Skinnybones

by Barbara Park

  By now my coach’s face was so red he looked like a chili pepper. For a minute, I actually thought he might explode. I needed help … big time.

  I looked up to the clouds. “Please, God, please.… whatever you do, do not—I repeat, do not—let our team get up to bat again until my coach settles down. If I have to go in now, he will kill me, God. I know he will. And if you think I’m a problem down here, just imagine what it would be like to have me running around up there with you. You’d never have a minute’s peace, God. Think about it.”

  Right after that, Frankie Rogers threw nine strikes in a row.

  I looked up again. “I’ve done something to upset you, haven’t I, God? You’re still mad about me wearing a gorilla suit in last year’s Christmas play, aren’t you?”

  There was no more stalling. I had to go in.

  My coach still hadn’t taken his eyes off of me. He had a scary grin on his face, and he was pounding his fist into his hand.

  I kept my head down and raised my eyes. “Someday we’ll all look back on this and have a good chuckle,” I muttered as I passed by.

  “Ohhhh, believe me, Alex,” he growled through clenched teeth, “you and I are going to have a whole lot of chuckles right after the game. But right now you’re up. So get your butt over there.”

  My heart stopped. “Up? No, Coach! How can I be up? I don’t bat fourth! I never bat cleanup!”

  The coach pointed. Davy Washington, our cleanup hitter, was being led off the field. “Stomach problems” was all the coach would say.

  Meanwhile, the guy who usually bats fifth was all doubled over on the bench. He was breathing into a brown paper bag.

  My legs felt like rubber. But somehow I managed to put on a batting helmet and head in the direction of the batter’s box.

  In the stands, Fran and Ethel were cheering …

  On the sidelines, the camera was still rolling …

  And on the mound, T.J. Stoner was grinning his head off.

  This was easily the most terrifying moment of my life. There was no escape. None. No joke would save me now.

  I stepped up to the plate. As I did, T.J. turned and hollered to the rest of his team. “EASY OUT! EASY OUT!”

  In unison, the entire infield took four giant steps in. I swear it was almost like they had rehearsed it.

  “GET READY FORA BUNT!” yelled T.J. again.

  “Great. Perfect. Give my strategy away, why don’t you?” I muttered. But I didn’t have a choice. It was either bunt the ball or not connect at all.

  T.J. threw his first pitch.

  “Steeerrriiiikkke one!” shouted the umpire.

  I turned and looked at him.

  “Why do umpires always yell ‘strike’ so loud, do you think?” I asked. “Whenever it’s a ball, you guys practically whisper. But as soon as you see a strike, man, you belt it out for the whole world to hear. Why is that?”

  The umpire told me to watch myself, pal.

  I turned and got ready for the next pitch. I had already made up my mind. I wasn’t going to just stand there and let another ball go by. If I was going to strike out, I was going to do it swinging. Or, in my case, bunting.

  T.J. wound up and threw again. I stuck out my bat and got ready. As the ball whizzed over the plate, I bunted it sharply down the first baseline.

  I took off running!

  I couldn’t believe it! I’d actually made contact with a T.J. Stoner pitch!

  Now if only I could get on base! If I could get on base, all my problems would be over! I’d be a hero! And no one can be mad at a hero. Not even my coach.

  The first baseman ran like crazy to get the ball. Meanwhile, T.J. sped over to cover first.

  My teammates were screaming their lungs out! I just had to make it!

  The first baseman picked up the ball and got ready to make the toss.

  I was almost there! Just three more steps to go!

  The toss came. T.J. reached out his glove for the catch!

  He had to miss it! He just had to!

  I flung my arms all around. “BOOGA BOOGA!” I screamed in his face. “BOOGA BOOGA!”

  T.J. looked shocked. For just an instant he took his eye off the ball. And that’s all it took! It shot right past him, and rolled into the outfield.

  I WAS SAFE AT FIRST!

  But wait!

  The coach was waving me on!

  As the right fielder scrambled for the ball, I headed for second.

