by Clay Cormany
After a minute or two of running, lunging, and zigzagging, the girls surrounded the dog in the outfield behind second base.
"Let’s close in on it!" Angela cried. "Phoebe, you come in from behind. Heather and Dana, come in from the sides. Charlene, you and I’ll take it head on. Grab its collar, if you can." As the girls moved in, the dog darted its head from side to side. It panted hard, even while keeping the stolen ball in its jaws. When the girls were about six feet away, Angela shouted, "Get him!"
Ten hands came down on the beast. Four clutched its midsection, two others took hold of its back legs, and four tried to snag the collar. But it didn’t work. Kicking and squirming, the dog broke free. Scampering paws spattered mud into Phoebe’s face as the animal bounded back toward the infield where it paused and dropped the ball. Then it barked twice as if daring them to try again.
Heather hurled a clump of grass at the dog, and Angela threw her mitt. Both objects bounced in front of the mischievous intruder, which once again took the ball in its mouth and pranced about.
"What kind of dog is that, anyway?" asked Charlene.
"I think it’s an Australian cattle dog," said Phoebe, wiping her hand across her face. "My cousin used to have one. It loved to run after tennis balls."
"Too bad we don’t have any Australian cows to keep it busy," quipped Heather.
"Hey, girls, let’s try a different approach," said the umpire, who came up to join them. "Does someone have any potato chips or something like that?"
"I’ve got a bag of corn chips in my bat bag," Dana volunteered.
"That might work," he said. "Go get it."
When Dana returned, the umpire pointed at the dog, which now sat like a wet-nosed sphinx with the ball resting between its paws.
"Now, walk up to it and hold out a chip," he said. "When it goes for the chip, try to grab the ball."
Dana hesitated. "I thought we didn’t need the ball."
"We don’t. But if you have the ball, maybe you can use it to lead the dog off the field."
As they watched Dana carry out the umpire’s plan, Sylvia tugged on Jace’s shirt.
"I’ve got an idea," she said. "Come with me back to the bench."
While they trotted across the infield, Jace looked behind him and saw that the chip-for-ball strategy failed. The dog with ball in mouth was on the run again, avoiding all potential captors, including the umpire. The rain had stopped but the wet ground caused the pursuers to skid and stumble. Meanwhile, most spectators had tired of the animal’s antics. Aunt Jill and Fred read a magazine together. Others chatted, sipped soft drinks, or talked on cell phones. A few continued to watch the action. One man even followed the chase with a camcorder.
Once they reached the bench, Sylvia went to her bat bag, opened it, and pulled out a bag of beef jerky.
"So you’re going to give the dog a piece of jerky?" Jace asked. "That may not work any better than the chip."
"That’s just part of the plan," she said, reaching into the bag for something else. After groping around for a couple of seconds, she pulled out a jumping rope. "And that’s where you come in, cowboy."
Sylvia explained her plan to Jace, and then they dashed out to where the dog was in a stare-down with Angela and Phoebe. Other team members had given up and now sat on the ground with the umpire. They all were soaked as much from perspiration as from the wet grass.
"Come over here, boy, here’s a treat for you!" Sylvia shouted and held up a piece of jerky.
The dog stared at her but still kept the ball in its mouth.
"Here, boy, go get it," she exclaimed and then tossed the food onto the grass about five feet in front of the animal.
The sight and scent of the jerky proved too much for the dog to resist. It let the ball drop away and chomped on the new prize. Angela and Phoebe raced to where the ball fell. Coming from behind, Jace slipped the end of the jump rope under the dog’s collar, looped it around, and tied a knot. Then, using the rope like a leash, he led the dog, still munching the jerky, off the field. Parents and players on both sides cheered and applauded.
"Nice job, young lady," said the umpire. "That takes care of the dog. Did anyone get the ball?"
"It’s right here," said Angela, who held the sticky thing with outstretched arms.
"Ewww, look at it," said Phoebe. "It’s got dog spit all over it."
"And grass, and dirt, and a dead bug, too," added Heather.
