say, the hit didn’t come from me. I came to bat in the bottom of the sixth, and actually made contact again. This time, though, it was just a weak pop-up about two feet in front of home plate. The catcher caught the ball, and for the second time I found myself walking out to right field next to an increasingly well-fed genie. Once more, he told me he could make me a star. Once more I told him I wasn’t ready to use my third wish for that yet. Once more he POOFed his way back to the snack bar.
In the top of the seventh, with one out, our pitcher suddenly straightened up after a pitch and grabbed his arm in pain. The coach replaced him with our only other pitcher, who is nowhere near as good. In no time at all, the other team scored three runs. We finally retired a couple of their batters, mostly through luck, but the damage was done. Now we had just one half-inning to score three or more runs, when we hadn’t even managed to score once in the first six.
You might have noticed by now that whenever there’s a chance in my life for things to get as complicated as possible, that’s exactly what happens. So of course my team immediately got two outs, and then loaded the bases just in time for me to once again be the last batter of the game. I mean, you could say, “What are the chances?” But really, by the time you have your own personal genie and your best friend in the world is a banished chimpanzee, I’m pretty sure that the odds have basically flown out the window.
Oh, wow. It hit me as I stepped into the batter’s box: My best friend in the world is a banished chimpanzee.
I knew my third wish!
I thought as hard as I could: I wish … Nothing happened. I looked around: No
genie in sight. And while I was looking around, the pitcher blew a fastball by, right under my chin. “Be careful, Willie!” my mother shouted. The next pitch looked like it was coming right at me. I stepped back, but the umpire called it a strike. “Not that careful!” my mom yelled. Several people in the crowd laughed, but I was happy. I wasn’t sure where the heck the Great Lasorda had gone, but clearly, he had taken care of readjusting my mom before disappearing.
While I was thinking about that, the pitcher blew another fastball by me. The count was one ball, two strikes. It was basically now or never. I tried to summon the genie again: I wish … He didn’t appear. The next ball was way outside. Ball two. I swung at the next pitch and fouled it off. The count remained at 2—2. The pitcher must have thought I was a complete sucker, because he threw the next one in the dirt, thinking I’d lunge for it and end the game with a superlame strikeout. A week before, he would have been right. But now I didn’t fall for the trick, and the count was three balls and two strikes.
I asked the umpire for a time-out, stepped out of the box, and turned my back on home plate. Well, now the season was completely on my shoulders. The next pitch would decide everything. Every kid in our dugout was yelling. Every single person in the stands was standing up and yelling. Even the coaches were shaking the chain-link fence. I bent over, put my hands on my knees, and took a deep breath. I didn’t know where the Great Lasorda had gone, but it looked like I was on my own.
So as soon as I thought that, of course he appeared. “Sorry,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of one greasy hand. “I was in line for some popcorn and I didn’t want to lose my spot. So now are you ready for your third wish?”
Even with all of the insanity going on around me, I smiled. “Yes, I am,” I said.
I really was ready. I looked up in the stands at my family. I snuck a glance at Lizzie. I looked at the pitcher and realized I wasn’t scared anymore. And I knew for sure that my third wish would be the right one. I took a deep breath and spoke.
Dodger and Me Page 9