  “Legs, don’t fail me now!” I yelled as I hit full speed. I didn’t look back until I was safely on the bag.

  The crowd in the stands went totally nuts. Fran and Ethel practically ran onto the field. This was the proudest moment of my life!

  “I DID IT! I DID IT!” I screamed. “I MADE IT TO SECOND! ME! ALEX FRANKOVITCH! I’M ON SECOND BASE!”

  The second baseman told me to shut up. But no one could ruin this moment for me! Not the second baseman! Not T.J. Stoner! Not anyone!

  I was waving my cap to the crowd when I first saw T.J.’s coach. He ran onto the field and began yelling at the umpire. Then the next thing I knew, my coach was out there, too.

  I had no idea what they could be arguing about. The play had been so simple. I had bunted … T.J. had missed it … and I had ended up on second. I still couldn’t believe it! Wow! I started jumping up and down on the bag.

  Suddenly, I saw the umpire walking toward me. He did not look happy.

  Okay, don’t panic, Alex. Maybe he’s not really coming to second base at all Maybe during the excitement, someone threw toilet paper streamers onto the outfield, and the umpire’s walking out there to clean them up.

  But a few seconds later, the umpire stopped right next to me. Then he leaned right down in my face and screamed, “YOU’RE OUT!”

  My mouth fell wide open. “Out? How could I be out? I bunted!”

  “You interfered with the play at first base,” he said.

  “I did not! I didn’t even touch T.J.!”

  “You put your hands in his face and shouted ‘booga booga,’ said the umpire. “I call that interference. Not to mention unsportsmanlike conduct.”

  Just then, my coach ran up behind the umpire and handed him the rule book. “Show me!” he demanded. “Show me where it says you can’t say ‘booga booga!’ Where is it, huh? What page is the ‘no booga booga’ rule on?”

  I don’t know why, but all of a sudden this whole conversation sounded unbelievably funny to me. I started to chuckle to myself.

  The umpire told me to get off the field.

  I looked up at him and grinned. “Booga,” I said softly.

  The man looked at me like I was nuts. And who knows? Maybe I was.

  “I said, ‘Get off the field,’ ” he repeated.

  I took his hand and shook it, very sportsmanlike.

  “Booga booga,” I said again. Then, slowly, I began trotting off the field toward the bench.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see T.J. He was laughing his head off.

  Instantly, I changed direction. Now, instead of running off the field, I began running straight toward T.J.

  If he wanted to laugh, I might as well give him something even more to laugh about.

  When I got to the mound, I lifted up his arm and started tickling him. “Wanna laugh, T.J.? This’ll make you laugh,” I said.

  T.J. swatted at me with his cap. “Quit it, Alex! Knock it off! Everyone is watching!”

  For the first time in his life, he looked embarrassed. Truly humiliated, I mean. It was great, too. Almost as great as getting to second base.

  It didn’t last long, though. The umpire had started to come after me again, so it was definitely time to split.

  I gave T.J. a final tickle. Then I ran right off the field and out the gate. I didn’t slow down until I was home in my own room.

  I locked the door behind me and collapsed on the floor.

  I had a feeling I wouldn’t be coming out for a long, long time.

  chapter eleven
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br />   WAKE ME WHEN I’M GROWN

  I’d been in my room about an hour when I heard my parents come home from the game. I had pushed my dresser over in front of the door so that no one could get in. I wasn’t sure exactly what my dad was going to do when he got home, but I was positive there would be a lecture involved. And I already knew what he’d say.

  He’d start off by telling me that running away from a problem never solves anything. Then he’d say it was high time I stopped trying to make fun of everything I’m no good at. Not everything in life is a big joke, he would say. Then he’d end by telling me that no matter what I do in life, I should always give a hundred and ten percent.

  After that, he’d stare at me awhile, like he was trying to figure out what had gone wrong in my upbringing. Then, finally, he’d ask me if I understood what he was trying to say.

  “Yes,” I’d answer. “You’re trying to say I’ve embarrassed the family again.”

  That’s when my father would shake his head and leave the room. On his way out, he’d mutter, “I might as well be talking to a brick wall.”

