The Second Base Club

by Greg Trine

  “It’s after seven,” she said.

  “Sorry, I was helping a fellow student with math.” I plopped myself down on the couch and picked up my guitar.

  “Fellow student?”

  “Yep.” I started in on “Stairway to Heaven.” “An FFS.” Speaking in code was always a good idea when dealing with a probing parent.

  Mom stopped stirring and looked up. “FFS?”

  “A female fellow student,” I said, giving her my that’s-all-you’re-going-to-get-out-of-me look.

  But her I’m-going-to-get-it-out-of-you-if-it-kills-me look had a little more power. My secrets were doomed.

  “Okay, you have my attention. We can talk over dinner.” She spooned some kind of rice-and-chicken concoction onto plates and placed them on the table. I sat down and she sat across from me, leaned on her elbows, and said, “Now, tell me everything.”

  There wasn’t much to tell. I’d had a few conversations with a beautiful girl and we’d touched knees. I explained this to my mother, but the whole time I talked she kept searching my eyes for any hidden meaning.

  I pretty much poker-faced myself through the entire meal. When in doubt, keep your parents in the dark.

  “You can knock off the eyeball stare, Mom,” I said finally.

  “What do you mean? Haven’t you heard? Eye contact is a good thing.”

  “Feels like you’re trying to read the back of my skull.”

  She leaned a little closer. “Anything in there worth reading?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  I stood up, grabbed my plate and hers, and put them in the dishwasher. Then I went to my room—meaning I crossed the room—and started on homework.

  Mom just sat there at the table. I know she wanted more information, but I didn’t have much to share. Not yet, anyway.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  All I needed was a little confidence. I’d already been told I was a good guy. I’d already touched body parts with the hottest girl I knew. Things were moving in the right direction, but how exactly does one increase his confidence?

  The answer to that, I figured, was experience. Good old-fashioned romantic experience. Knee touching just wasn’t going to cut it.

  Vern and I went to the football game on Friday. I wasn’t a raging Sampson Teague fan like the rest of the school (and town), but most of the girls would be at the game, including Marisa, and if I saw her now and then apart from math, maybe she’d begin to think of me as more than just another genius.

  The key, I decided, was to show up to the game prepared, meaning I’d done tons of push-ups and as many pull-ups as I could. I had worked my way up to eight. So far the pecs hadn’t decided to show themselves, but I remained hopeful.

  We got to the stadium during the second half of the JV game and took a seat. The home-team side of the Highmont Ridge bleachers was built into the hillside. Vern and I sat near the top, which was a pretty good place to see the game, and an even better place to watch people. I began searching for Marisa. Vern scanned for anyone else, since we had an unspoken hands-off-Marisa agreement. Not that my hands were on her. That was another thing I was hopeful for.

  The JV game ended, and when the varsity team took the field, everyone in the stands cheered, me included. I couldn’t help it. I was caught up in the moment. Vern and I stood up with the crowd, clapping and cheering. We looked over at each other and shrugged.

  “We’re such sheep,” I told him.

  “I know.”

  When the game started, I got back to business, trying to spot Marisa. But the place was so crowded, it was difficult to find individual faces. Everything was a blur. There was only one thing to do—wander around and hope for the best. Or at least make frequent trips to the snack bar.

  We did both. We wandered. We snacked.

  Halfway through the second period, I spotted her standing with another girl. I searched my brain for something witty or charming or funny to say. I came up empty. I looked over at Vern, hoping he’d been struck by inspiration. He had three-quarters of a hot dog hanging out of his mouth. It was up to me.

  Marisa spotted me and walked over along with her friend. I racked my brain. Think, Elroy. I tried to read her expression, but she was too busy trying to read mine. How can a girl give you a blank stare and look completely hot doing it? I decided to open my mouth and say whatever popped into my head, hoping something intelligent came out.

  “Got any parallelograms on you?”

  Lame!

  Marisa turned to her friend, then turned back with the same blank expression.

  “Hi, Elroy,” she said after a while.