"Here, give it to me," said the umpire. A mushy "splat" came from the man’s hand when he caught the ball, causing several girls to cringe. His face crinkled in disgust. "We won’t play with this ball again today."
"Good call, blue," said Heather. "I don’t think anyone here wants to get hepatitis."
It took about twenty minutes for the animal control officer to arrive. While they waited, Jace kept the dog tied to the backstop. The still-frisky beast yelped and pulled on the jump rope until Sylvia fed it more pieces of beef jerky. The game finally resumed but not before the Robins’ coach argued about the score.
"No one ever called time out," he insisted, "so both the batter and the runner on second scored. That makes it seven-five."
"But there was outside interference beyond anyone’s control," the umpire said. "No one could see that crazy dog coming. Your base runner has to go back to second, and the hitter must come back to the plate and finish her at bat."
The Robins’ coach, a short, wiry man with a beak-like nose, didn’t budge. "You’re ignoring the rules, ump. If someone had called time out when that dog went on the field, then play would stop. But you didn’t call timeout and neither did they." When he spouted out the last sentence, the man pointed an almost accusing finger at Jace and Sylvia.
"But we were all distracted by the dog," the umpire countered.
"The dog doesn’t matter," the Robins’ coach persisted. "Unless someone calls timeout, play continues."
"Excuse me, sir," said Jace, "but that’s not quite true."
"What do you mean?" huffed the coach.
"If you check the league manual, you’ll see there’s a rule that the ball is immediately dead if some kind of natural calamity occurs."
"Of course," said the coach, "but that’s in case there’s a tornado siren, or a sudden thunderstorm, or a… a ..."
"Dog that runs onto the field and grabs a ground ball," interjected Sylvia, finishing the sentence.
"But that dog’s not a ‘calamity.’"
"Oh yes it is," exclaimed the umpire. "If I’d run after that mutt one more minute, I might’ve collapsed. So put your base runner back at second and have your last batter come back to the plate. The score is still seven-three."
"All right," said the coach. "But I'm playing this game under protest."
"Fair enough. Now let’s play ball."
This time the batter hit a lazy little pop to right field that Heather caught with ease. After a walk to the next batter, Tina ended the threat with a strikeout on four pitches. The teams each scored once in the fifth. In the bottom of the sixth, the Robins pushed across another run, but it wasn’t enough. This was the final score: Valkyries eight, Robins five — at least that figured to be the final score if the Robins’ protest was rejected.
"What will happen if the commissioner upholds the protest?" Jace asked Sylvia, after the team meeting.
"Your guess is as good as mine, cowboy."
They paused behind the backstop where the jump-rope-turned-leash lay on the ground. Sylvia stooped, picked it up, and returned it to her bat bag.
"What a great idea you had, using that jump rope for a leash," said Jace. "But it seems like an odd thing to put in your bat bag. Is it Tina’s?"
"No, it’s mine. I’ve been using it to stay in shape." Sylvia smiled mischievously and pulled a plastic bag out of her pocket. "Would you like any of the leftover jerky? You can have some if you promise not to puke it up."
"No thanks," said Jace. "I’ve had enough puking for this week." He moved closer to her. "By the way, thank
s for helping me out when I got sick on your porch — and on you."
"No problem." She put the beef jerky back in her pocket and slung her bat bag over a shoulder. "Hey, why don’t you walk with me over to the swimming pool before you go home?"
"Be glad to."
On the way to the pool’s entrance, Jace exchanged waves with Aunt Jill and Fred, who were heading toward the parking lot.
"Who're they?" asked Sylvia.
"My aunt and her boyfriend."
Sylvia's eyebrows shot up. "Your aunt has a boyfriend? How old is she?"
"Almost fifty, I think."
A short bitter laugh escaped from Sylvia's mouth. "Fifty? Well then, I guess there's still hope for me, isn't there?"
Jace didn't answer and for the rest of the way, neither of them spoke. But when they were still about forty yards from the pool, Sylvia slipped her arm around Jace’s waist. He left it there.