  I was still going over this pretend conversation in my mind when I heard the back door open. Within seconds, Dad’s footsteps were pounding down the hall.

  My heart began to race.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “Who is it?” I asked nervously.

  “You know who it is, Alex. It’s Dad. I want to have a little talk with you.”

  I tried to stall.

  “Who did you say it was again? Tad? I don’t know any Tad.”

  “Dad!”

  “Brad?”

  He pounded. “Open the door, Alex! Now!”

  “No, Dad. Please. I already know what you want. You want to talk to me about what happened today. Only it won’t do any good. Talking isn’t going to change anything. I blew it. I made a fool of myself and I ran out on my team. So if it’s all the same to you, I’m just going to live right here in my room for the rest of my life. That way I won’t ever bring shame on our family again. So if you could just shove a bologna sandwich under the door every day or so, I’d appreciate it.”

  I paused a minute.

  “Well, okay. I guess that’s it. It’s been nice having you for a father, Father. I’m grateful for all you’ve tried to do for me. And I’m sorry I’ve been such a big disappointment.”

  I heaved a pathetic sigh.

  On the other side of the door, there was nothing but silence. Finally, I heard the sound of Dad’s footsteps as he walked away.

  I was sure he was on his way to tell my mother how miserable I sounded. Then the two of them would put their heads together and try to think up a way to get me to come out of my room.

  A few minutes later, he was back.

  I felt warm all over. Now that’s a loving father, I thought. That’s a father who isn’t giving up on his kid.

  Pretty soon, I heard a rustling noise under my dresser. I got down on my stomach and looked.

  It was a bologna sandwich in a plastic bag, being squeezed underneath the little space at the bottom of my door!

  I grabbed it and threw it in my trash can.

  Parents! Just when you think you’ve got them figured out, they go and pull a lame stunt like that.

  The next day was Sunday. Except for a few minutes while Mom and Dad were at church, I didn’t come out of my room all day long.

  It was awful being stuck in there. And what made it even worse was that my parents didn’t seem bothered by it at all. They were going around the house laughing and talking like they didn’t even have a son. Like they’d never even heard of me before.

  The other thing I hated was how totally bored I was. Most of the time I just lay on my bed. There were a zillion things I could have done to amuse myself, but I couldn’t risk it. If Mom decided to peek through my bedroom window to check on me, it couldn’t look like I was having a good time.

  By dinnertime, I wanted to come out of there so bad I couldn’t stand it. I was starving. Starving, I tell you!

  I had hardly eaten a thing all day. While my parents were at church, I had snuck a few snacks and a couple of apples, but it wasn’t nearly enough to keep a growing boy alive. All I had left were two pretzels and one broken graham cracker. I tried putting the pretzels between the graham cracker pieces to make a sandwich, but it didn’t look that appetizing.

  Also, I hate to mention this, but starvation wasn’t my only problem. I also needed to pay a little visit to the bathroom.

  I did everything I could to put it off. I jumped up and down and crossed my legs and danced around till I couldn’t stand it. But all of a sudden it was get-out-of-my-way-’cause-I’m-comin’-through! I shoved the dresser out of the way and streaked to the bathroom!

  On the way back to my room, I heard Mom and Dad sitting down to eat. I could smell the delicious aroma of dinner all the way down the hall.

  Mmmm. Was that fried chicken? And what else? Mashed potatoes, maybe?

  My stomach growled loudly. How long can a person go without food before he passed out? I wondered. Maybe if I just got a little peek at it, I would feel better.

  Quietly, I tiptoed down the hall. I stopped at the kitchen door and got down on my hands and knees. Then, slowly, I looked around the corner.

  Yup! Just as I thought. Fried chicken! Mashed potatoes! And … ohmygosh! Was that corn on the cob?

  My mouth watered so much that I drooled on the floor. Unfortunately, my parents chose that exact moment to look over.

  I grinned sheepishly and wiped up the drool spot with my T-shirt.

  They turned back around like they hadn’t even noticed me.