  Whew!

  Fortunately, Vern had swallowed by now, so his mouth was available for conversation. “Just say hi,” he whispered. When I didn’t, he jumped in. “Hi, Marisa, I’m Vern. You know my tongue-tied companion here, Elroy.”

  She laughed. So did her friend, which loosened things up a bit, and I found my voice. “How are you, Marisa?”

  “Fine. This is Stacy.”

  Stacy was dark-haired and -eyed, and I suddenly flashed on the Mexican peasant girl Juana Maria over at Ernesto’s. Life was getting more complicated by the minute.

  We ended up sitting with Marisa and Stacy for the rest of the game. Vern was amazing. He was comfortable, confident. He told jokes I’d never heard before and kept the girls laughing. And I reaped the benefits. I was sitting next to Marisa in a nonmath situation. Good ol’ Vern.

  The football game progressed. And Sampson Teague was his normal amazing self. He might be the big freshman-flusher on campus and the founding member of the Second Base Club, but I had to admire what he did on the field. Passing, scrambling, he could do it all. Highmont Ridge was kicking a little butt, to put it mildly.

  But there was a problem. How to extend the evening? Vern and I had come on bikes. We couldn’t exactly ask the girls to climb on the back while we went for pizza or hamburgers.

  When the girls got up to use the bathroom, I said, “Now what, Vern?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this is working. What do we do after the game?”

  “You worry too much, Elroy. Haven’t you ever heard of going with the flow?”

  “I’ve heard of that,” I said. But I wasn’t sure if it ever worked. Especially when you’re trying to gain some ground in the guy/girl department. “Describe the go-with-the-flow technique again?”

  “Marisa and Stacy know that we don’t have cars. All that matters is that they’re having a good time, and I think they are.”

  Sampson Teague connected on a twenty-yard pass into the end zone, and the crowd erupted. For some reason, I kept waiting for the instant replay. When the cheering died down, I turned to Vern. “Yeah, the girls are having a good time, I think. All that laughter has to mean something. How’d you become so funny all of a sudden?”

  Vern shrugged. “I have no idea.” He took a swig of Coke. “Here they come, Elroy. Remember, go with the flow. If we don’t hook up tonight, we can arrange something for later. All that matters is that they have a good time here and now.”

  It was a pretty vague plan, but it was all we had for the moment. I tried to place myself in go-with-the-flow mode. For starters, I put a smile on my face. Then, when the girls sat back down, I said the first thing that popped into my head.

  “So—did you miss us?”

  “We did,” Marisa said.

  “Yeah, you should have seen us in the bathroom pining away,” Stacy added and laughed.

  Laughter is good, I thought. You can’t laugh and not be enjoying yourself, right?

  So we sat there together and watched the game. The four of us. And the more I sat there, the more natural it felt. Halfway through the third quarter, I realized I was thigh to thigh with Marisa. Thigh to thigh! Which is way better than knee to knee. Things were moving in the right direction. I better start getting my lips prepared, I told myself. Just in case, because you never know.

  Marisa said, “What are you guys
doing after the game?”

  Vern and I exchanged a look, probably thinking the same thing: We came on bikes. Now what?

  Vern had the right idea. Stall. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I mean, do you have to get home right away?” Marisa asked.

  “Not me,” Vern said. “You, Elroy?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. No worries. My parents don’t care how late I stay out.” I don’t know why I said “parents,” as if I lived with both of them. On the other hand, I was pretty sure my mother wasn’t expecting me immediately after the game. And she did want more details about my romantic life. How could I give her details if I never experienced anything?

  “Wanna hang out?” Stacy said.

  Wow. This going-with-the-flow stuff really worked. I thought I saw Vern salivating, and I almost forgot that I was thigh to thigh with Marisa or that there was a football game going on.

  It was the crowd that brought me back. Apparently, Sampson Teague had connected with another pass into the end zone. I glanced up at the scoreboard. We were ahead 42 to 13, four minutes left in the game. Good, this thing was almost over. Time for some serious flirting.