Chapter Thirty-one
Jace bounded down the driveway, clad in gray shorts and the blue singlet he received from running in Ridgeview’s Memorial Day five-mile race last year. He took a left once he reached the street and headed toward the mailbox at the corner of Bradley and Montgomery. The humid evening air clung to his skin as he scanned the sky for thunderclouds. The dwindling sunlight revealed no sign of a storm, but summer weather could change quickly — clear skies one minute, a drenching downpour the next. It was the same way with girls. One minute you were sure what you wanted; the next minute you were confused.
Jace rounded the mailbox and headed down Montgomery. About a half-mile farther, he’d hook up with Stick, but for the moment he had only his thoughts to keep him company. Sylvia and Stephanie. Sylvia and Stephanie. The two names bounced around his brain like loose basketballs, while in the background the verses of an old Lovin’ Spoonfuls’ song kept repeating.
Sometimes you really dig a girl the moment you kiss her
And then you get distracted by her older sister
When in walks her father and takes you a line
And says, "You better go home, son, and make up your mind."
Yes, he did have to make up his mind. But that was easier said than done.
On one hand, he still felt wildly attracted to Stephanie. Their dates had been problem-filled, but getting close to someone that gorgeous made him almost delirious with excitement. To be enveloped in her beauty was to be swept away in a torrent of passion and pleasure.
On the other hand, there was Sylvia. A partner, a friend, someone who accepted and respected him for who he was. Not a raving beauty like her sister, but attractive enough despite carrying a few extra pounds. So who to choose? The question gnawed on him as Stick loped down a side street and came up on his right side. He wore green running shorts and a Ridgeview High gym shirt; a frayed sweat band circled his head just above the eyes.
"What’s up, Slo-Mo?"
"Carson’s going to find out I’ve been dating Stephanie. His friend Ned Skorzny saw us together at the carnival a couple of nights ago."
"Ned Skorzny? That guy’s even dumber than Carson. Back in seventh grade, I had him believing the astronauts put up a Global Burger stand on the moon. A kid that stupid might forget he ever saw you."
"He may be dumb, but he’s also one of Carson’s best friends. He’s not going to forget."
"Yeah, you’re right. Whatever you do, don’t get into a fistfight with Carson. Play to your strength."
"What? Run away from him?"
"That might not be a bad idea."
"That’d make me a coward."
"It would if Carson were most any other guy. But I don’t see anything cowardly about running away from someone almost twice your size."
"I don’t know, Stick. Even if other people didn’t think I was a coward, I’d feel like one anyway. The worst of it is I’m not sure I want to keep going out with Stephanie."
Stick put a hand on Jace’s shoulder, and together they slowed down, finally coming to a halt in front of a lamppost whose glaring light accented the astonished expression on Stick’s face.
"You might not want to go out with Stephanie anymore? Did I hear you right?"
"Yes."
Stick gazed up into the night sky as if he expected some explanation to come down from heaven. "I don’t believe you, Slo-Mo. You’ve been drooling over that babe for months, and now that you’ve got a shot at her, you want to quit?"
"It's not about quitting. It’s about maybe finding someone else I want to go out with more."
"Bad news. I’m pretty sure Jennifer Aniston’s already taken."
"No joke. I’m thinking about dating Stephanie’s sister instead."
Stick now looked even more astonished than he did when Jace made his first announcement. "You mean that plain Jane who coaches softball with you?"
"No way!" Jace shot back. "She’s almost as good looking as Stephanie. And what’s more, I think she wants me to go out with her."
"What makes you think that?"
"She drops hints about places she’d like someone to take her to. And she’s trying to look nicer, putting on make-up and letting her hair down instead of cooping it up in a bun."
"You think she’s doing all this because of you?"
"I know I sound like a conceited jerk, but, yes, I do. You called Sylvia a 'plain Jane,' and that’s what she seemed to be when the season started. Now she comes to games made up like a homecoming queen."