  “Oh, no, you don’t! You can’t look directly at a person and then pretend you don’t see him. That’s just dumb,” I said.

  My father shrugged. “You’re the one who wanted to stay locked up for the rest of your life, Alex,” he said. “You’re the one who didn’t want to be bothered. Mom and I are only trying to respect your wishes.”

  I stared at all that corn on the cob. “Yeah, well, there’s been a change in my wishes,” I said quietly. “My wishes now include a chicken dinner from time to time.”

  My father shrugged again. “Help yourself.”

  I hurried to the table and picked up my fork.

  My mother glanced over at me. “Chicken,” she said.

  Geez! What was wrong with her, anyway? Couldn’t she give it a rest?

  “I’m not a chicken, Mother! I ran off the Little League field because I’d already blown it and I didn’t know what else to do! But that doesn’t mean I’m a chicken!”

  Mom stared at me for quite a while. Finally, she turned to Dad and pointed at the food.

  “Chicken?” she said.

  After he had taken a piece, she turned back to me again. “Shall we try this one more time, Alex? Chicken?”

  This time, I stuck my fork into a chicken breast and put it on my plate. I managed to mumble “thank you,” but that was the last thing I said during the entire meal.

  After I ate, I went back to my room and fed my graham-cracker-and-pretzel sandwich to my fish.

  Then I took a shower and went straight to bed.

  Tomorrow I would have to face the whole school. And something told me it was going to take every bit of strength I had.

  chapter twelve

  WHO WOULD HAVE THUNK IT?

  One of the things I really hate about my mom is how she always knows when I’m lying. Don’t ask me how she does it. I’ve tried to figure it out, but so far I’ve had no luck at all.

  On Monday morning, when she came to get me out of bed, I moaned and groaned and held my sides. But she didn’t buy it for a second. Instead, she just opened my blinds and smiled.

  “What a nice sunny day it is out there,” she said.

  “Aggg … ooowww!” I cried out.

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. I guess I’m supposed to play along and ask you what’s wrong with your stomach.”

  I doubled over.
“It’s killing me, Mother. That’s what’s wrong. There must have been something wrong with my chicken last night.”

  Mom walked over to my fish bowl. “Did your fish have chicken for dinner, too?” she asked.

  “Don’t make jokes. This isn’t funny,” I told her.

  “I’m not making a joke, Alex. Your fish is belly-up,” she said.

  I jumped out of bed and ran over to the bowl. “That’s impossible. No! He can’t be! I just bought him! He couldn’t have croaked already!”

  Mom looked closer. “Maybe he’s faking it. Maybe he just wants us to flush him down the toilet so he can swim to the sea,” she said.

  I glared at her. “How can you make a joke about this? This is my dead pet we’re talking about here.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alex. You go through at least one fish a week. You’ve only had that one for three days. How much can a three-day-old goldfish mean to you?”

  “A lot, Mother. That’s how much. For the past three days, that fish was the only friend I had.”

  I put my hand over my heart. “We shared our secrets and our dreams.”

  I thought a moment.

  “Plus a graham cracker and two pretzels,” I added quietly.

  I got my fish net and scooped him up. Then I ran him into the bathroom and flushed. I watched him swirl. Another buck-fifty right down the pot.

  When I got back to my room, my mother was smiling.

  “Well, I see that your stomach is better,” she said. “You haven’t moaned or groaned for several minutes.”

  I grabbed my sides and bent over.

  “Forget it, Alex,” she said. “You’re going to school.”

  Geez! If it hadn’t been for that stupid fish, I could have pulled it off! Man! You try to do your pet a favor by giving him a special snack and he pays you back by dying. How selfish and inconsiderate is that?

  After breakfast, I walked to school as slowly as I could. I was trying to brace myself for all the teasing. There was going to be a ton of it, too. And what made it even worse was that T.J. Stoner was going to be leading the pack.

  As I walked onto the playground, I saw T.J. standing at the water fountain. He didn’t see me, though. That’s because there were about a million little kids gathered around him, waving pieces of paper.