  “You guys like pizza?” Marisa asked.

  Actually, I was stuffed from all our trips to the snack bar, but I just nodded and made myself look as hungry as possible. Vern had the same look. We both nodded, and I said, “I’d kill for a slice of pepperoni.” Fortunately, Santino’s Pizza was about a block from school. I thought of asking Marisa if she’d like to ride on the handlebars of my bike, but decided against it. We’d walk. More time for conversation, and better on the ass.

  After the game, we followed the crowd out of the stadium. Turns out, Santino’s was the place to be. A bunch of cheerleaders were already there, sitting at an enormous table near the back, obviously getting ready for a large group. I also saw a few familiar faces here and there, and a handful of parents wearing Highmont Ridge sweatshirts. We grabbed a booth off to one side and ordered drinks while we decided what kind of pizza to get.

  “Don’t look now,” Vern said, nodding toward the door, “but God just showed up.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, and there he was, Sampson Teague and a half-dozen of his football cronies, coming through the front door. A few people clapped. Some cheered. A parent slapped Sampson on the back. Another shook his hand. Then he headed for the table with the cheerleaders.

  At one point, Marisa got up to go to the bathroom, and Sampson Teague’s mouth dropped open like a drawbridge as he watched her cross the room. When she came back, his eyes followed her to our table. Then he gave me a look like he wanted to score and I was the linebacker in his way.

  CHAPTER SIX

  She hugged me. Marisa Caldwell hugged me. A real one too. Not one of those A-frame kinds, where you and the other person bend at the waist so that just your shoulders touch, followed by a rapid pat on the back. This was a real hug—her body pressed up against mine.

  Knee to knee, thigh to thigh, and now chest to chest. Or, even better, chest to breast!

  This was how the football/pizza evening ended, with Marisa wrapping her arms around me. Vern and Stacy shook hands, I think.

  When I got home, Mom was in her bedroom watching TV.

  “How’d it go?” she called to me, muting the sound.

  I walked down the hall and poked my head in through the doorway. “Great. Vern and I went to pizza after the game. Had a good time.”

  She was doing the read-the-back-of-my-skull thing again, but I tried to ignore it. I didn’t have anything more to share, and I was pretty sure there was nothing visible on the back of my skull. I told my mother good night, and went back to the living room. I lay there in the dark for a long time, replaying it all in my head. Everything was moving in the right direction. Now, if I could just keep the momentum going. . . .

  During the school day, Marisa and I still didn’t hang out. We were kind of friends. We hung out at football games (game) and went to pizza places (place) together. But for some reason we weren’t at the point where I’d sit with her group during lunch or she’d sit with mine. Not sure why.

  Monday, after school, we met again at her house for more math and popcorn. It’s funny how knee touching no longer did it for me. I kept inching my chair closer to hers, until she looked at me funny and I decided to cool it. Just concentrate on math, I told myself.

  “You’re sweating again,” she said more than once. “Want me to open a window?”

  I shook my head. “Brain workout. Does it to me every time.”

  Tuesday was more of the same. So was Wednesday.

  And that’s when it hit me—one of us was going to have to make a move. One of us was going to have to risk something if we were ever going to be more than tutor/student with the occasional football game and pizza thrown in. I wanted more than football and pizza. The question was, did she? What was going on in that fantastic-looking head of hers?

  Take a risk, Elroy, I told myself.

  And so, on Friday, I did. I lingered after the math session. Most of the houses in Marisa’s neighborhood had porches, and hers had a swing.

  “Uh . . . I don’t have to get home right away.” I looked over at the porch swing. “Want to give that thing a whirl?” I wasn’t sure if you could actually whirl on a porch swing, but you get the idea. Linger . . . see where it leads.

  Porch swings are pretty darn romantic, I decided. Sitting there, thigh to thigh with the girl of your dreams, the tips of your toes touching the ground just enough to keep the thing in motion.