Stick started to run again and Jace fell in beside him. They kept a moderate pace with Stick lost in thought and Jace casting glances at him, hoping for some wisdom to spring from his friend’s mouth. The two friends ran through several neighborhoods before reaching the flagpole at Hawthorne Elementary School. Rounding it, they headed back on the same path. Dogs behind fences or screen doors barked, and a man hauling garbage to the curb greeted them, but Stick remained silent. When they were less than a mile from their meeting point, he spoke up.
"Who do you like better — Stephanie or Sylvia?"
"That’s a tough call. I feel attracted to Stephanie because she’s so gorgeous, and I love holding her and making out with her. But I found out that she started going out with me to get away from Carson."
"What about her sister?"
"I know Sylvia’s not quite as gorgeous, but we’ve grown close from coaching softball together, and we trust and care about each other."
"So one’s a heartthrob and one’s a soul mate, and you’re not sure which one you like more."
"Right."
"I’d tell you to go out with both of them for a while, but you can’t do that with girls who are sisters. My brother’s friend Eric once dated two girls who were roommates."
"What happened?"
"Man, it got ugly. Joan and Carol turned their apartment into a war zone. They ripped up clothes, smashed CDs, and threw dishes at each other."
"So which one ended up with Eric?"
"Neither. They decided they didn’t really like him, but by then they’d been kicked out of their apartment.
Jace chuckled at the story but realized it didn’t help him solve his own dilemma.
"What should I do, Stick? Like you say, I can’t go out with both of them."
Stick returned to his silence. They ran onto Montgomery again and approached the side road where Stick would break off for home. When they reached that spot, Jace’s friend paused and ran in place, his long legs pumping up and down like pistons.
"You know, Slo-Mo, maybe the trick is to think about this thing in a different way."
"How?" Jace ran in place, too, though his legs didn’t move quite as fast as Stick’s.
"Maybe the question isn’t which girl you like more, but which one likes you more."
"How do I find that out?"
"Think about what’s happened when you’re with each girl. What did she say or do to show what she thinks about you? Answer that question, and you’ll realize you’ve already found out." Stick glanced at his watch and gave a quick wave. "See ya later, Slo-Mo.
Play to your strength." Then he dashed down the side road, his thin body moving through the darkness with both speed and grace.
A thousand images ran through Jace’s mind in the few minutes it took him to return home. Images from history class, Wilson’s Bluff, the zoo, and the tunnel of love tangled and collided with other images from the softball diamonds at Addison Park and the Ridgeview batting cages. Accompanying these images, almost like background music, were words spoken by both girls — words of affection, worry, encouragement, and joy. The sounds and pictures seemed to wobble up and down in his mind, as if they were lumped into two piles on opposite sides of a scale. Before Jace reached his house, the scale in his mind tipped to one side. He knew which girl to choose.
****
Jace had barely walked through the door when Phoebe came charging down the stairs with a scrap of paper in her hand.
"Jace, Mrs. Ryerson called a few minutes ago," she said. "I took down her number on this –"
Jace snatched the paper from Phoebe’s hand and headed for the telephone. He dialed the number and after two rings a woman’s voice answered.
"Hello."
"Mrs. Ryerson?"
"Yes, this is she."
"This is Jace Waldron. Did you call me earlier this evening?"
"Oh yes, Jace. How’s your mother doing?"
"A little better, thank you." Jace tried not to sound impatient, even though he was. "Did you make a ruling on the protest over the Valkyries’ last game?"
"Yes, I’ve rejected it. Anytime there is an unexpected interruption in a game, play comes to a halt. And I’d say that a dog running onto the field is about as unexpected as you get."
"Yes," Jace said with a sigh of relief. "No one had any idea where that dog came from."
"He belonged to one of the lifeguards at the pool. The guard tied him to a tree before he went on duty, but the dog pulled loose and ran away."
"I see. So when is the Valkyries' next game?"
"Tomorrow at five-thirty on Diamond Number One."
"Good, we’ll be there." Jace paused before asking his last question. "Who will we be playing?"