  It was dark out, and I could see an old guy across the street sitting on his porch, smoking a cigar and watching us. His sprinklers were on and were doing a good job watering the street. Take the risk, Elroy.

  I swallowed hard as my heart hammered inside me. Then I reached over and took Marisa’s hand in mine. In the next few seconds, this relationship would be over or we’d be at another level. She’d bolt or she wouldn’t. There was no middle ground.

  She didn’t bolt. She stayed. And her hand was kind of clammy. Maybe she was as nervous as I was. I looked across the street and saw that the old geezer was still watching. I wished he’d go inside. I waited several minutes, hoping he’d pick up the mental telepathy I was sending his way. It didn’t work, and so I turned to Marisa and tried to plant one on her.

  An overhead light came on, bathing us in five hundred watts of white light.

  “Motion sensor,” Marisa said. “No sudden movements.”

  We sat there motionless for about five minutes, waiting for the darn thing to turn off. Meanwhile, Old Man Cigar was looking at us and smiling—clearly, this was better than Jeopardy! He lit another cigar and settled in for the evening.

  Finally, the light switched off again. I began turning my head toward Marisa in one-inch intervals. She smirked, knowing what I was up to. She whispered, “Nothing sudden, now, Elroy. Slowly, very slowly.”

  It took me a couple of minutes to close the gap between us. And she didn’t make it any easier by coming my way. “Wipe that smirk off your face and get those lips over here,” I told her.

  She leaned toward me, and I said, “Slowly, Marisa. I’ve worked hard to get this far.”

  Our lips met. And it was worth the wait. I tried not to count, but I couldn’t help myself. We made it to nine seconds before I broke it off without moving too much.

  “That bad, huh?” she said.

  “You’re not going to believe this, but I have an itch.”

  “Is that all? You had me worried.”

  We kissed again, and this time I didn’t count. But my knee itched like crazy. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I broke it off and reached for my knee. Immediately the light went on again, and from across the street I could hear the old man laughing.

  While I debated how to unscrew the five-hundred-watt bulb without burning my fingers, Marisa’s parents pulled up in the driveway. No chance of being alone now. Our evening was over.

  Nine seconds, I told m
yself as I headed for home. The best nine seconds of my life.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  My dad got a job working for Animal Control. He drove around in a big truck with lots of built-in cages in the back. Basically, he was one of Highmont Ridge’s dogcatchers, but occasionally he had to deal with wayward possums or raccoons, and now and then a reptile.

  “Do I look any taller to you?” he asked. We were at his place, sitting down to our usual dinner of pancakes.

  I took a bite and looked up, cocking an eyebrow, since my mouth was full.

  “Yeah, you heard right—taller. I had a close encounter with a boa constrictor. He put the squeeze on me. I was hoping to get a few inches in height out of it.” He smirked.

  I knew he was joking, but I went along with it. “Stand up and I’ll let you know.” When he did, I looked him over, then shook my head. “You look about the same to me. Your face is a little redder, though. That must have been some squeeze.”

  “It was.” He sat back down. “So how are things at school?”

  My mind flashed on Marisa and our brief moment on the porch. “It’s going great.” For some reason I was waiting for him to lock eyeballs with me and examine the back of my skull, but Dad wasn’t into the intimidate-with-his-eyes thing. Instead, he simply asked direct questions.

  “Tell me about the girl.” See? He glanced up at the ceiling, thinking. “What was her name again? Marisa?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well?”

  “Well what?” I said.

  “How about a little more information?” He laced his hands behind his head and waited. He didn’t stare like Mom. He just waited, hoping I couldn’t stand the silence. It was pretty effective. He began bouncing his biceps, alternating arms, keeping pace with a blaring stereo from a car passing by on the street.

  I finally gave in. “I’m tutoring her in math, so we’re hanging out, getting to know each other. I think.”

  “And you’re wondering if it’s love yet?”

  “Well, it’s not wearing off. If anything, I like her better now that we’ve had a few conversations. How soon before I know if it’s love?”